Astra !! 𝄞

"Even when I'm gone, you're in my arms" I yap and sometimes write or draw ; minor !! mostly Yang Cheng/tbhx based

[kamisama1kiss]

Can I req Lloyd with a s/o who bites his biceps as a sort of silly joke/stim?

(I definitely don’t wanna bite his arms :3)

Lloyd Garmadon { Nom Nom }

A low grunt eched on the decent sized dojo where the ninjas would train, sparring with some dummies as every punched left a small vibration sound leaping off the thin walls.

Meanwhile you tried to work on some project but watching the muscles of your boyfriend was a lot more enticing then this stupid paper. Glancing down between the laptop to him as he swing with his foot in a quick motion, brows furrowed and a focused gaze.

The look alone gave shivers down your spine almost even giddy from seeing him like this, his eyes meet yours and softend almost immediately before he huffed lightly.

Dropping the wooden sword from his grasp as it rolled a bit away but he could care less, making ways to sit close by while your gaze glued to his frame with only one though crossing your mind.

"You did great." Complimenting him with a small smile that had formed which he matched with one of his own, shaking his head. "Its not enough.. i need to get stronger." Spoke in a sound of disappointment twords himself of how slow it seems to be getting better.

"It takes time, you've already gotten so far." Calling a small reminder, moving the laptop to the floor and now fully focused on your lover. Resting a hand on his back with a slow motion of your thumb moving in a repetitive back and forth as comfort. "Heck, you're the green ninja.. and my boyfriend!?"

The sluk had turned to a tiny smile "Yeah, I'm just worried.." Pausing to lift his hair out of his face making his biceps pop even more as he didn't wear a shirt. "...what if I can't keep you safe-"

Without another thought you leaned closer and bit his arm, not enough to hurt but definitely feel. Blown open his eyes to look at you surprised. The silence stretch "What.." forgetting the pervious topic he rambled on about.

"Your arms, they looked good today." Comment almost shyly when you had pulled back, not being able to hold back a small laugh as he still puzzled it together. "Thank you?" You simply nodded a head "Its the truth, have you seen them?" Grabbing his arm and squeezing it with your hand, gaining a laugh from him as he simply shook his head.

"You're so weird sometimes.. nonetheless mine." He leaned to peck your cheek in a swift move, "Break is over sunshine." Standing back up with a new found small confidence boost a small groan left your lips. "Already? You just sat down." Pushing the laptop further away to simply watch him for the remaining time of his practice.

°~°

A/n: I think im start to get the hang of how to write a little longer then what I usually do

[yangchenglove]

Yang Cheng, come home, the kids miss you (wrote this when staying up late and on the verge of falling asleep, so grammar may be bad)

Despite Yang Cheng being tired from his work as a hero, he still helps you get undressed after a you had a day that made you more tired than usually, his hands unbuttoning your shirt before moving your your pants and doing the same. His hands moving to the pair of pajamas that he already picked out beforehand and helping you get into them, then changing himself into a pair of pajamas too before laying down next to you, his arm wrapping around you as you both fall asleep.

[enden-k]

twt kitty mirror meme but w lana <3

[cyclic-abelian]

The anime is wonderful.. I am so inspired! i needed to finish this right away!!

[pastoffe]

— Bullies. ✦ ✷ ☀︎

The Aedes brothers have faced challenges, and they handle them quite differently.

➵ Notes; modern au, OOC (?), siblings au! — this is an expansion of the one-for-three (one-shot)

➵ 3.1k words.

➵ Warnings; acts of discrimination and bullying (most prominent in Khaos and Khaslana's parts), violance (Specifically in Khaslana's), implied attempt of manipulation? (Phainon's part).

—✦ Khaos rarely goes out, mainly because he finds public spaces to be overwhelming and he prefers the controlled environment of his bedroom.

Though, that is not to say some kids in your apartment building don't think of him as that weird one. Which seems to be solidified by his quiet nature.

There are also many instances of them poking fun of the birth mark on his left eye—mistaking it as a scar. And while he doesn't react outwardly, it still hurts.

Despite his parents' assurance, they even go as far as to confront the kids’ parents, the insults never truly stop. They just turn into backhanded compliments.

