#halcyon writings.

[halcyon-writings]

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Enjin never lets anyone touch his hair. He was a particular man with a particular way of doing things. Hair styling included, of course.

Well, maybe an exception was made for just you.

He was dozing on your lap, deciding that your thighs were a suitable pillow as he got some proper rest after another job that took him further than usual.

Umbreaker was leaning against the dresser beside the bed. His jacket tossed over a chair nearby. It hadn’t really occurred to him to change out of his uniform yet, and the under eye bags had you pause your chiding to not have outside clothes on.

Your nails gently scratch his scalp, making him shudder as he wraps an arm loosely around your waist. Blond strands are combed through, as he blearily looks up at you.

Your hand stills. “Oh, sorry, I’ll let you sleep if you wanna-”

He makes a disgruntled sound, stretched first, as you hear a pop in his arms, before shaking his head, tousling his hair too.

“Hell no,” Is Enjin’s reply, “Keep going.”

With such a request, you continue combing your fingers through his hair. His breathing becomes slower, meaning he’s beginning to doze off again.

Eventually, you hear a snore.

Your eyes crinkle before the door swings open.

“Hey Enjin-!” You place a finger to your lips in a quieting motion. It interrupts whatever the young man was about to say as he pauses in the doorway midstep. Red eyes widen in surprise.

“Is something the matter?” You ask quietly, your expression serene.

Rudo quickly shakes his head, before closing the door, albeit more gently this time. A muffled apology is heard from behind it, but you laugh it off.

No harm done.

[halcyon-writings]

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— In which Mydei for once approves of the old Castrum Kremnos tradition of gifting a weapon to the one you were courting.

Before you can say anything to him, Krateros gasps when he sees you. Your reaction is immediate, practically jumping in alarm, because a man like Krateros was never this frazzled, much less shown as much anyway.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” You ask, thinking that you must have something on your clothes, already patting at yourself with a confused concern.

Immediately the Kremnoan warrior begins to cough. Now it’s your turn to be worried. You could’ve sworn that the older man was turning an alarming shade of red. "Please, forgive my outburst," He says, voice slightly hoarse from his abrupt coughing fit.

Then he clears his throat again, eyes moving to your side once more. This time you turn your head as you follow his line of sight. For a moment you don't quite see what he's talking about, in fact. you're still as confused as ever. Then his gaze becomes a bit more pointed as he continues to stare. Slowly, it dawns upon you.

"Where did you acquire such a style of weapon?" Krateros asks.

You remove the bladed weapon from its sheath, admiring the work in the steel. After all, it was rare for any weapons to be forged in the style of Castrum Kremnos, aside from something speciality made, but those sort of weapons cost an arm and a leg since they needed to truly last with as many of the battles that would be witnessed..

"Ah, Mydeimos gave it to me," You say, a small smile on your face, "I was surprised to see him with a weapon when we were sent out to clear some of the black tide, but then my own weapon was unfortunately broken, luckily he offered me his."

If Krateros' jaw dropped any further, it would have already been on the floor by now.

You pause, noting his silence, "Is... is something the matter?"

He is quick to shake his head, "Not at all."

(Perhaps the first sign was the fact that you were one of the few who were allowed to refer to Mydei as Mydeimos at all, aside from someone such as Lady Aglaea or Lady Tribbie.)

You watch his retreating form, still a bit perplexed. But your eyes return to the blade in your hands. You hum as you give it a few light swings, noting the weight being nearly perfect, just requiring a bit of training to properly handle it. Hm, you truly were lucky that Mydei had a similar weapon you could use.

-

Mydei had been (dragged) asked to accompany Tribbie into the market as the older of the two had moved in a flutter of wings from stall to stall. Even if it was the same wares each day, the small demigod always had the time to admire each and every work of craftsmanship.

Tribbie had said nothing with how easily he agreed, in her words, "De seems really happy today."

He was, ecstatic even. As they passed Chartonus' forge, which he thanked the other for his work on such short notice. He pretends not to see Tribbie's knowing smile either. Simply, looking the other way, which also meant, he saw the approaching Krateros.

