#fic: in my daughter's eyes

[murmel-malt]

Who does Rowan marry??

Rowan eventually marries the third son of the then Lord Templeton, Steffon Templeton. Rhea wanted her to marry inside the Vale to stengthen her ties there and to make sure Rowan's position as the second consecutive ruling Lady of Runestone remains uncontested.

Steffon is slightly socially awkward, stemming from a more bookish nature and his inability to live up to the expectations placed on him (being good at and enjoying hitting stuff with a weapon) and before his parents were approached over a match to Rowan, he had hoped that they might finally give in and sent him to the Citadel.

He was pretty sure that the betrothal would be called off eventually since he considered himself far from the ideal husband material for the daughter of Prince Daemon but apparently him essentially being the polar opposite of her father was very appealing to Rowan.

(my current fc for Steffon is the dude that plays Prince Eric in the recent little mermaid movie. He just looks very soft and very sad most of the time and that's very Steffon.)

#Steffon starts out as a sad boi TM and him coming into his own and gaining confidence alongside Rowan is my favorite thing about this pair #Rhea definitely knew what her daughter needed and it was someone not even remotely like Daemon so she found her the softest boy in the Vale #all it took for Rowan to fall for him is him having sad brown eyes being honest about disliking violence #and info dumping about how his ancestor may or may not have killed her ancestor during the battle of the seven stars #oc: rowan royce #fic: a blade that never stops cutting #mail #oc: steffon templeton

[michelle-jacksons-art-blog]

Hi hello have this somewhat old Jonmartin kids concept ideas while I try not to die

#I have I'm Gonna Fucking Die Disease #symptoms are I've coughed way too much for like almost a week now #my bad #so anyway the drawing #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tma #tma podcast #the magnus archives #how does one tag these things #so uh I think I made Lyra the older one #one of these names I got straight out of a fanfic but I can't remember each one so when I feel mentally capable I'll look for it #or if you happen to remember a fic that had them have a daughter with either of those names feel free to mention it #anyways they're a happy family #a bit weird bc let's be honest Jon and Martin are really weird #like as normal people go they can be freaks sometimes #but that's fine otherwise they wouldn't be popular on tumblr dot com #two funky colored eyes for the price of one head I'd call that a great deal #I just think it would be interesting to know what happens when two avatars of different fears have baby like do you know how many fears Jon #involves on his own like that's all 14 dude what happens there #he's like aang in the sense that he's thee avatar and also can never recover from this experience #would the kids even be connected to the fears in whatever universe their dads ended up in we just don't know #anyway this is all actually for a story idea I've had since forever but you're not ready for that yet #peace everyone I'll bring trying to sleep

[tavina-writes]

currently trying to think if I remember any situations in Jin Yong wuxia where a family preferred sons over daughters (especially as like, a socially mandated thing) and coming up short.

Like I think there are plenty of situations where powerful men/families/sects only have one child and that child is a daughter. And this is neither weird, highly remarked upon, or considered odd in any way. Nor is anyone feeling pressed to come up with a son in the future.

Ren Yingying from XAJH, Yue Lingshan from XAJH, Huang Rong from LOCH, Guo Fu (from ROCH) for a good portion of her life (16 years of it, also Guo Fu wasn't displaced bc one of the twins was a boy, NOR were her parents trying to have more children on purpose), Yang Guo and XLN's daughter from ROCH/HSDS, Gongsun Lu'e from ROCH, etc.

Also their status range from like 'extremely important and visible family in the jianghu' to 'actually not all that well known' so it's not just a "well our family is powerful so who gives a fuck" kind of situation.

Like these are male dominated books, there are more men than there are women in Jin Yong's books (there are really cool women in his books though), but there's almost none 'oh no how will a girl inherit!' left beef. The girl will learn martial arts, like it's hard?

I think this is also relatively true of Gu Long books too, so at some points I'm left ??? at the discourse re: inheritance and gender in MDZS fandom bc I don't think it's actively stated anywhere that women aren't supposed to inherit? Or aren't allowed? or are less capable? or that there's a strong societal prejudice against it? Just. It's a danmei so most of these positions are occupied by men. Like, there are maybe five whole women and even less among the juniors. Who and how and why will they inherit if they don't exist.

#this isn't actually meta #I'm just tagging it that way bc I'm having a thinky thought again #like there's a surprising number of only or eldest daughters in Jin Yong's writing #and nobody is remotely commenting about this #like all of HYS's associates meet his daughter and they're not like 'man you should've had a son are you getting a son soon' #NO they're like 'oh my god I wish EYE had a cute daughter' #meta #my meta #I'm thinking about this in terms of like how people discuss inheritance or genderswaps in MDZS #bc I don't....I don't actually think the sects in MDZS (as they are in canon) would... #seriously have an issue with girl heirs? #like maybe the lan bc lan yi was so unpopular but like they tried one female sect leader at least lmao #like idk I just see this in fic/post canon fic a lot where there's this anxiety to have a son and I'm just left standing there like #'idk if this world is actually that misogynistic in this way #this seems like it's been transplanted from the imperial/royalty/nobility inheritance crisis genre'

[seaweedstarshine]

You know that time in the comics when the Doctor is so depressed, he shuts off the lights, turns on an interrogation spotlight, locks himself in the console room, and argues with a bunch of judgmental shadow-figures resembling his past incarnations?

And all the TARDIS' lights go out and her interior becomes a maze to keep his companions out of the console room, all from her psychic connection with the Doctor (“moodbleed”)?

And his companions are left wandering in circles for two days as the air goes “stale,” not knowing where he is but thinking the worst, while he hallucinates in a dark room?

...because I'm thinking again about the times this definitely happened when he was with the Ponds.

#when they find him- Rory (one good nurse™) asks neutral questions to check on his emotional state while respecting his space #Amy knows when he's locked himself alone long enough to call River (fortunately Amy talks to her daughter often) #River can calm the tardis and go directly to the Doctor. she sits with him and nods when he rants. she tells him hes loved. #eleventh doctor #11th doctor #doctor who #words by seaweed #(eleventh) doctor is neurodivergent tag #honestly same. I don't want anyone looking at me when im in that way because eyes are very uncomfortable lasers slicing my thoughts #so river doesn't look at him. she looks away and lets him look at her so he knows she's not looking at him. she also does active listening #the shadow-figures in this comic are beyond psychosis coded #emphasis: it isnt presented like some conference of past selves here (which the doctor can't just do anyway- see Power of the Doctor). #and the shadow figures dont have personalities anyway. the way theyre drawn is VERY psychosis coded (as is 11 this whole Si Spurrier run) #this is from Eleventh Doctor Year 2 Issue 3 (set between A Christmas Carol and The Impossible Astronaut) if anyone's wondering #note that he put on his comfort fez I love him #alice obiefune #poor Alice got drove up the wall from wandering in the dark for two days… I think Amy and Rory get to get used to it if they're together #eventually they work out a plan to calm the tardis enough to show them the comfy spot in the bunkbeds to wait and give him space #he joins them in their bunkbed for platonic snuggles. all in the same bunk. Rory doesnt mind. they make sure the doctor knows hes loved <3 #I think- having been percieved as psychotic growing up- Amy would be conscious about making sure the doctor knows she still adores him #I really want this fic to exist

[mycarhasasecret]

You ever read a fanfic that stays in your head for years and you can never find it again?

#I want to know if it was as good as I remember #I think I was about 12 when I read it so < 8 years old #Okay let me describe it a little bit so that you can understand exactly WHY I need to find this and verify that my standards sucked #it was on Quotiv #big red flag right there #but i remember it being so well written and engaging! #and it was a TFP soundwave x OC #or reader maybe #but pretty sure OC #and the MC had alexandria's genesis #and her and soundwave both bonded over having purple eyes #there was like a whole scene in a cave or something and it was a really tender moment of him removing the visor and showing his face #at one point he asks her parents for permission to court their daughter #it was the first time I'd heard the word in that context #and i assumed it was a transformers thing #needless to say i was baffled when the parents immediately knew what the word meant without an explanation #this fic as well as one called Purple Heart and another called Its The Great Pumpkin Sam Witwiki shaped me as a person #I need a TFA fic and a g1 fic to blow me away so that I can add some variation to my list of fics that have put me on my ass with emotions

[boxwinebaddie]

im OBSESSED with the idea of wlw tsot style truly genius wow

AHAHAHSAKHSDKHD!!!!! thank you, bestie! i love being a Genius!

jokes aside, last night, i was looking at the tsot concept, like really thinking hard, squinting at it like....whyyyyy....don't i like this? because idk, i personally think the tsot plot premise was badass, but maybe i am delusional, lmao -- that tracks for me. but deadass, i was like why am i not attached to this for some reason also?

...for some reason, the tsot style was never that enticing to me as a writer? and i thought it was because it was too complicated bc of the high fantasy elements...bc despite me masquerading as a genius i am a Fooking Imbecile like i am a court jester, the town FOOL...smh.

-- or even that it was...too sweet and wholesome for me??? because stan is so devoted to kyle in tsot and they are so in love. they're so cute? which is wonderful and all but i am an Angst Girlie, not in terms of reading fanfic ( yes, i do think its ironic that i write multi chapter slowburn style fanfics and only like to read fluffy oneshots where they get together at the end bc i'm impatient & cannot burn in hell )

tHEN THE SNOW DAY TRAILER CAME OUT AND I WAS LIKE????? EVIL STAN???? HEEEEELLLLOOOOOOO!!!!!! i am OBSESSED. that was an insane choice, i was so feral and i was like i need to write morally corrupted stan it's my duty as an angst queen -- which, you guys, i really think i was meant to write angst and hurt/comfort bc i was writing that lil ravesey drabble and i was like Levitating w/ energy i was so stoked omg i was having a BLAST...i love u, angst.

aN-KNEE-WAYZ! i developed that weird idea/tsot concept and i personally was fucking with it but i was still...not completely happy? and i couldn't tell why and it was pISSING ME THE FUCK OFF????

but now it makes sense...bc they are...Women, lol.