He didn't like worrying his parents anymore, so he decided not to go out into the courtyard when invited by his mom. He'd throw excuses, whether it's extra work from school or he wasn't feeling it.

But as we all know, in the end, his mom dragged him out anyway. Not wanting her oldest son to completely isolate himself.

And what originally was supposed to be a miserable experience, turns into one most memorable for him—He made a friend. A friend that liked the same video game as he does. He's never been this giddy in his life—other than the first time he got his console, of course.

Still, just because he's got one friend. Doesn't mean the insults and stares didn't stop. The most memorable example was when the two of you were taking snapshots of the sun setting—mostly you, but he helped!

You two were leaning against the bridge railing, staring at the camera’s screen showing a recent photo you took. Unknowingly to the two of you, a group of kids—around your age—had gathered just a few feet away, forming near a swing set as they stared at your figures.

Khaos noticed their stares long before you did, it's something he's gotten used to but he didn't want you to experience it too. So, he cuts you off mid-ramble about lighting or something of sorts and tugs your wrist over to another spot near the railing. Anywhere else, as long as it's away from their line of sight.

You were, rightfully, confused as to why he's dragging you to another spot. And you thought maybe he wants to take a photo of the sunset from another angle. But that is quickly proven wrong when he pulls you to a more shaded part of the courtyard, where there's multiple seating areas and adults talking with one another with cigarettes in hand.

“Khaos, what are you doing?” You manage to stop him in his tracks. He looks back, but his eyes aren't on you, instead they are looking past your shoulders. As if making sure you two weren't being followed.

Lifting a hand, grab hold of his sleeve. “Let's go back, mom said we can't go too far.” And your reminder seems to snap him out of his state as he loosens his grip on your wrist.

“.. I'm sorry.” He mumbles before fully letting go. “.. They were staring.” At me.

You raised a brow, confused. “What do you mean?”

And for a moment, he thought of brushing off the topic entirely and just head back to your moms. But seeing the slight worry in your eyes, he couldn't do it.

There's a linger of hesitation as he opens his mouth, before he finds his voice and starts retelling everything. The stares, whispers, compliments sounding like veiled insults, and his parents' efforts. He watches your face change between emotions.

And once he finished, your expression… he doesn't know how to describe it exactly, there was a mix of feelings of anger, sympathy and sadness.

You didn't utter a word, but your hand found his. Clutching his fingers. He noticed the slight tremble. Neither of you are able to properly process emotions, you were children, but what you're capable of knowing is that having someone be there with you is more comforting than any words.

The two of you began walking, holding each other's hand. Khaos noticed how soft the skin of your palm is and how warm you are—there was a weird flutter in his chest when you tugged his hand closer.

When you passed by the swing set, the kids were already scattered. Much to his relief as Khaos let out a sigh, visibly relaxing his shoulders.

“.. Next time,” your voice pulls his attention back to you. “Tell me when they're around. I'll take ugly photos of them.” It was a ridiculous threat, but effective.

Khaos tightens his hold around your hand, hiding a smile on his face as he nods. “.. I'll help you.”

—✷ Khaslana doesn't have many bullies because he never pulls his punches. Literally.

His parents were worried beyond belief when the first report came of their second son having gotten into a fight. A full blown physical one. Both of them feared the worst, because according to the school staff; he was fist fighting three boys who were a grade above him. They imagined the bruises and scratches Khaslana would sustain in the aftermath.

But to their surprise, and relief, upon reaching the school office they see their son sitting on a chair in the hallway. With only a few dirt marks on his uniform and a band aid on his cheek. He seemingly left the fight unscathed. There was a teacher beside him and the woman greeted the parents with a strained smile as Khaslana stood up, going straight to his mom's arms.

The teacher—Miss Pythias—brought them inside the cold office room. Ushering them to sit down on the chairs available beside her work desk before she finally gives them the story from Khaslana’s perspective.

According to him, the three students had been bothering everyone in the playground during break time. They were apparently insulting others and even going as far as to start pushing students around by their shoulders.

Khaslana was enjoying his lunch when they came to his spot, a small seating area in front of the cafeteria wall, and started telling him to go find somewhere else to sit because ‘that seat belongs to older kids’.

And he refused, although he offered to move once he finished eating. The students, however, did not take his answer kindly and one of them managed to grab hold of his forearm before forcing him onto his feet—proven by a security camera capturing their action.