Trinnon and Trianne had flown off with a giggling Tribbie as Krateros approached, Mydei uncrossed his arms, tilting his head in a silent question.

"You saw," Mydei spoke, his tone even.

Krateros nods, and despite the more frantic aspect of his appearance, there was a... lightness to the old fighter. One that made the crease of the man's brow go away for just a moment.

"Do they even know the significance of recieving such a gift?" Krateros asked softly.

At this, the Prince shook his head, warmth blossoming in his chest and heat rising up his neck. "In the heat of the moment, maybe not yet. But I know they will understand."

The softening of the Prince's eyes made Krateros pause, before he too couldn't help but shake his head with a small chuckle; his own reservations forgotten. The youth these days, he thought.

It wasn't like Mydei was going to outright tell you that the weapon you currently wielded was all but a proposal gift. It was a longstanding tradition that for once, Mydei didn't scoff at. If he couldn't be at your side every battle, then the weapon you wielded would protect you in his stead.

(That and perhaps he wouldn't admit that he quite liked the sight of you wielding a weapon in the style of Castrum Kremnos. Perhaps he'd see if he could find armor that suited your style and that of Kremnos as well...)

When he sees you later, the knowing look in your eyes makes his heart skip a beat. There was no need to worry, after all.

[halcyon-writings]

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Zayne had a certain habit. You observed him enough times to make note of it. Whether it was just the two of you or when you were out with a group of friends.

You would sit on a bench or chair, your bag on your lap. Zayne stands behind you, his hands on the back of wherever you were seated. You’d type at your phone, most likely to see what sort of meal you both wanted or a new spot you wanted to check out.

Your friend notices as well, when it is the group of you all around the city. She gives you a secretive smile when Zayne stands behind you as you sit, like a routine. His eyes are sharp and focused, yet when you show him your screen so that he can look at the cafe’s menu, they soften.

“It’s sweet,” Your friend comments, the corner of her eyes crinkle. Zayne had gone to grab the order, volunteering since the place looked busy.

“What is?” You ask, still not getting it just yet.

“How he does that little protective thing,” Another friend explains for her, mentioning what she’s also noticed. You can’t help but flush a little, the back of your neck getting warm. “And how he easily makes sure you’re able to keep space in the more crowded spots.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, your heart skipping a beat. Now that she pointed it out, you can’t deny it. Not that you wanted to, but it was just something you could add to the long list you loved about Zayne.

“I guess it just happens so much when we’re out that I didn’t realize it was so novel,” You admit.

Your friend simply grins cheekily, the other giggling lightheartedly, but both say no more as Zayne returns with the order. He pulls out your chair at one of the nearby tables outside, pushing it in for you once you sit. As well as taking his seat dutifully at your side.

It was beautiful out, so it was no surprise for the city to be a little crowded today. With the recent rainy days, the sun and gentle breeze were a welcome surprise.

Even so, as you all walk, Zayne’s palm rests gently against the small of your back, still giving you the freedom of movement, but also helping you balance on the sidewalk in between the other groups of people or kids playing around the park.

Your friends notice, but they don’t tease you about it… not too much anyway.

Zayne’s own eyes crinkle slightly in amusement. When you send him a curious glance, Zayne only takes one of your hands, giving it a gentle squeeze as he entwines your fingers together. In between, when he thinks no one is looking, he lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You smile in return.

[halcyon-writings]

— You’re staring up at Phainon, because it was an unspoken thing. You could not best him. You couldn’t dream of it. But he’s so bright, so warm. Just like the sun.

“You’ve won,” You say, your eyes soften, and Phainon looks at you. His eyes watering. But the tears don’t fall, they no longer do with the heat of his body now.

The coreflame in your hands is exactly what he was after.

Millions of cycles had passed by now. Countless times he had to strike down those who once were so dear to him. But there were so few times he faced you.

Other times you had fallen to the black tide. Sacrificing your life so that others could escape; a futile motion, as the black tide swallowed all in the end. Sometimes it was cowardice from others. The Council of Elders’ plots and schemes barely succeeded. But you were caught in between; an assassin’s blade ending your life because you had pushed Aglaea out of the way.

Those were the worst, or so Khaslana believed.