( okay, its uncle nina tsot idea info dump time! if you are rocking w/ me, ur welcome under the cut, please enjoy ur ncu toxic yuri <3 )

P.S. THIS IS VERY LONG -- VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

so i think stan...goes by stas? in the tsot universe. that just makes sense to me, i also don't want to get confused bc i've written style as boys for so long if i keep calling stas stan it will make my brain hurt. SO STAS, LOOOOL!!! which i think is short for...anastasia?

or something weirdly hyper feminine and stas hates it to death, also stassie or stasia is still 2 girlie, so she is kind of also not rocking w/ those...i like how gender neutral stas is. let me know if its not cute.

bUT ANYWAYS AGAIN!!! this post is really unhinged, it's 3 am where i am rn and i am being so crazy, i woke up being really insane abt this. so stas works at her family's inn to help her mom out w/ everything because shelley is kind of a hater and randy is...a menace to society. like when i say stas has to pull that waste of a man out of the tavern oR LIKE THE BROTHEL???? HELLO??? every goDDAMN NIGHT??? shes so mad. especially since he keeps BORROWING MONEY THEY CANT PAY BACK BC RANDY IS SPENDING IT ALL???? AND THE LOAN SHARKS ARE ABT TO FUCKING KILL ALL OF THEM?

eye...hate you so much, randy marsh. *stas vc* Burn In Seven Hells.

however, conversely, i do love stas, WHO IS AN IIIIICON!!!! a bicon if you will, she do be...lying awake having iMPUre thoughts of lying with women oodsfjodosjfpsojf, sins of the flesh lMAAAAOOOO!!!! down so bad like please get A LIIIIFE!!!!!! which she's like Trying, i see you baby!!!! but you know, she has to wear a dress ( she did steal her dads pants bee tee dubs bc its hard to run around in a long ass dress, she truly hates that shit bc its inconvenient as hell, smh ) but yeah she do be drinking plifered ale with the boys and having the worst posture and freaking burping the alphabet and being DISGUSTING????? when i tell you stas is so disgusting...smh. she is giving bean from disenchanted if anyone has seen that show like really and truly. xx

which is SO FUNNY???? because, like all my ncu stans, stas is an uncanny level of beautiful like SSSOOOOOOO PRETTY??? like it is truly INSANE, men be OOGLING her which ew so Much!!! bc A Scurb Is A Guy Who Thinks He's Fly But IS ALSO KNOWN AS A BUSTAAA!!! i think like ravenstan pre!rm boys were just kind of weirdly obsessed w/ her and trying to ask for her hand in marriage all the time like belle from beauty in the beast and she was like ahhhh hell nah KHDSLd.

also, working at the inn she has to deal with tHE MOST ANNOYING FUCKING MEN IN THE WOOOOORLD!!! they are like "you! tavern wench! fetch me some ale!" and she's like pls go fuck yourself but she's also So Nice like all my stans so she's like...Of Course, Sir.

maaaan, W!H!A!C!K!

i think like knights and stuff come and go staying at the inn and she's just like...sigh...that's so fucking COOL, wish that were me! LAME!!! like she literally is not allowed to fight bc SHES A GIRL!!! SO WHACK! she does have dreams abt it...like she does abt women and temptations of the flesh...stas...whack off or something, my GOD!!! nasty girl behavior, i am fucking crying, i love girl failure stas. Based.

i think she secretly kind of works down at the forge with tolkiens dad, btw, i think tolkiens name is...tolkien...blacksmith? lol so much guys. also !~ala pep~ they do still have a crazy rivalry...love my life. i think there is DRAMA during the Challenge Of Champions abt kylie. WHO STAS DOES NOT LIKE RIGHT AWAY BUT I DIGRESS!!!

so stas helps down at the forge bc she thinks swords are so cool. like she is obsessed and i think she makes a lot of armor and swords and stuff but she's not allowed to use them, obvi...and just has to hand them off to idiot men who should Go Die In A War lmaoooo!!! and it sucks so bad...her handiwork is beautiful, btw. i think she's made some shit that ended up at the broflovski castle they just Don't Know.

i am...talking abt this too much when i tell you i got Really Into It. so the RUFFIANS show up and they're abt to kill stas’ family but they give stas One More Day to come up with the money so she rides off ON SPARKY!!!! I LOVE YOU HORSE SPARKY!!!! to the disgraced high wizards castle who obviously...thinks stas is fucking pathetic and is like i quite literally do not give a fuck...ur whole family can choke? and is going to kill her but then...realizes stas is EXTREMELY GIFTED with the sword and is like...hm...i can use you. ;))))) lmao and stas basically has no choice bc if not they will literally slaughter her fam.

soooooo stas basically she ends up enrolled in the Challenge Of Champions which is literally so fucked??? like everyone is about to die, if i end up writing the fic, it's gonna be BRUTAL and very bloody and horrifying, just fyi, so sorry. also stas cuts her hair hella short to pass as a boy and there is a very iconique mulan-esqe montage of her stealing her dads clothes and kissing sharon on the head and riding off to an uncertain fate...leaves a crytic note or no warning? its very depressing stas...loves sharon so bad, she misses her mom. :(((

also i think when she rolls up and is in the camp w/ all the other challenge of champion competitors and contestants, they are like...so what is ur name and shes abOUT TO SAY STAS BC SHES SO FUCKING STUPID LOL I HATE MY LIFE and is like st---aaaaaan??? LOLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!! and does the medieval version of the nervous bisexual finger gun jazz hand combo i am in PAIN. and they are like...okay? i guess? weirdo? they do think stas is so weird that whole time, she does have a lot to prove AND SHE DOES BITCH!!!! they respect the hell out of her later bc she is WIPING THE COMP, BABY!

which, speaking of stas passing as a boy...i actually do not think she is trans like ravenstan is? i think she is just Really Masc? and likes a lot of traditionally masculine activities and having short hair and doesn't reject the idea of being a woman but thinks its stupid that She personally gets rejected and is not allowed to do things she likes because they reserved exclusively for Men! stas vs. the patriarchy! listen i think raven would fuck w/ stas so heavy she would Scare Him though, like she is Powerful for a human.

i do think she is lowkey ripped like....HEEEELLLOOOOO???

kylie get ur jaw off the floor bestie!!!! STAND UP!!!!

running joke in tkak, i think, that everyone is like...squints...u know u are...like very beautiful for a man? you are kind of the most beautiful man i've ever seen like you are honestly pretty enough to be a girl? and she's like...ahsshahhaa thank you? my mom does tell me i'm kind of like having a boy daughter sometimes...ALSO THAT MADE HER SO DEPRESSED BC SHE WAS THINKIN ABOUT SHARON AND SHE WAS LIKE WHAT FUCK I HATE IT HERE bc i think sharon thinks shes dead or something bc she rode off & just disappeared completely?

okay, moving onto kylie...i am OBSESSED with her also!!! i got a little less on her, but stas is kind of the protag rn so it makes sense? but so when i was developing tkak At First, i gave ky...Reeeeally Long Hair bc i am obsessed w giving kyle really beautiful curly long hair ( jersey my beloved please kiss me on the lips ). she also ONLY has her hair up like for most of the fanfic? in REALLY ELABORATE hairdos?

like the handmaidens do her hair every morning and put that shit up and it does take forever which is suuuuch a pain in the ass ( yes kylie do be dummy thicc like actual kyle...i actually do not think stas has to bind tbh bc shes always in the armor and the really flowy tunic and riding pants and the boots w the short ass hair ( WHEN I TELL YOU SHE IS FINE I MEAN THAT LIKE PPL DIED!!! LITERALLY!!!! )

...she also has zero boobs i gave stan no ass and i think its only fair that stas has zero boobage...but when i tell you...oh my goodness oh my damn...kylie in the corset thing w her biddies pushed up to heaven...stas is abt to throw up constantLY!!!! DOOOOOWN SO HORRENDOUS LIKE PLEASE GO TO HELL!!!!! sooo funny. i have been laughing typing this whole goddamn ask meme, i'm screaming!

stas lying awake at night in a cold sweat bc Women...jaaaaaaail smh.

speaking of women, kylie is like 100% a lesbian like it just tracks bc all my kyles are super mega gay. people don't know about it, they only know that she hasn't taken a husband yet and that her dad keeps trying to set her up with these stupid ass idiot men from other kingdoms and she quite literally drives them away bc shes so SCARY. all my kyles are so scary, kylie is no exception like they call her the tempest bc she is literally so frightening. men run away screaming.

tbh gerald is so serious about her being princessy and hidden away in the castle...when i was developing tkak again and i gave ky the long hair and gerald was constantly having it put up with no exceptions like she is not allowed to be seen by anyone w her hair down? and i was like is it bc kyle...just has long hair and is kind of a little femme? idk? but LISTEN IT ALL MAKES SENSE TO ME NOW BECAUSE ITS ACTUALLY BC GERALD THINKS KYLES MERIDA HAIR IS UNBECOMING OF A WOMAN AND HES A MOTHERFUCKER AND MAKES HER CONFORM THE STANDARDS OF BEING REFINED.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! IS ANYONE ELSE SCREAMING???

oof...the day stas sees kylie w/ her hair down...the homoeroticy...its gonna be so crazy, the tension is going to be so intense omg.

okAY SPEAKING OF THE TOXIC YURI TSOT STYLE...they do hate eachother. kylie specifically hates humans bc sheila is dead in tkak..smh...she was also killed by humans...so kylie HATES humans. she is also really spoiled and coddled and Baby. and stas is tough and worked for everything in her life and is hard as a motherfucker i love you so bad stas...she's so cooooooolll!!! but yeah they bicker a lot. btw...kylie is short in the ncu tsot and stas is tall like i think there is a whole dialogue where stas is like i just never thought that the princess of all kingdoms who possesses all that power would be soooo....and kylie is like? enchanting? radiant? ravishing? beautiful? and shes like...Little. KHDLKHDSLK LOOOOOL IM CRYING HELP.

i am talking so much i'm so sorry guys but i said the tsot toxic yuri was like mulan and it so is...its also like Tangled, which are the two best disney movies which fuck you so much disney! free palestine!

but i digress again and i will explain myself because you know how i am; i do not put anything out unless i feel strongly about it. so kylie does not want to engage in ~Princessy Stuff~ mostly bc its whack and she is not trying to belong to a man like Property? but its also because...She Wants To Be A Doctor. <3333

i was thinking too hard about ship in a bottle kyle being the ships sawbones and pep kyle ripping stans throat open to save his life and i was like...doctor!kylie! but obvi...its very frowned upon...women cannot be doctors...Princesses Cannot Be Doctors. she also is nooot allowed to leave the palace bc of sheilas assassination, aaaaalso bc shes a woman...are we sensing a theme here? men suck.

but okay, so stas passes pretty well for a man...also her voice is really raspy and husky WHEEEW ONE CHANCE STAS!!! but obvi when kylie finds out stas is a girl, she says something funny like By Gods! By All The Seven Hells You Are Woman! and stas is like oooooooooofffffffff!!! pleeeease don't send me to the gallows i can explain ( she cannot explain she is supposed to kill kylies dad ) but kylie is like...i will let you live...Human Girl...on one condition...( stas is like u have to be fucking shitting me bc like this is the second time this shit has happened to her...smh ) anYWASAYS!!! kylie is like on one condition...u sneak me past the palace walls and let me see the outside world.

aGAIN STAS HAS NO CHOICE so she's like...Sigh...okay. and i think they have a wizard friend in the castle who charms kylie to look like a boy ( respectfully my ladyship she is so Well Endowed in the chest area and very femme so she cannot pass as a boy like stas can...rip so sorry ) so she can sneak out and not get caught BUUUT!!! the magic only lasts so long so she has to be back like within the hour? stas takes kylie to kupa keep at some point and its...very cute. pls clap.