This surprised Khaslana and caused him to drop his lunch box, ruining the homemade meal Audata had cooked for him.

What set him off is when the two other students made fun of his mom's cooking—something about how disgusting the fish smells—He would've easily shrugged off the encounter and simply reported it to the head office if the insults were only targeted towards him. But when the vile words left their mouths, Khaslana lunged up towards all three. Tackling them down.

Not one, but all three.

The security camera didn't catch the whole fight, only of Khaslana launching himself forward and causing all four of them to be thrust into the other side. Escaping the camera's line of sight.

One of the cafeteria workers, who happens to be the one that broke off the fight, described it as Khaslana body slamming all three on to the ground before attempting to strangle them at the same time. How is that even possible? Who knows.

The chaos turns into a spectacle amongst the students as they watch and surround the four. Some go as far as to start cheering for Khaslana, wanting him to win the fight.

He had admitted; he was too caught up by emotions to think clearly and started fist fighting with the three students before the cafeteria staff member broke them off.

And while the fight was short lived, Khaslana had, surprisingly, the least amount of injuries. The nurse had simply placed a band aid over a small scratch.

Thankfully, this incident had a peaceful ending with apologies from both sides. The parents of the three students scolded them relentlessly after seeing the footage. Later on, Hieronymus and Audata received multiple apology gifts at their front door.

Khaslana still received a lengthy scolding from his parents—Phainon attempted to secretly record it but he got caught and ended up getting dragged into the lecture too.

Although this next incident is less fortunate. With no one to witness it. Except—you apparently.

It was early morning, you and Khaslana wanted to play in the swing set before heading to your apartment and binge watching a movie on your living room TV.

Usually, your mom wouldn't let you off to the courtyard on your own. But when she finds out that Khaslana would be there, she allows it. Trusting the boy to be responsible for both himself and you.

Oh, what a mistake that was.

Despite it being quite early in the day, you'd expect less people than usual—you're wrong on that assumption. Because upon arrival, the courtyard is full of people jogging around the area or walking their pet. Some of the adults happen to bring their kids along, so the playground set is also somewhat full.

But the two of you are only here to play on the swingset for a short while, so waiting a bit wouldn't be a problem!

Surprisingly, the moment you two are able to approach said swingset, the two kids there were already getting off. You two sprinted over after seeing no one approaching, Khaslana manages to sit on one of the swings while you—

“Ow!” You collided against a boy, causing the two of you to land on your butts.

You didn't even have a chance to recover before he's up on his feet and running to the swing. Taking the seat.

Khaslana shot up from his swing, causing it to violently sway behind as he approached you. Grabbing hold of your arm and helping you up on your feet. “.. Your hands..” after he noticed the scratched skin of your palms from the fall.

You visibly cringe at the sight, the fresh wound combined by the dust laid over makes it twice as painful. “... Ugh..” he can see the unshed tears as you attempt not to cry in front of him.

He pulls you aside, not before sending a glare towards the culprit—who's still playing on your swing with little care of the consequences of his action—and how exactly can Khaslana confront him without possibly escalating to a full blown fight. He just wants the boy to apologize.

“.. Khas,” your voice snaps him back into reality as the two of you stand outside of the courtyard. “Can we just.. Go back to my house and watch the movie..? I don't really wanna play on the swings anymore.” and when he sees the way your eyes glisten, practically on the verge of letting tears fall, he's thrown off balance.

He visibly panics, eyes widening and his mouth opening but no words coming out. He doesn't know how to verbally or physically comfort you. Would you even want him to? What can he do to—

Khaslana's eyes land back on the boy.

… Maybe it doesn't have to be him.

And what comes next is the slow stages leading to the fight; Khaslana approaches the swing, stops the boy by grabbing on the chains which causes him to nearly fly out of his seat,

“Hey! You'll get your turn—!”

“You're the one who cut off my friend.” He visibly bristles with uncontained anger. “Go apologize to her.”

He watched the boy play victim, claiming that he had been waiting long before either of you arrived and that it was your fault for not noticing him.

That was it.