He could only imagine what you were feeling, what your expression had been.

But he stood before you now, even in your dying breaths, your bloodied hands clutched the coreflame tightly. This sight was the worst of them all.

He kneels before you, blade clattering on the ground.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

His breathing hitches as you cough, choking on your own blood. The pool of crimson beneath you spreads into the grass nearby.

“Don’t be,” Your voice is barely above a whisper. It’s probably the very few words you can even get out.

He apologizes again and again. His hands, hot to the touch, take one of yours, simply letting the coreflame float in the air. He brings your knuckles to his forehead.

Your fingers were cold and clammy. Barely they’re twitching anymore.

The grass is cool beneath your bare feet. You can’t find it in yourself to mind as Phainon pulls you down beside him, your laughter ringing out.

The starry sky above you both glitters. It’s a beautiful scene. Despite the terrifying nature of your world, it is the tiny things you both can find solace in.

“Fine, fine, you caught me,” You hum, allowing Phainon to wrap an arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer until your head is lain on his chest.

The thrum of his heartbeat even makes your own relax into a slower rhythm.

You peer up at him, and make a face when you catch him grinning. Your fingers poke at his sides, making him yelp, and fruitlessly he tries to roll over, but now it is you that has caught him.

He laughs but you don’t notice that he hasn’t let you go either.

“I win,” You say triumphantly. Your eyes glitter with the small victory.

“Fine, fine,” He huffs with a playful pout, “But I’ll definitely win next time!”

You both remain under the stars for a while. The constellations telling their own stories. And for some you aren’t so familiar with, Phainon tell you animatedly. His hands gesturing as he recalls each tale of heroic deeds.

Khaslana stands. Your hands are still, even when he’s folded them over your chest. They’ve gone cold now, had been so since he kneeled at your side.

It was the least he could do, not letting you die alone. And as he took the coreflame into his body, it joined the millions of others burning within him. This time, however, the burn hurt a bit differently.

[halcyon-writings]

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sinister!invincible is an enigma and I want to put him under a microscope, happy s3 yall !!

— “I could kill you in an instant,” He says casually. He could, in fact. You had witness him turn cities to dust simply because he felt like it or turned people to mush just because they looked at him wrong. You could never know what he was thinking and what.

“I’m sure you can,” You agree, flipping through a magazine with more bloodstains on the cover that you barely see what’s written on it, “But would that make you feel better?”

He’s silent. Which can be a good or bad thing depending on his mood.

You, at least, think you have a semblance of a good reading on his moods. Otherwise, you’d have been turned into paste by now.

“Hm, true,” Invincible says eventually.

You know he’s listening. Well, listening to your heartbeat. How it doesn’t skip or stutter, a learned skill during your time as his so-called “only” friend.

When his hands wrap around your neck, as he marvels at the fact that he could easily just… squeeze, and the muscles of your neck would just give way to his grip, he notices your pulse doesn’t jump once. You simply stare at him, a singular eyebrow is raised in morbid curiosity.

Was this how you would go? He can hear you ask. His thumb presses down, but not enough to harm you any further than a thumb shaped bruise.

“You’re worried about something,” You say, one night after he returns from another excursion with his father. Mark only stares at you through his goggles. It’s a sight that’s frightened others enough that they submit to his whims, but it never saves them in the end.

“Am I?” He asks rhetorically.

You press no further than that. Simply letting him sit beside you, as his head dips against your shoulder. Soon soft exhales of breath means that he’s sleeping. For someone so frightening, he seems almost docile like this. If it wasn’t for the blood all over his costume and some even in his hair. You know a bit of it is going to stain your clothes, and he’ll simply burn them and get you more.

Omni-Man stares from the doorway into the small living room area you’re both currently in. You know that the former superhero had his own qualms about you.

He had told his son that attachments were a distraction. Viltrumites viewed companionship differently after all.

You meet his gaze. Unflinchingly so.

He leaves without a word.

[halcyon-writings]

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— You don’t mean to think so, but you can’t help it.

Tamsy’s gaze had a way of making you feel too seen. You were minding your own business (as one does when it’s their day off) when all of the sudden, you feel a weight on your shoulder. His chin dipping in the crook of your neck as he looks over to see what you’re doing.