LAST THING THIS IS THE VERY LAST THING I SWEAR YOU GUYS! so it's called to kill a king bc stas is supposed to kill gerald and not kylie which...stas does avoid asking abt it later bc shes in love with her i hate my life...but its bc she cannot ascend the throne bc shes a girl. again, i hate everything. choke and die gerald. WHICH WITH ANY HOPE!!! HE WILL!!!! MAYHAPS! but cartman is like nahhh i do not rlly care abt killing her she's not a threat?

but then she IS A THREAT bc she's getting in the way of the assassination attempt and stealing the piece of the stick of truth cartman needs to be all powerful and evil so cartman is like just kidding ur gonna have to kill her bestie, she's pissing me off. so he has stas...SLOWLY POISON HER??? w/ some kind of mushroom concoction that goes in her daily tea? and kylie is like oh! thank u stanley...but i think she knows stan is stas at that point bc theyre friends mayhaps...BUT ITS SLOWLY MAKING HER SICK. which is hard to notice bc its really slow to avoid suspicion, kylie is also super chronically ill...she has some sort of Illness the whole fic that makes her kind of weak and frail even tho her mind is strong to mimic kyles diabetes in sp? BUT OOOOOOF I HATE MY LIFE EVERYTHING SUX.

anyways for the 7934709324 time! STYLE TOXIC YURI!!!!

what do we think gayng??? are we rocking w it? *sweats*

-uncle nina, who has to stop coming up w/ crazy au ideas

p.s. i might...accidentally misgender stas and kylie or use stan or kyle by accident when answering questions...if i get them...bc i'm so used to my styles being masculine and boys. so if y'all could be patient with me, i'd really appreciate it bc *stas vc* I Am Only Human.

#I TALKED SOOOO MUCH ABOUT THIS #i went crazy stupid i fucking love the toxic style yuri sm #as a crazy bisexual bitch who wants a scary wendy testaburger gf this thrills me so much ( i fumbled airport girl so bad dont look at me ) #i love stas and kylie so much #also i hope we like my weird stas name choice i refused to have her go by...*wretches* sh*n or sh*nnon bc its rm!stans deadname #actually hideous its also not that cute #i think stas is cute and also its four letters like stan <3 #fair warning she does have to go by stan like most of the fic which is whack but a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do #which is assassinating the king of all kingdoms #and his annoying but mega fine daughter #when i tell u stas is down so bad like bestie my eyes are up here!!! i am crying she b losing her train of thought often #she do be getting whacked in the face by her lance and walking into walls STARING...go to jail stas...horny girl max security dungeon #BUT ANYWAYS DO WE THINK THIS IS COOL I THINK THIS IS SO COOL I AM SO FUCKING STOKED ON IT #me: BY THE GODS!!! WHAT IN SEVEN HELLS #i'm sorry if this was way too much information i got really excited i hope u are also hooked and excited #UNCLE NINA TSOOOOOOOOT

[chaoticly-shy-dragon]

...in my defense - I wanted to draw wings

@revenge-of-the-shit​ I hope you like them 

read Disconnected Conduit by Annessarose; seriously it’s one of the best eldritch trio - if not THE best - fic there is

(this person is still pretty bumped she can’t leave the thousand and ten kudos your work deserves nor does she have the social skills to express her admiration)

if you can clearly see these two you deserve a marksmanship medal or something– or maybe I'm just that blind of a bat *shrugs*

#the lower versions are supposedly darker/lighter #aka more glow or more squinting #they are truer to the sorce-matherial but incapable of being seen by the human eyes or without amping up the brightness #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #daughter! ahsoka #son! anakin #did i have fun drawing the wings? #hell yeah #also also also #it might be invisible but his limbs are purposefully with distorted proportions #they are enlongated and shadowy on purpose #the background in ahsoka's pics sucks and I know it #but I had no patience left to try and fix it #star wars #my art #eldritch anakin skywalker #eldritch ahsoka tano #fic rec #sw fic rec #eldritch anakin #mortis

[goldeneyedgirl]

ailesswhumper day 3: isolation

wait. (day 3: isolation).

twilight, alice/jasper, pg, canon au. no warnings.

I rewrote this one three times because I just could not get it right. Another one written for the Vibes.

Drip.

Drip.

She sits and waits. That is all that she has ever been able to do, for decades.

She can hear water dripping, as it always does. Perhaps it is raining. She’s too far underground to truly know.

The others have fallen silent lately. No wailing or yelling or screaming. Even the curious ones with the heartbeats. Everything is so still. They don’t even have guards much anymore. Why bother? There’s no fight left in any of them.

She sits and she waits, and she thinks about the stars.

—

Her whole world is this cell, this darkness.

Sometimes they bring them humans, throw them in. They think it’s entertaining to watch the restrained ones try to make their kill, when movement is agonising and their limbs are trapped. There’s always mess; a hot, fresh layer over blood over the mould and stone, joining decades of dried blood layering the walls. Her cell holds an inch of two of reeking water, seeping up and tricking down, and the blood never settles in it.

It does rot though. The smell is an ugly one, but one she is used to.

She doesn’t hunt like the others. Her desperation turned to rage, turned to acceptance and then grief. Her visions show her the truth - this is where she will remain. There is no hope for anything better. So she waits til their guards get bored, til the other meals are dead. She looks towards the human, stricken with terror and shaking, who might beg and plead with her, they might pray. And then, when they are hopeful, optimistic in her mercy, she moves swiftly. A swift end is merciful, and she can offer them that.

Other times, the meals have been dead for a while when they are offered, and the blood is rancid. But she is no fool, she eats what is offered when the others yell and holler and wail. Better to humble herself and hope that endears her enough for a privilege. Perhaps to free her arms. Or to be moved out of the permanent damp of her cell.

Sometimes the meals are just rats and squirrels, barely a mouthful to sustain them. Sometimes the meals don’t come at all and she is quite certain that they’ve been forgotten.

—

1920-ish she was reborn. A blank slate, a girl with no past, scarlet eyed and full of dreams. Mostly of a boy with golden hair, a crooked smile, and the name he would bestow upon her on his lips.

Jasper.

Alice.

He was perfect. He was all that she would ever want, but she had to wait for him. And if she did and could, then she would have him forever. They would have a family, one that treasured them. It was going to be beautiful and she was going to be so happy. So loved. She wasn’t going to be alone anymore.

And then she fucked up. She fucked up and made a mess and when the Volturi came for her, she had to go with them. Underneath Aro’s kind words and promises was a threat: either she joined them in Volterra, a prisoner for her crimes, or she could be destroyed for her failure to uphold the laws. He wanted her for her gift, of course, for that ability to see all that was to come.

She still had hope back then. That maybe everything could be fixed. That maybe something could still be beautiful.

If she could go back now, she would beg for death. Swift and finite.

That was her dream now. The quiet finality of everything.

Maybe one day.

—

The days and weeks and months and years run together. She moves to eat, but not much else. Her arms ache from being forced into the unnatural position; she didn’t know that vampires’ arms could ache.

Aro doesn’t visit anymore; she has nothing left to show him, and nothing he did to her would make that change. Dimitri doesn’t either; she doubts that she is very desirable anymore. She is no longer good sport for the twins. Some days she wonders if she is truly forgotten down here.

Drip.

Drip.

Sometimes she wonders if Aro regrets anything that he’s done. That if he could go back, things would be different. But then, he sees things very differently. He’s made it very, very clear that if cannot have something, no one gets to have it.

She just wants a little. A little sunshine, dry feet, and ability to stretch her arms out again.

He just wants to devour everything whole.

—

The castle shakes.

It’s enough to jolt all of them out of the fugue. She makes the mistake of looking up, her bones cracking with pain at the motion, and she might whimper. The noise sounds odd to her ears.

Some of the others yell, for help and for fear. The ones with the funny heartbeats, they are crying again. That doesn’t happen much anymore - she surprised all three are still alive. The castle rumbles again, and she wonders if they will be buried underneath it all.

She stays seated. Hopefully the castle will burn and take all of them with it. She has no intention of leaving her cell, and even less to fight to protect the hallowed halls of the Volturi.

They cannot hear anything, of course. They do not know what is happening. Some of the ones that are still strong have patchy, slow conversations about it. Some of them holler and wail. It has been a while between meals. But most of them are silent, waiting.

The rumbles continue, dust and rock falling upon them like snow. Something falls, one of the great towers of Volterra with an almighty bang that even they hear.

It sounds like an ending, like something very, very final.

She doesn’t bother to hope it will matter.

—

It is a long time before they see anyone again. They are starving. The ones that holler growl and whine as the footsteps come closer.

The dripping has stopped. The water around her is still, stagnant and reeking. There is still pain, she is still imprisoned. She’s not sure she even remembers how to stand.

And then there is yelling. New yelling. It is not any of the old guards, no one that she knows. They smell different, move different.

She doesn’t care. It’s been decades, new recruits are rare but unheard of.

“They’re alive!” Yells one man, a new man. “Get the Major and Edward down here, now!”

The others beg for blood, beg for sustenance.

She doesn’t even go closer to the cell door.

She misses the dripping water.

—

It is chaos for hours. There are so many people in their chamber, bagged blood that is quickly offered. She can hear the cell doors pulled down, limbs cracked back into alignment, cries and growls and shrieks. The others beg for freedom, beg to be the next one that is pulled out of their dark little pits and brought up the stairs.

These new people are kind, she can hear it in their voices as they piece the others together. They smell… clean. It’s a nice smell. She has questions, why they are here but also, it doesn’t matter.