Whenever you’d look up, your brow raised inquisitively, he’d simply smile, his eyes closing.

For some reason, all you could think of was a cat that was about to push something off of a counter. That something being something expensive… or messy.

You thumb at the corner of the page you were reading. Before folding it gently, your gaze sweeps over him, taking in his relaxed attire and even his heir was tied loosely.

“What’s on your mind?” You hum, absentmindedly your hand reaches out, fingers playing with the strands that you could reach.

He still is half draped over your shoulders. Hands resting on your abdomen in a loose embrace. The rest of his hair is still loose, soon curtaining you both.

“I was going out for some errands today and decided to see what you were doing,” He chirps. “Had I realized it was also your day off, I’d have found some way to invite you.”

You let out a soft breath, it sounds a bit like a laugh. But Tamsy remains.

“Well, I doubt I’d be much help,” You gesture to your other hand. The one that simply was holding your book. Bandages were wrapped around the your fingers all the way down to your elbow. You try to flex your fingers only to wince, still not a good idea.

You just barely miss the twitch of Tamsy’s eyes before his expression is serene again.

His arms move to your shoulders, as he lays his head down again; his cheek now resting on your head. For a moment there’s quiet, the sound of talking muffled outside to the footsteps of Cleaners who are coming and going. You slowly blink, finding yourself relaxing in such an embrace.

Then Tamsy stands, the silence is broken. He’s pushed his hair behind his shoulders, tying it loosely. Your eyes meet his, but he is the first to break the contact.

“Do be mindful of your injuries,” He says quietly. His eyes linger on your arm then to your face, where there are fading scratches on your nose and one that nicked your lip.

“I will.”

With quiet footsteps, Tamsy leaves. You still feel his gaze on you even when he’s not in the room.

—

“I want to write for characters that I think I’d have difficulty writing for!” I says with joys

When the character I think is difficult to write for is being difficult for me: >:(

[halcyon-writings]

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Ever since you had given him a spare key, you've come to learn something new about Zayne: It was that he could be very clingy when he wanted to be.

You had gotten up as the sun rose, an unfortunate consequence to being used to getting up early in the morning. With a watering can in your hands, you aimed the nozzle to the budding flowers. The doors leading into the garden opened behind you, and you could already guess who was the culprit.

"I didn't think you would wake up so early on your day off," He murmurs, a bit of sleep lingered in his voice. Still, he readily passes you a warm mug before taking a sip of his own. Most likely hot chocolate rather than the traditional coffee.

You smile gratefully, bringing the steaming mug to your lips before taking a careful sip. "I was thinking you were going to sleep in," You counter, "It's your first day off in a while, isn't it?"

He nods, opting to sit on one of the gardening chairs nearby. He looks cute this way. Zayne's hair is still a bit messy from sleep, one of his hands rubbing his eyes as he yawns. All that is missing is a blanket around his shoulders and he would truly look the part.

You finish watering the flowers, before Zayne readily brings you inside, and rather than going upstairs, the couch becomes the spot where you both decide to lounge into the afternoon. (Well really, Zayne pulls you into another embrace before soon enough, the gentle snores and breaths tickle the back of your neck. And you, with no real place to move and no wish to wake him, end up joining him in the warmth of slumber.)

With the late afternoon, there comes a late lunch. To which you prepare your ingredients, a mix of leftovers and something new to add to it, when you feel Zayne move to stand beside you. His skilled hands deftly chop up vegetables and moves them to the pan, the sizzle of the heat joining in the quiet ambiance.

You smile to yourself, shaking your head with a quiet laugh. To which Zayne gives you a raised brow, but he continues to stir the food in the pan, ensuring that it does not burn.

Jokingly you poke your fork at his plate, laughing again when Zayne pretends to look exasperated as he allows you to take a small piece. Subtle, he tries to be, except that you can see that he is turning his plate so that you can reach the bites you want with your fork easier.

"I'll wash," He volunteers, already standing.

Which gives you the chance to go to the bedroom, grabbing the fuzzy blankets off of the bed and returning to the couch as you lay them out. The TV turned on, some rerun of an old cartoon you used to watch as a child, and Zayne washing the dishes in the background.