There is a small amount of terror nestled in her heart, about what comes next. What could be worse. But of course, there is nothing else she can do. She cannot run, she cannot hide, she cannot do anything but sit here and wait.

So that’s what she does. The dripping might have stopped, but the sound of voices… that works just as well.

—

“There’s one left, in the end cell.”

She makes herself smaller as she hears the cell door straining and pulling free. She does not look over, does not acknowledge whomever walks through, stepping straight down into the sludgy water.

“Hello?”

The voice. It’s like everything suddenly comes into focus. She wonders if she’s finally gone insane. She cannot move. It is not fair. Either her mind has finally broken into sharp little pieces, or fate has decided to remind her of all those beautiful things she nearly had.

“Hello?” He moves closer, the water churning.

It takes everything she has to look up. To bend the way she needs to with her arms in such a position.

And when she looks up, she sees him.

Him.

Jasper.

And he’s perfect and golden and all she dreamt of. He is the light looming over her, staring down at her with curious but hard eyes.

Her voice crackles, hoarse from lack of use. She can only stare up at him, her neck at such an awkward angle. He is not a warm man, he just stares back.

“You made me wait so goddamn long, Jasper Whitlock.”

—

#ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptober prompt 3: isolation #alice cullen #jasper hale #jalice #twilight fan fiction #my fic: whumptober2023 #my fic: one-shots #alice as aro's prisoner #a lot of fun details got taken out #like alice's fucked up eyes and all the torture #what's up with her arms #that joham and his daughters are down there #just vibes again

[izzystizzys]

the usual izzy gets surprised by not having had menopause yet and a baby trope but adding in a twist: it happens pre-canon and by the time he gets unceremoniously dumped off the ship, he’s known for at least a month

just. increasingly tense izzy, who not only has to deal with not being able to keep anything in his body and worse nausea than he had even in his first week on a ship, but also can’t sleep marinating in the familiar coldness between him and ed that suddenly grates all over again. who’s forced to contend with the idea that something might finally force them out of this stalemate, and he doesn’t know if he wants that really or what outcome scares him the most, and it makes him pissier than a rabid cat soaking wet most days

and then it happens anyways, in an entirely different way that didn’t even require izzy to voice all of his fears and lay bare their problems, because stede fucking bonnet did that with his mere presence. no need to admit to his fear of being abandoned now, is there, is all he can think bitterly over a mug of fucking water of all things in jackie’z.

#ofmd fic idea #edizzy #kind of #my steddyhands loving brain wants it to end up there but idk how #in my angstridden mind this can go several ways #obvs he still sees jack and obvs the prick knows immediately #now: does jack run off and tattle or stay and help? #either way in my mind izzy has lost all will to fight his way back to ed’s side via navy fuckeries in this #discovering he has other priorities than ed now is a shock to him more than anyone #anyways option one jack still makes it onto the revenge drunkenly ripping ed a new one in the most incomprehensibly strange way #halfway through he’s like oops you’re not supposed to know that izzy’s pregnant! #ed: izzy’s pregnant???? #jack (sweating): i didn’t say that #which brings on a merry goose chase because izzy is a wanted man in his own right #and also not in the mood to talk to anyone #option two: jack does NOT scurry off to the revenge #i envisage ed still going ham in this bcs one he discovers functioning without izzy’s shit and two there were issues there brewing already #years later the crew (slowly but steadily piecing itself together) raids a ship and finds a screaming five-year-old in its brig #completely impossible to miss that she is an exact carbon copy of ed from the hair down to the scowl and eyes and- #well it’s very unsettling is all #as are the promises that if they don’t help her her papa will disembowel them all #‘a toddler should not know that word!!!’ lucius insists #meanwhile izzy going insane having temporarily commandeered jack’s current ship in search of his beloved daughter #comedy of errors type thing where the revenge crew are forced to become temporary babysitters to the absolute hellion raised by izzy hands #truly only he could create such horrors (affectionate)

[luucypevensie]

🦙 + my history babe Lizzie? 🩷

YAS, THE BB HISTORY NERD! THANK YOU FAE! Tagging @ginger-grimm because Ik she loves Lizzie too

1. Their go-to song to cry to: Landslide by The Chicks (she loves the Fleetwood Mac version too, but the Chicks are HER band and their version always manages to get her choked up because it makes her think about her parents)

2. Their love language: Lizzie’s a physical touch girlie; she needs constant hugs from family and friends in order to survive the day (it also doesn’t hurt that she gives the best hugs)

3. Their favorite holiday movie: The Holiday (she ADORES Jack Black, and prefers watching his scenes with Kate Winslet because of their amazing chemistry)

4. Their pettiest moment: After getting punished for punching that classmate saying all the rude things about Ben and the Gates family, Lizzie might’ve…accidentally slipped a little rumor that the classmate’s father (who was in politics) might’ve been banging his secretary. The rumor spread like wildfire, and when it turned out to be true, it made it all the more sweeter

5. Their favorite ‘60’s song: Dream A Little Dream Of Me by The Mamas & The Papas

6. Their nicknames: Lizzie, Liz, History Nerd (by most of the school population), Crazy Girl (by Will affectionately)

7. Their go-to karaoke song: I Want It That Way by the Backstreet Boys

8. A color you associate with them: Pink or Black

9. An event from their Prom night: Will had asked her to be his Prom Date (they had just started going out), and he went all out to make it special. Her corsage had a poppy in it (her favorite flower), they went to her favorite restaurant for dinner (a Vietnamese restaurant), and he was able to request their song (I’ll Be by Edwin McCain) at the dance

10. Their favorite wild animal: Snowy owls

#oc: elizabeth chase #fic: through my own eyes #f: national treasure #u: disney #oc asks #daughter-of-melpomene #THANKS AGAIN FAE

[ssspork]

“You have angered our god, she doesn’t like how you mock her, she had told us to cleanse you. Than, maybe, you’ll be forgiven. You’d rather be killed by wolves, by us, than burned, no? Little sheep.” -edgyiest saddest wettest cat ever who’s a little too fucked up for redemption

This drawing actually has a lot of symbolism hidden in it, try and find it all. But to find some, ull need just the tiniest bit of lore, just a smigen. About 800 years ago, there was a huge silentfeather(one of the dragon species) massacre, killing just about 12,000 dragons in just under 6 hours, all by one dragon. A scorcher (the only kind of dragon able to breath fire, essentially a wizard, but with every spell, they lose a bit of sanity, originally body but it was changed by that exact scorcher) who was nic named, “The Great Scorcher”. The Silentfeathers who survived either followed their new queen, Lotus, as the old queen just died, into hiding, because the Whiptails(another dragon species) would probably invade as soon as they heard. The ones who didn’t, most of whom, adored the great scorcher, amazed by her pure power, and decided that if they worshiped her, they might be granted those same powers. Every so often, a dragon born in their cult looked close to the great scorcher, and was deemed the next leader, being told that they could speak to the great scorcher, that everything they believed, she believed as well. But often, dragons outside of their cult would look like the great scorcher, which the cult took offense to, they would kill them as soon as possible, saying that if they didn’t kill that dragon, that dragon would be maimed much worse by the great scorcher than by them, like doing them a favor. The cult believes that a dragon, only one born identical to the great scorcher, in the cult, will be the great scorcher again, and when she grows up, she’ll give the cultist the same powers she has.

The character in the drawing is named Char.

#tw: eye contact #art #oc #I’m actually going to make a tag for this story I have #the daughter of the sky #boom there #every post from now on about this story will have this tag #charlatan #this is hardly scratching the surface in lore #this was actually going to be a wof fan fic like 2 years ago #it’s changed so much:’) #hint for some symbolism: turn up the brightness #I’m so sorry for the long word dump😞 the sutims got to me #oc art #my ocs #he is actually so fucking sad #like the saddest most pathetic thing ever

[peakvincent]

still feeling quite feral about julia hart................ you guys know how in astolat’s witcher fics, emhyr is always playing games so far ahead that not everyone else even knows it’s a game yet? i want that to be malakai black and i want julia to be the game he’s playing!! i want there to be a Purpose yet unrevealed!! i want her to have freaky ritual pagan magic potential that he recognized in her!! i want him to have seen that she’s got power like he does and be the one to unlock it! i want it to turn out that that eyepatch is covering a bright icy blue eye just like his and i want them to be LINKED about it--!!!! i want them to be able to do something together they couldn’t do APART--

#* #everyone's talking about adopt a daughter this house of black gets a daughter that #open your eyes and see the SEX-- #it's a dove funeral turn around #one day i'll be smited for my thoughts but not today #also if you don't know about astolat's witcher fics then you're fucking welcome go enjoy your friday with some all time greats

[tariah23]

I’ve been writing some goiji and it made me think of you! I hope you have been having a decent time. Ijichi nation is rising 🫡

This ask is akin to dangling my favorite treats in front of my face, I feel like a cat about to attempt to wake up their owner because they’re hungry AF

#tkf replies #anonymous #anon I made a loud groan I’m the only one in this apartment rn I can’t take this anymore #thank you for your service…….. I want to cry oh my god what is the story about is it a long one is it short is it iS ITJSJSJSKKS #let me be normal rn *straigtens my tie* erm where were we- #catnip to me… #fellow goiji warrior this was delightful to see in my inbox I can’t take it tho- #I’ve sketched up some future goiji stuff myself they have a daughter she’s like almost as tall as gojo and he’s of course annoying as hell #in her eyes #I need to fix her design because she’s looking too much like megumi for some reason and that was not my intention lol #it’s just that she has Ijichi’s hair and eye color #and her hair is short and spiky like or wavey like Gojo’s… but it’s like I drew megumi ☠️ #i’m delusional #I want to write some stuff soon… I’ve written a lot of ideas and scenarios down but haven’t tackled anything yet outside of a text fic that #that I need to go back and edit but I’d like to post that soon… eek #crazy about them #hope you’ve been well!!! #it’s getting cold out here so make sure to bundle up appropriately if you’re able to and if it is cold where you stay!

[astraystayyh]

pieces of you

single dad!chan. x fem!reader

genre : neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. mutual pining. 8.7k wc

summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated 🤍 the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!

winter falls masterlist.

i. 

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Shh, daddy smile.”

Soft murmurs linger just beyond your door, elusive words that could easily be dismissed as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks, jolting you from your momentary contemplation. 

A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attire—a loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever's behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground in a soft descent.

“What–” the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She's clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand. 

“Hey there,” your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor's muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you. 

“Hi, my dad wants to tell you something,” she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure. 

“Your dad?”

“Mm. He’s a bit shy, that’s why he’s hiding,” she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth. 

“And you aren’t shy?” you inquire, tilting your head. 

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh. 

She isn't shy because she feels protected.

You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes.  

He’s beautiful. 

Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.

“Sorry for bothering you,” a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.

“I'm your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually  don’t have flour,” he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips. 

“You didn’t check beforehand?” you ask, laughter tinting your voice. 

“I forgot,” he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.

“Can we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said it’s too cold out,” he asks, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder soothingly. 

“It is too cold out,” you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support. 

“And of course, I'll bring you flour. Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?”

“It's okay, we'll wait here. Don’t want to intrude.” 

“Thank you!” Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display. 

“Yeah, thank you so much…” he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.

“Yn. And you?”

“Chris.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if you’re grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes can’t behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within. 

Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowon’s nose. “And nice to meet you too Rapunzel.” 

Your words make her hide behind her father’s leg, peeking out slightly to look at you. 

“See I'm not the only one who gets shy,” Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dad’s grey sweatpants. 

Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being. 

“She gets a pass, she's still young, right Sowon?”

“Are you calling me old then?” Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowon’s back. 

“Old enough to forget about flour,” you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers. 

“Touché.” 

A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracks– Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed. 

“Did she…” you whisper and he turns to you. 

“Yeah, fell asleep,” he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.”

“You don’t know how to make them?” 

“No, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,” he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you. 

“Well, keep the flour, in case you need it again.” 

“Thank you, Yn,” he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you. 

“You’re welcome Chris,” you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move. 

Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. “I'll get going.”

“Yeah, sleep well, Chris.”

“Thank you,” he smiles before turning around. 

An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you would’ve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen. 

One hour later 

You knock softly on Chris’ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight. 

“Hi,” you greet, hands behind your back. 

“Hey,” he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind. 

“Cookies,” you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips. 

“You made them?” 

“Yeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,” you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief. 

“You didn't have to do this,” he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears. 

“I know. I wanted to. and I'm a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don't worry about it,” you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before. 

“Thank you, Yn, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth. 

“No need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,” you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head. 

“No, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,” he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It's just them two. 

“Studio?” you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both. 

“I'm a music producer,” he clarifies. “I made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.” 

“I'm sure she appreciates that,” you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.

“I…. I'll get going.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.”

“I'll see you around.” 

“Yeah, I'll see you,” he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it. 

ii. 

“Can you wait!” a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you. 

You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chris— leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.

You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention. 

“Hey, Yn,” he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago. 

“Hey, Chris,” you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours. 

“The cookies were good,” he smiles softly and you grin. “I'm glad you think so.” 

“Where is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.” 

The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.

“I can text you the address?” you propose. 

“Yeah, here,” he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screen— their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.

“Cute picture,” you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly. 

“She insists on trying her makeup on me.” 

“She makes you look better,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek. 

“She wants to become a stylist,” he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.

“I find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,” he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying. 

“Let me guess, she wants to use these on you?”

“Yeah. She also said that I quote ‘need to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.’” He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her. 

“She has you wrapped around your finger,” you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten. 

“She can be very scary for such a little girl.” 

“What does she threaten you with?” you ask, feigning horror. 

“No goodnight kisses,” he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door. 

“Torture,” you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch? 

“Uhm,” you clear your throat, “I can help you. with her hair, I mean.” 

“You don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,” he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the world’s burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend. 

“I don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.” 

And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.

“Thank you,” he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well. 

“You’re welcome. Let me just change my clothes.” 

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

“And then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,” you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements. 

“It looks easy when you do it,” he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair. 

“Do you like it,” you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth. 

“Pretty!” she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. “You are pretty.”

“And you are pretty too. right, daddy?”

You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.

“Very much so,” he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Sowon suddenly climbs on her dad’s lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest. 

Were there red neon exits you weren’t aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someone’s hand, or to make everything you've ever wanted slip from your grasp?

“What do you think?” Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.

“I love it!” you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows. 

“Fun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,” he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. “Dad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.” 

“Oh, right,” he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, “then, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?”

“Will you watch a movie later with me?”

“Of course, baby.”

“Okay then,” she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue. 

“You can stay and watch the movie with us.”

“It's okay, I have some things to work on,” you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him. 

“We’re conditioned to say yes even when we aren’t, right?” he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your blood— which one will reach your heart first and flood it? 

Your facade cracks. His voice wins. 

“So, you don't have to reply now,” his thumb swipes once across your pulse. “But I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.” 

iii.

You’ve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.

“Should I start buying groceries for you?” you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the world’s eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years. 

“For my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,” he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Just with salt?”

“She added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,” he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly. 

Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.

It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You would’ve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didn’t know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris. 

“Can you please come over,” you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.

“Why are you whispering? are you okay?” he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture. 

“There is a cockroach. a flying one,” you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp. 

“I'm from Australia,” he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. “I've seen worse,” he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours. 

He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. “I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, “why does it feel like we went through war?” 

“We? You were behind my back all the time.”

 “I was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.”

 “I can’t believe a cockroach scares you this much.”

 “You literally screamed when it flied towards you too.”

 “I didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.”

 “Mm, sure,” you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him. 

And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night. 

“Let's watch Tangled,” Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly. 

“Baby, we watched this movie for the past…” he looks at you for support. “Three,” you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah, for the past three movie nights,” he whines slightly.

“But I love it,” she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. “Again! Again! Again!”

“Fine,” he concedes, mouthing “save me,” from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm naturally draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chris’ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality she’s ever known.

It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.

“She fell asleep,” you whisper, tapping Chris’ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter. 

“I'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,” he says apologetically and you shake your head. 

“I don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.” 

“Are you here just because of the movie?” he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. He’s cold and hot, in and out, yours but not. 

“What do you want me to be here for?” you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly. 

“The company.”

“I do find Sowon entertaining.”

“Just her?” he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back. 

“And you too, I suppose, by extension.”

“By extension, mm,” he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. “Then I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.”

“So sassy,” you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, “I like your company too, idiot.” 

“Yeah?” he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesn’t care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near. 

“Yeah, Chris, I really do,” you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly. 

He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. “Yn,” she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near. 

Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece that’ll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps he’d let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay. 

One week later. 

You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your home’s entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.

“Sowon,” he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead dipped in alarm. 

“Sowon?” you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.

“Yes, she has a high fever, and it won’t come down. I tried everything, and I-I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s shaking, but I can’t—”He trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse.  

“It’s okay,” you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. “Let’s go see her, okay?”

“It's her first time being this sick,” he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair. 

“It's okay. Don’t panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” he replies as you guide him towards her room.

“Good, it'll start working soon,” you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.

“Hey, Rapunzel,” you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.

“Cold,” she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. “I know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?”

“I-I’m shaking,” Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing. 

“Shh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,” you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.

“Chris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?” you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.

“Sure. Sure,” he repeats, scurrying out of the room.

Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.

“Thank you,” you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Sowon’s knee gently.

“Hey sweetheart,” he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face. 

“Hey daddy,” she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess. 

“You're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,” he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm. 

The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems. 

“I love you too,” she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowon’s eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling. 

You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.

“It's better now,” you smile reassuringly and Chris’s eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter. 

“Will she be okay?” 

“She will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.” 

“Okay, thank you.” 

“Can we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?” 

“Mm,” he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowon’s features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks. 

"She looks just like you," you softly smile.

"I know," he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.

“Chris…” you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up. 

“Let's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,” he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode. 

You get your answer soon after—it takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chris’s cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.

A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chris’s hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.

You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.

The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.

Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak. 

"Chris," you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on. 

“I'm a horrible father,” he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himself—an adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.

“You're not, what are you saying?” you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze. 

“I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.”

“It's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-”

“No, no, no, it's not just about this!” he snaps,  despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. “It’s hard. It’s so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.” 

“You're wrong,” you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. “Chris, you're wrong,” you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears. 

“You love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.” 

“What if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?” he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away. 

“She loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.”

You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.

“If I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,” you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

“You won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,” you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. “To be cared for.” 

Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak of— Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek. 

“Why are you apologizing?” 

“So you'd find a reason within you to forgive,” he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before. 

Five days later.

chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?

yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years

chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs

chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didn’t mean it like that ㅠㅠ 

chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspired 

yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help? 

chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiring 

You don’t reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock. 

“What are you working on?” you ask once you’re settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. “A song for Sowon,” he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide. 

“That is so sweet,” you pout, inching closer to him. “How is it going?”

“I've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.” 

“Can I read what you wrote?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he searches through his papers. “Here.”

May these words be the first to find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best

And I'll do better

Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart. 

“I'm sorry,” you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and he’s kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago. 

Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. “Is it so bad it made you sob?” 

“Shut up, you know this isn’t the case.” 

His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.

“Talk to me?” 

“It's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,” a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. “Everything my parents never felt for me.” 

Chris’ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes. 

“I don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chan’s hold on your hands tightens. “It stings to remember what could’ve been.” 

Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away? 

“Come here,” he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own. 

“You grew up well, Yn. You did well.”

You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch. 

“Love can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.” 

He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin. 

“You’re doing well too, Chris. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much,” your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. “Sowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.”

“Is that what she told you that movie night?”

“Partly,” you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close. 

“What else did she tell you?” he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.

You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.

“She thanked me, said that I make you smile more.” You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Do I?” 

“There are smile lines that don’t show on my face until you're near.” 

“Oh.” That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. “Cute,” he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.

“Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,” you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chris’s laptop. “I wanna hear this,” you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.

“This one? It’s not really good, let's listen to something else,” his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.

connected.mp3 starts playing. 

Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isn’t you. 

You wished to be the only one Chris liked. 

“It’s a- a demo for one of my clients,” he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your body’s temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out. 

So, you put on your best taunting smirk.

“I know you want me don’t crumble.. No need to be desperate we’re just getting started,” you sing-song back. “You were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?” you grin, inching your chair closer to his. “Feeling yourself, Mr. Bang?”

He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.

“It’s cute how affected you seem by it,” he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.

“I'm not,” you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. “I think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,” you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair. 

“I was thinking of a pretty girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. “The prettiest.”

"Who is she?" you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of anger.