In a few short moments, he joins you. "You look rather cozy."

You hum, lifting the blanket so that he can join you, "Well I think I am missing something but then I'll be ready." You pat the couch cushion with a cheeky grin.

This time it's Zayne's turn to laugh. But he joins you anyway, an arm already reaching around your shoulders as his cheek presses against your head when he leans closer to you.

Even with an arm around your shoulders, Zayne uses his free hand to grasp your own, his fingers also now playing with yours. Eventually he settles in, fingers still playing with your own.

The cartoon rerun still is going on, and it's a much rather preferred way of spending your shared day off.

[halcyon-writings]

— takes place pre re9/requiem, so there’s very little spoilers here!!

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You pretend not to notice it at first. But it’s clear that Leon knows that you know.

Despite the changing weather, it was still sunny and warm enough. But you saw Leon would opt to wear longer sleeves, instead of short sleeves. Gloves when it wasn’t cold, or jackets to hide his arms if he couldn’t find a long sleeve.

It’s how you found yourself sitting with him outside. The patio lights flickering to life now that the sun was beginning to set. He sits poised, his back straight as if he’s going to tell you that the DSO will be sending him off again.

Last time it had been almost a full month.

“Your hands,” You say, with a tone that leaves little room for argument. You don’t realize how tightly he’s clasped them on his lap, until the leather gloves show signs of being stretched. Quietly, you take a breath, looking down your long driveway.

Leon had picked this place out. After hours of scrolling on his phone, or his laptop, bookmarking pages and writing down the pros and cons of each one. Until one day, as you’re making dinner, he is seated at the table, laptop open with a pen and notebook next to it. Glasses rest on his nose, and you could almost see the lightbulb light up above his head. The real estate agent practically jumped at the offer he had made.

The rest, as they say, was history.

Two floors, one bedroom having been made into an office with enough to spare. It was close enough to the city, but far enough that it was quiet. There were more trees around you both than neighbors, not that you or Leon minded.

The attic had been converted into a den, the roof window fixed so that you both could stargaze in the comfort of your home, soft throw blankets and pillows surrounding you both.

But that serene feeling was all but gone now. As Leon’s hands trembled, balling back into fists after he’s removed the gloves he’d been wearing.

“Leon,” You whisper, no, you plea. A waver in your voice makes him look up in surprise. “Let me see your hands.”

He releases a shuddering breath, and slowly, you take his hand. His thumb twitches. And he forces himself to look away when he hears your inhale. He watches you swallow, as your eyes start to glisten. But you do not shed tears.

“How long?” You ask, your fingers brushing against the mottled lines, you thought of them as ink as they spread into his palm before fading slightly as they reached his fingers. Especially at his ring finger. The silver band now was on a chain around his neck, his finger too swollen to put it on properly.

“A few months,” He finally answered, “I know. I should have told you. But I didn’t want you to worry.”

You laugh wetly, “Given who I married, you know that I would worry anyway.”

Leon manages a smile at that. His other hand taking yours, there’s no sign of infection there. But you can tell he has been uneasy about it for a while.

“We’ll figure this out,” You say, sitting upright as the wooden chair beneath you squeaks from your movement. Your breathing is still a little uneven. Your face is still a bit stricken in expression, and your eyes are glassy.

“Sweetheart-”

“No, Leon. You will listen to me,” You say, watching as he tries to stand up, before you make him sit back down. “I can tell your mind is already moving a mile a minute. But remember when we got married? And what we said?”

Leon raises a brow, “That we should get fast food if they made us wait for the reception’s buffet any longer?”

You lightly swat at his shoulder. Unable to help yourself as you smile, shaking your head. Of course, leave it to Leon to make some quip in the middle of a crisis. Either his or your own, hell, this probably was a shared one now.

“No, smartass,” You say, “For better or worse. In sickness and in health?” It’s less of a question, and more of a command.

Leon nods. “In sickness and in health.” He repeats.

The both of you remain seated together for a while. As crickets begin to chirp, the sun fully sets. And there you both remain. For better or worse.