“y–” The door suddenly opens, Sowon’s small frame standing by the door, she’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.

“Daddy, I can't sleep,” she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until she’s buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.

“Want me to sing to you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold. 

“Sleep well, Sowonnie,” you whisper. 

“Can’t you stay with us?” she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.

To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you aren’t opposed to it. 

You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could. 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep.” 

Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till you’re no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date. 

iv. 

You’re avoiding him. 

Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that you’re tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks. 

Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chris’ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh. 

He misses you. He never thought he’d miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up for– one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory. 

He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.

He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles away– your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you. 

He’d remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyes– the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughter’s rambles.

How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?

“Dad?” Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. She’s sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks, walking over to her side.

“Where is Ynnie?” she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.

“I don't know, baby.”

“Does she not want to play with me anymore?” Sowon whispers, and he doesn’t remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question. 

“No!” he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowon’s face between his much larger hands. “Of course not baby she loves you a lot.”

“Okay…” she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.

“Do you wanna work in the studio with me?” he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. “Yes!” 

“Finish your food first, okay Wonnie?” 

“Okay!” 

In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.

So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he would’ve knocked much sooner. 

“Hi,” you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowon’s bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.

“You're avoiding me,” he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.

“I'm not,” you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.

"Look at me, hm?" he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. "Yn, please, I want to look at you."

Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him. 

And then you speak.

“You asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,” you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. “Do you still want to know my answer?”

“Of course, always.”

“I'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,” you chuckle dryly, “but it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I… I can't, I-“

“What if I ask you to stay?” he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.

He’s as scared as you are.

“Chris…”

“What if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,” he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Would you? Would you stay?”

“I'm terrified,” you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm. 

“I know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.”

He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I'm staying.”

“You are?”

“I am,” you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile. 

“Um, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,” his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.

“Thank you for asking me to stay.”

“You made it less daunting,” he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Whaaat? I'm not,” his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly. 

“What happened to connected Chris?” 

“He is flustered by the girl he wrote about.”

Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place. 

“I think the girl should get paid for being the muse.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, “I'll think about it.” His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. “Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, yn.”

You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again. 

you win. 

“I forgot something,” he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. “My hope,” he whispers, as his lips find yours again, “my missing piece.”

He’s hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.

bonus (one year later). 

“So I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,” Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face. 

“How much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?” you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.

“And… Wait, where is the flour?” he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly. 

“Daddy, you are really bad at groceries.”

“Am I?” he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chris’ name.

“Yes, it’s good Mom bought it,” she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both. 

It's her first time calling you mom. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"

“Yes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.”

“What happened to being a stylist?”

“I can't be both?” she frowns innocently. 

“You can be anything you want, princess.” you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. 

In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.

He’ll propose to you tomorrow.

#skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids angst #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #stray kids imagine #stray kids reactions #skz angst #skz fanfic #chan fluff #chan x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan fluff #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz au

[supercutszns]

Hi!! Just had to drop in and say I LOVED your Luke fic and I can’t wait for more. I would love protective Luke with hurt/comfort, if that sounds interesting at all. Thanks for sharing your writing!!! 🌸

fighting chance; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 4.2k, luke castellan x daughter of ares! reader

synopsis: when an enemy takes advantage of your kindness during capture the flag, luke intervenes with a sword in hand.

warnings: a creepy boy👎, threats/harm to reader, she’s going through it, blood/injuries (nothing major), angry ANGRY luke, violence, lots of fluff/reassurance at the end<3

notes: thank you SO much for your kind words & your request!! hurt/comfort is my bread and butter my favourite fic genre of all time i think. & protective luke is just a bonus bc he’s already crazy so it can go as far as i want🤭 i’m not exactly sure what this turned into but if i fix it any more i'm going to go insane so hope you like it!

You’re not much of a fighter.

That alone is a normal thing to admit—plenty of people don’t like violence, the frisson of a challenge, the bruises that come with them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Unless you’re a child of Ares.

People at camp often ridicule your gentle nature when they see you with your half-siblings. They’re all gritted teeth and sharp edges, born warriors that take up all the space they can get. You, on the other hand, are lousy with weapons and even lousier with your fists. You’re quiet, attentive. While your siblings charge into battle without second thought you stay back, flitting around to adjust armour, change out weapons, oversee the terrain. Planning isn’t Ares’ style so you’re pretty much useless but nobody wants to admit it. You’re usually mistaken as a child of Hephaestus or Athena.

Unfortunately, you are a child of Ares, through and through—just in none of the ways that matter.

There are rare times your father’s influence peeks through. Not with bursts of rage or fists flying, but with thoughts. And sometimes those thoughts turn into words. Well, not sometimes. One time. This one.

The evening before the camp’s Capture the Flag game, every cabin gathered around the bonfire past dinner. To burn offerings, to chat, or in Luke Castellan’s case, to admire.

He watches you laugh with Clarisse from a distance. The Ares cabin leader always had a certain fondness for you. When Luke first started dating you he had to ask Clarisse for her blessing beforehand just to be sure she wouldn’t kill him. He’d do it a million times over just for the moment you look back, your face warming when you catch his stare. He rolls his eyes at you to lessen his smile, but he’s not sure it works. You giggle and turn back to your friend.

He’s always loved your softness; your capacity to defend and not attack. Your body rejects any skill you could possibly develop for violence. Believe him, he’s tried to teach you sword fighting, but the last time he gave you a lesson you nearly impaled yourself thirty seconds in. He loves your wit and your tenderness, your proficiency at preventing conflict, your refusal to argue. But a selfish part of him loves the fact that he’s your protector even more.

The night wears on with the flickers of fire and friendly banter. One of the times Luke looks back at you, his brows wrinkle. There’s a guy talking to you. A group of them, actually, but there’s one clearly leading the pack. Some Aphrodite kid. Luke’s jaw twitches.

“Hey, princess,” the voice makes you pull away from your talk with Clarisse, but you’re confused. Luke is the only one that calls you that.

“Um, me?” You ask when you see the boy in front of you. He’s tall, chest puffed out. It’s not an endearing silhouette. “What’s up?”

“You wanna be on my team for Capture the Flag tomorrow?” He asks nonchalantly.

You laugh politely, “Sorry, but I don’t think we’re allied with Aphrodite tomorrow. That’s your cabin, isn’t it?” You feel bad that you can’t remember—his face is so … plain.

He chuckles back, but it’s a lot less nice. “No, doll, that’s not what I mean.” He steps a little too close, and even though you know Clarisse is behind you it feels like she’s a thousand miles away. “Well,” he drawls, a smirk drawn out, “you meet me in the forest after we start, and then we can … you know. Confer.”

“Confer?”

“Yeah. You get what I mean, pretty girl, don’t play dumb.”

A revulsion coats your gut. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me that,” you say as firmly as you can.

“What, pretty or dumb? Why not both?”

It’s demeaning, the way he says it, and it stirs a temper in your stomach you know you inherited from your father. You’re not big on confrontation. Or embarrassment. But this weirdo is talking to you out in the open and people are starting to stare. He wouldn’t dish it out if he can’t take it, right?

“I’ll pass on your offer. I have a boyfriend and I’m actually on his team tomorrow, so I’d rather confer with him, sorry.” Your hands wring together but you do your best to quell them, imagining it’s the string of Luke’s camp necklace, threaded between your fingers. You try to look for him out of the corner of your eye.

He snickers, even though it’s common knowledge you and Luke have been together for months now. “So you are dumb, huh?” He tries to smirk and you assume is supposed to be sexy, but it’s just gross. His hand tries to slide around your waist.

“Don’t touch me, please,” you hit his hand away. Your skin is crawling and the knot inside you tightens.“Just leave me alone. People are looking, you know.”

“We could go somewhere where nobody looks,” he sneers, and the grin on his face is so sleazy that you just can’t stand it anymore.

You pray to your father for strength. And to yourself for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, are you stupid or something? I told you, no.” You snap. “Maybe you’re the pretty dumb one, but for a child of Aphrodite it’s shocking how little the first one applies.”

His eyes are wide, and the posse he’d assembled behind him has attracted quite the view. You almost feel like crying, all these eyes on you, but you’re so sick of people thinking they can walk all over you just because you’re not like your siblings.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m just trying to be nice—” He grabs your wrist as you leave but you yank it hard.

“Don’t. Touch me.” People are staring at you now, but the only one you care about is Luke, who looks equally ticked and equally proud, and all you want to do is kiss him. “Hope the only time we confer tomorrow is if somebody’s sword is at your throat.”

It’s the last thing you say to him. He starts to go after you but Luke is already at your heels. “Back off, man.” You can spot how all his muscles are already rearing themselves for a fight. You wrap a hand around his wrist, and he meets your eyes. Not now.

The altercation is lost the second the two of you leave the bonfire. Nothing matters when Luke has you in his arms, kissing you outside of your cabin, telling you how damn beautiful you looked.

You’re fixing a new Ares boy’s armour when Luke finds you. “Hey, angel,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. He relishes in the way your face heats up. “You ready for battle?”

You smile, “Always.” You pat the kid on the cheek and send him on his way. He gnashes his teeth and roars, joining his siblings at the front. Luke catches the longing in your expression.

“All good?” He asks gently.

It takes you a second for your eyes to meet his. “Mmhm,” you swallow. “Just hope his armour doesn’t fall off.”

Luke sighs for a moment, then wraps his arms around you. “He’ll be fine, sweetheart. Be safe, okay? Stay close.” He kisses your temple, rubbing circles on the nape of your neck.

“Yes sir,” you reply against his chest. His insides flutter.

He pulls your face up to his and kisses you, tender and wanting. “Let’s show these hooligans who’s boss,” he quips.

“You’ll show them. I’ll hide in the woods until some idiot comes along and tries to ambush you.”

Your dulcet tone has him wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even know it. “You’ve always got my back,” he croons, kissing your brow.

“And you’ve always got our flag.”

You kiss him again and he lets you slip out of his arms no matter how badly he wants to keep you there forever. He watches you vanish into the trees, and his heart goes with you.

He gears up with his team and the horn sounds. Game on.

There’s yelling, sweat, adrenaline, and Luke embraces it all like a man starved. This is his chance to be ruthless, to let all his untapped rage cycle through him. This is why he’s unstoppable. This is why he’s the best.

Clarisse is unusually cooperative today, but competent as always, and whenever someone’s weapon breaks or they lose their team she just barks at them to go find you. You, the smartest person in Ares, who can mend a weapon with nothing but blades of grass and determination. Luke is pretty sure your cabin would be lost without you. He wonders if you know.

The groove of the game has fully enthralled him. He’s alert, his wrist nimble, his sword a living, breathing part of him. There’s almost nothing that can take him out of his victory path until he hears one of the younger campers tell Clarisse he can’t find you anymore.

Whatever nincompoop he’s dealing with is left groaning on the floor. “What?” He barks, hand flexing around his sword. “Where is she?”

“Probably just moved,” Clarisse grunts as she kicks back an opposing camper. “She knows where everything is. Maybe she’s—oof—safer.”

“But how am I supposed to fix my spear?” The kid frowns.

Luke runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth, dry and laden with salt. He told you to stay close. Where would you go? “I’ll find her,” he decides, already sheathing his sword to walk towards the trees.

“Luke—”

“I’ll find her!”

He barely pays attention to the calamity going on around him. With a flick of his wrist he knows he can take out any person he wants. The second he gets to the trees, where the air is cooler, it’s startling how much quieter it is. No wonder this is your preferred hiding spot.

He thanks the quiet a thousand times over because if it had been any louder he wouldn’t have heard you scream.

It’s so short it’s almost indiscernible, but he knows it’s you based on how his body movies before his brain does. It snaps something in him, the adrenaline transformed into something acerbic, determined.

“Don’t fucking scream again.” A cluster of boys are stationed around you. You’re leaning back in the dirt. You barely feel the earth sticking to your skin. Just your heart jostling madly, your fingertips shaking in the ground beside you. “Okay, I won’t, just put the sword down—”

The snarling Aphrodite boy from last night takes a swing at you, and you scramble back just enough to avoid it. “No can do, doll.” His face is twisted with rage. The lackeys he had when you told him off are there too, cornering you against a cluster of trees like you’re some caged animal. There’s a dagger clenched in one of your dirt-ridden fists but you know it won’t do you any good. You can’t fight; you don’t have it in you. But these boys do. And they’re angry.

“Tell me where the flag is,” he orders. The tip of his blade comes under your chin, fogging up with the labours of your breath, your head pressed against the trunk of a tree.

You stutter, “You’re not—You’re not supposed to threaten like this—”

“You embarrassed me in front of all those people yesterday,” he cuts you off. “Thinking you’re so fucking smart. I didn’t even say anything that big a deal but you run your mouth to the entire camp and make me look like the idiot. I thought you were nice.”

The words are laced with poison. You know from the wild look in his eyes that this isn’t about the flag at all.

Tears sting your eyes and the sword grazes your throat. Of course this is happening to you. The one time you feel your father’s rage, when you exemplify the thing you’re told to be, you are punished.

You are never going to be the right kind of daughter.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you try to say it evenly, but your breath is so ragged it’s barely audible. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said all that.” You mean it, but they won’t care.

The boy’s face looks pleased at your tears. It makes you inexorably ashamed. “Some fucking Ares kid,” he snorts. “Can’t even fight, can you? Can’t even pretend to.” His sword leaves your throat and travels up to your quivering jaw. You’re wordless, white-knuckling the dagger at your side, praying that Luke is somewhere nearby.

“No wonder they stash you back here. You’re useless.” His eyes scan every part of you, and the idea of him knowing what you look like forever is so revolting it makes you want to vanish. “Too bad you’re alone, though. Nobody’s gonna know I was here because nobody’s gonna hear you.”

Your eyes get wide, and something in your mind rumbles through you like an engine. An urge buried in your blood.

Your dagger tears into his leg just as his sword dashes your arm. The pain is sharp, stinging, but the boy winces and you know you hurt him too. It gives you just enough time to roll out of the way as he lurches forward. “The fuck is wrong with you?” He swears.

Blood drips onto your shorts, splotched with tears. You know you can’t go anywhere because his friends are here and you’re almost certain you’ll be maimed, but you tried. At least you tried.

The Aphrodite boy picks his sword back up, stalks towards you, and then freezes.

Because Luke has just spotted you. And he’s spotted the boy that has you on the ground.

And he’s the best fucking swordsman Camp Half-Blood has seen in three hundred years.

“If you don’t get away from her right now I’m putting this through your skull.” He emerges from the foliage, his sword raised, sweat dripping down his face. You have never seen anyone look angrier. He has never felt angrier.

The boy blanches, and Luke sees how easily his lapdog friends shrink in his presence. Good.

“Woah, easy,” the boy holds his hands up in mock surrender and tries to flash a smile but it’s just fucking pathetic. His arms are shaking and his throat bobs about a million times. “We’re just playing the game.”

“Like hell you are,” Luke spits. “You gang up on my girlfriend and you expect me to believe this is fair play? Want me to tie you all together and push one of you off a cliff to keep the spirit going?”

“Didn’t know she was yours,” the boy tries to shrug but again, it’s a miserable attempt that only makes Luke feel stronger.

“Not that it matters but yes, you do,” Luke chuckles thickly. “I beat your ass in sword training last week. You know exactly who I am. And I’m sure you know who you are, so it’s obvious you’re playing out of your league here.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees you still cowering, blood dribbling down your arm. He wants to tear the world apart. “Apologize and maybe I don’t send you to the infirmary.”

“We just want the flag, man,” the boy swallows.

“And I want your head on a stick. Want to see who gets what first?”

It’s too provocative an insult for a moron like this to ignore, so soon Luke has the pleasure of disarming five bitter boys that have clearly never been good at a single thing in their life. He tears through them like sheets of paper, knocking them to the dirt, ripping their clothes. He thinks of you, just you, your honest heart and patient hands, and it’s enough to fuel him for a millennia.

The last boy, the leader, is at Luke’s mercy, and he has none to give. The flat of Luke’s blade is pressed horizontally against the boy’s neck, an angering similarity to the position he had you in earlier. “If you ever do this again, I’m going to kill you.”

“You’re—fucking—crazy—” The boy wheezes, the length of the blade squeezing his throat against a tree trunk. “I’ll—I‘ll tell Chiron.”

Luke has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep him from doing something he regrets. “Oh yeah? You want me to tell Chiron how you harassed and terrorised a girl in the middle of the forest all in the name of play? Want me to tell him what you said to her last night at the campfire? Because I’m sure it won’t take much for him to get rid of your ugly face as it is, and I’m a camp counsellor.”

He knows it’s not the most morally correct use of his title. He knows he might be stepping over the line. But he also knows you’re always being ignored or trampled over and he’s tired of pretending like he doesn’t give a damn. He’s tired of people trying to force you into something you’re not. Of you crying in his bed at night because they’re trying to drag a violence out of you that isn’t there. Always in the name of fucking play.

Luke takes the sword off the boy’s neck and shoves him backwards. His calf is bleeding, not a deep wound, but a wound nonetheless, and Luke is full of pride when he realizes you did that. The boy’s bad leg makes him wobble and fall at the force of the push. Luke enjoys watching the scramble. “I—I was just trying to be nice, it’s not my fault she took it the wrong way!” The boy flails his hands in the air, rising to his feet again, and Luke shoves him down twice as hard. A piece of his shirt tears off in Luke’s hand.

“You’ve gotta stop talking or I really am going to kill you,” he seethes. “Don’t touch her ever again. Go.”

Luke is sure he looks homicidal right now because the guy finally tumbles his way down the hill. His body fades into the distance, swallowed up by shrubbery and sweat.

The second he’s gone Luke tosses his sword and armour and gets back to you. “Shit,” he mutters, kneeling down. You’re still shaking, your head in your arms, and all his hatred morphs into a love so desperate it terrifies him. “Angel, come here. Let me see.” He lifts your face with his hands and scans you rapidly. “Did he hurt you anywhere else? Anywhere?”

“Just my arm,” you whimper. “My arm.”

He knows it’s not the cut that’s hurting you; it’s long, but thin, and it’s not bleeding too thickly. He takes the cloth from the Aphrodite boy’s shirt and wraps it around your arm, knotting it at the end. “All right, that should be better.”

You look at him with watery eyes, and he knows all you need is for him to hold you. He folds you in his arms and leans against a stump. You can’t get close to him fast enough. The tip of your nose buries itself in his neck and he feels the dampness of your cheeks on his skin. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re safe,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

Guilt swaths over him for a brief moment; he wonders if he shouldn’t have done all that, if he should’ve been more sensible. Then your lips form a ‘thank you’ against his skin and all is forgotten.

You feel so small. The shock is still running its course, so all you can do is cry it out. Your hands still shake when you thread your fingers through Luke’s necklace to steady them. He soothes you the best he can, running his hand along your spine, all the sharpness of his voice softened just for you. “You’re all right, angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

You stay like that for a while. The sounds of the forest return to you; leaves in the wind, birds chirping, Luke’s breath tickling your hair. You crane your head up to nuzzle your nose against the faint stubble of his jaw. “My hero,” you murmur, and feel his skin shift as he smiles.

“Couldn’t have done it without you. Saw the cut you gave him on his leg.” He kisses your temple. “I hope it gets infected.”

You giggle weakly no matter how you try smothering it in his chest. “Gods, you’re awful.”

“He deserves it! I probably should have killed him!”

“You came pretty close, didn’t you?” You mumble. Luke’s expression is wary, but you smile to yourself and it dispels everything. “I was hoping you’d come.”

“Good. Serves them right, messing with you like that. Fucking idiots.” He kisses your face again for good measure, “You sure they didn’t get you anywhere else, princess?”

You nod but you know you look wounded. You nudge into the crook of Luke’s neck again. “They … you know, it’s just … the usual stuff.” Every word weighs a pound as it comes out. Your heart feels sore.

Luke tenses again instantly. “What usual stuff?”

“Um, just—” The shame gets caught in your throat. “They all think I’m useless, Luke. Why can’t I do this right?”

You start to cry again, but he just holds you closer. Sometimes it surprises you how much patience he has. He prides himself as the harsher one between the two of you, but you don’t know who he’s fooling with the way he always knows how to comfort people.

“I don’t know what to do,” you continue, blinking back tears, “I’m not—I’m just not good at this, I don’t know why I’m in Ares, I don’t know why I can’t … be that. Why is he my father? I’m no good at being angry. I want to be angry.”

Luke’s quiet for a moment. Nothing changes except his hand rubbing circles on the nape of your neck again. Then he sighs deeply and says, “You don’t owe your father a damn thing. You don’t owe anyone anything.” He’s resolute, firm, a sharp contrast to his gentle kiss on your hairline. “You’re the smartest, most generous person I know. You need those people in battle. You’ll lose if you don’t.”

The warmth of his skin prompts you to look up at him. He looks different so often, the way he can shift between so tough and so gentle. Sometimes, like now, he’s caught in the middle, the remains of a furious sweat hardening his face, but his eyes are nothing but tender. You think it’s how you like him best.

“Besides, we’re not our parents, right? Who cares about Ares anyway?” Luke shrugs.

“Luke! Don’t say that!” your tears turn into a giggle. “The Gods might punish you!”

“I’ll handle it. There’s enough fight in me for the both of us.”

“Okay, tough guy,” you mutter with a weak smile.

You’re still sniffling. He runs his thumbs across your cheeks, and his gaze softens. “You’re an Ares kid because you are a fighter, angel. You just fight a hell of a lot smarter than the rest of us. Best one I know. Well, other than me.”

It makes you smile. “So second-best?”

“Tied for first.”

He kisses you with that stupid roguish smile. It’s salty with tears and sweat, but it mends your heart anyway. There is nowhere in the world you’d feel safer.

“I love you,” he says against your cheek. “Be as sweet as you want. If anyone has anything to say about it I’ll mess ‘em up good.” Your face warms as his voice drops to your ear, “And I know you’re an Ares kid because you’ll encourage it every time. You might not have a violent bone in your body, but you sure don’t have a problem with me using mine.”

“Diplomatically, Luke. Diplomatically.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you want.”

You can’t help but kiss him again. You’re not entirely sure why he loves you so much, why you love him so much, but you never feel quite as secure as when you’re with him.

Cheers boom from the other side of camp. Luke’s head perks up like a dog, and you turn back to search for spots of red or blue. “Did we win?” You ask, craning your head to get a better view.

“Don’t care,” Luke says.

You look back at him. His anxious face says it all. “Yes, you do.”

“Okay yes, I do, and I need to see if those douches found our flag so I can choke them out with it.”

You laugh, standing so Luke can jog off to see the state of your team. But before he goes, he picks you up and smothers you in kisses, holding you like you’re his prize.

You are not a fighter, but your boyfriend sure is. And you’re perfectly okay with that.

#perrie’s fics #perrie’s requests #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo #pjo x reader #charlie bushnell #luke castellan comfort #luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fluff #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo fic #i kind of hate this i think I’M SORRY #but some parts of it are interesting so oh well #luke castellan you are fucking crazy.

[surftrips]

ABOUT YOU | LUKE CASTELLAN

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader

request: luke x reader fluff w like an aphrodite!reader? reader is all sunshine and flowers and makes luke all soft/campers teasing luke abt the way reader changed him 🤭

word count: 1.6k

a/n: this is probably my favorite luke fic that i've written so far thank u so much anon for sending this request in! writing aphrodite!reader is so much fun, i'm such a sucker for the opposites trope. hope you all enjoy 🤍

You were the human embodiment of sunshine, a real life angel. Gentle, kind, and lovely— in other words, the complete and total opposite of Luke Castellan. He was dark and broody, strong and rough, and not totally unfriendly, but definitely intimidating. 

But even if you weren’t the daughter of Aphrodite, Luke believed that you would still be just as beautiful. There was something in the way you carried yourself that had made his heart surrender the second he laid eyes on you. You became the one and only exception in his long list of grievances. 

So it came as no surprise to anyone at camp when the two of you started dating, just to the dismay of many of your admirers and a few of Luke’s as well. If there was one thing you had in common, it was your beauty. With his puppy dog eyes and curly brown hair, Luke was a sight for sore eyes, almost as much as you were. 

One day, you were walking hand in hand when one of the younger campers accidentally bumped into Luke. On any other occasion, Luke might have started an altercation, but today, he simply smiled and said, “Just be careful next time.” The camper stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked into place as you softly giggled.

“What?” he smiled, looking over at you as the kid took it as an opportunity to run away. 

“Nothing,” you mused. “Just that I think you’re getting soft, Luke Castellan.” You poked a finger at his chest playfully. 

“What?” he shook his head. “No, I’m not.” 

Though he attempts to keep a serious face, you could see the amusement in his eyes. He often looked at you like this, ready to go along with anything you said— no matter how silly or whimsical your remarks. 

“Okay, lover boy. Whatever you say,” you shrugged, offering him a kiss on his cheek that instantly causes color to rush into his face. Ignoring that he’s just proven your point, he attempts to hide his expression by seeking solace in the crook of your neck. He would never admit it to anyone, but he often thought his favorite place at camp was the spot in between your jaw and collarbone. 

Even though most of the campers were still a little frightened by the idea of approaching Luke, his closest friends were not afraid to speak their minds. 

“Dude, you’re like, totally whipped for her,” Percy remarked over lunch once. 

“And you’re like, totally fourteen years old,” Luke said.

“I think the fourteen year old’s right,” Chris jumped in.

“Dude! I thought you were supposed to have my back,” Luke throws up his arms in mock aggravation.

The two boys snickered, causing Luke to speak up again. “I am not whipped for Y/N.” 

“Oh, sure,” Chris began. “So the reason you’re practically skipping around camp and letting whatever team Aphrodite cabin is in win Capture the Flag is because…?” 

“Oh, and don’t forget the constant checking his phone to see if she texted back and sharing his blanket with her at the campfire!” Percy pointed out. “Meanwhile, I’m over here freezing…” 

“Maybe,” Luke scrambled to come up with an answer. “Maybe, I was just in a really good mood those days. It could have absolutely nothing to do with Y/N.” 

He barely believed the words himself, and Chris and Percy were certainly not convinced. Luke wasn’t even sure why he felt the need to defend himself. 

“Dude, it’s okay if you are, she’s literally your girlfriend,” Chris said.

“Hey! I have an idea, let’s ask Annabeth!” Percy declared.

“Annabeth? Why her?” Luke furrowed his brow. 

“Because, she’s a girl. And she’s known you the longest, she can give us a real answer,” Percy said matter-of-factly. 

Luke thought it over. The young boy was technically right, Annabeth was like a little sister to him. If anyone could tell if he had changed since dating you, it would be her. This came as both a good and bad realization to him, because what if he had changed? Gods, was it that obvious? 

Before he could agree to asking Annabeth, the young girl was already at their table. Percy must have called her over while Luke was thinking. 

“What’s up?” she asked, sitting down across from him with her plate of food. 

“Oh, nothing, just talking about how soft Luke has gotten since he started dating Y/N,” Chris explained with a grin on his face. 

“Oh?” Annabeth said, seemingly amused. 

“Yeah, we actually wanted to get your opinion,” Percy continued. “Would you say you agree or disagree, that you know, Luke is nicer now that he’s with Y/N?”

Annabeth seemed to think it over for a second. “Gods, you guys are such children,” she scoffed. 

“Thank you!” Luke cut in.

“I mean, all of you,” she looked at Luke pointedly. “Why do you care what a bunch of kids think about you anyway? And not that it matters, but you, Castellan, are most definitely whipped for Y/N.” 

That shut Luke up immediately, and caused cheers to erupt from Chris and Percy, who were clapping each other on their backs as if they had just won Capture the Flag. 

Annabeth smiled and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say “Sorry, Luke. It’s true.” 

Later that night, Luke snuck over to the Aphrodite Cabin to find you. You were surprised when Luke woke you up, it had been a while since he came seeking your comfort in the middle of the night. He used to have bad nightmares, but you noticed he had gotten better since you started dating. You’d like to think it was because of you, but perhaps that would be thinking too highly of yourself.  

In an effort to clear his mind, you suggested to go on a walk together. He agreed, and you climbed out of bed as quietly as you could.

You allowed him a few minutes of silence until his heavy breathing had slowed down and his grip on your hand had loosened. 

“What’s on your mind, hon?” you asked softly. 

Luke didn’t respond at first, distracting himself by tracing the lines on the palm of your hand. You were happy to give him as much time as he needed, placing your other hand on his back and gently drawing circles.

After a while, he did speak up. “Uhm, do you think that I’m, like, unapproachable?” 

Your heart sank and you stopped in your tracks. “What makes you say that?” 

“I don’t know, it’s just something that’s been on my mind recently.” 

“Luke, is this about what I said to you the other day? Because I didn’t mean it like that—” 

“No, baby,” he rushed. The last thing he wanted was for you to think you had done something wrong. He wasn’t sure that you could ever do wrong, not in his eyes. “I was just talking to Percy and Chris at lunch today and they were kind of teasing me.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of your boyfriend, Mr. Tough Guy, being teased by a few kids younger than him. “I’m sorry, babe. Continue,” you placed a supportive hand on his chest as you regained your composure. 

“They said that I’ve changed since we started dating.” 

Though you were an expert in human emotion, there were still times you couldn’t read the expression on Luke’s face. You couldn’t tell if he thought of this as a bad thing, or if he was just curious to see what you thought. You decided on the latter. “Changed how so?” 

“They think I’m soft now because I’m always in a good mood and stuff…” he trailed off. Even now, in the dark of the night, you could tell he was blushing.

“Well,” you started, trying to find the right words. “You know, I was just teasing you the other day, babe. I think you’ve always been this way.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I think you’ve always been a giant teddy bear,” you grinned, unable to contain yourself. “Luke, you’re not as bad as everyone thinks you are.” 

By now, both of you had stopped walking. Ever since Luke arrived at camp, he had been characterized as the tough, stony, and slightly antagonistic guy. All because of a scar he carried and the stories of what he had gone through with Annabeth and Thalia. Many people were still intimidated by him, despite his position as the counselor in Hermes and his job to welcome newcomers. It had been so long, he wasn’t sure if this was the way he was, or the way that he was made to be. 

As if reading his thoughts, you said, “You don’t have to be what they tell you to be. Do you know the words I use to describe you when someone asks me about you?” 

Unable to speak, Luke simply shook his head. 

“Gentle, kind, and lovely.” 

Luke wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but certainly nothing close to the words you had chosen. “You do not,” he objected. 

“I'm serious, baby,” you placed your hands on his cheeks and pulled him in until your foreheads were touching. “I think you’re the most wonderful and caring guy I’ve ever met. I think you always have been, you just don’t always show it.”

He stared at you intently before pulling a loose strand of hair out of your face. You kissed the top of his head, “I must be one lucky girl.” 

“Hey, if there’s one thing I’m sure about, it’s that I’m the lucky one,” he said, before pulling you in for a kiss. 

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