Khaslana crouches down, grabs a fistful of sand and before you could stop him, he throws it directly at the boy's eyes. He didn't bother to stay and watch him writhe in pain as he sprints over to your side

“Khas! We're gonna get in trouble!” You hissed, now overtaken by panic.

In response to that, he grabs your wrist. Avoiding the act of holding your hand as to not cause you even more pain. He tugs you along as the two of you fled the crime scene.

And filled with adrenaline of possibly getting into trouble; he began to laugh, and you followed suit.

“You're supposed to be responsible!”

“I am! That was me being responsible!”

The two of you laugh even more while running upstairs.

—☀︎ Phainon barely faced any form of bullying. Simply because of how charming he is. Compared to his older brothers’ reserved nature and burning temperament—Phainon is the perfect foil to both.

He's sociable to all, being able to come up with silly jokes that makes even the hardest of people crack a smile. Phainon's also, painfully, sincere. You can't see any visible lies in the way he speaks, his eyes are akin to that of puppies, so as long as you have a heart—you'd end up trusting him one way or another.

Oh, but Phainon is aware of the perception others have of him.

The sociable and friendly youngest of the Aedes brothers—what an honorable title for him to receive! Truly, he's rather flattered.

And while there are challenges to be known as such, like—having people constantly place their heavy trust in him, expecting only the best from him, and the need to be able to please everyone. Which is an impossible task.

But he's able to endure all of these with a wide smile.

At least, so far.

Although there were many setbacks, there were also benefits that come with his title. Phainon found out that people tend to believe him more than necessary, if he were to give them a piece of information, they'd believe it without any need to verify. He'd grow up to be a liar if it weren't for his parents implanting a moral code in him. Plus, his older brothers’ would hit him over the head for that.

He also discovered how many people.. Admire him? In a way one would with a hero. Kids his age would always hover around him, wanting to be friends—he doesn't mind it, although he's a little taken aback at first.

Adults are no different, most of them see him as this ‘ideal child’. Perhaps that's why they seem to trust his words more compared to others.

At his current age, recently reaching adolescence, he's not fully aware of how to use this to his advantage. But with time, he'll begin to learn.

Moving back to the topic at hand—perhaps Phainon has a different view of what ‘bullies’ are. Taking into account that he is the youngest of the three, he rarely had to share with his brothers. It's more that they have to share with him. A privilege he basks in without shame.

And so, when he made a new friend (A friend of his brother is also his), it didn't automatically click in his head that he'd need to share you (you're friends with all three of them).

It was early in the afternoon when you came over. Although the reason was obviously to hang out with Khaos, hence why he's waiting for you in his room, Phainon also happens to be lounging in the living room with Snowy.

Once his eyes landed on you, “Oh! You're here! Wanna play?” He immediately springs up onto his feet, followed by an excited bark from Snowy.

The two padded over to you, looking way too similar to one another in both posture and facial expression.

You muster up a small, apologetic, smile. “I'm gonna play with Khaos, maybe next time?”

And in response to that; Phainon visibly deflates. It's as if you had just taken his pure heart and shattered it right in front of his very eyes. And maybe you had just done so. Snowy, upon noticing his buddy's dimming excitement, copies it in his own puppy way. Whimpering and slowing the wagging of his tail.

Now you're faced with two puppy eyes; both of them pleading—no, begging for you to reconsider your answer and indulge in them. You're pushed even further into the corner once Snowy begins nuzzling his snot against your torso, begging for pats for comfort along with your attention.

“I know you guys like playing together.. But, can I at least join? Just for a bit! Please?” He took a step forward, hands held up to his chest while his eyes bore into yours. You're unable to speak, you're pulled by the vast blue sky that has taken place in his irises.

You stuttered out nonsensical responses, unable to deny not accept his request. Until your savior (his enemy) clicks open his door.

“Phainon,” Khaos starts with an annoyed grunt the moment he spots his youngest brother and their puppy standing before you.

“Hmm?” Phainon feigns innocence, while only giving a mere glance his way.

“stop blocking the way.” The oldest Aedes brother begins making his way towards the three of you. Snowy shifts his attention and begins wagging his tail, barking at the sight of Khaos who gave the puppy a small ruffle on the head before putting his gaze over to you. “I already set up the game, let's go.”

You smiled, relaxing a little. But Phainon pursed his lips, not yet ready to back just yet as he shoots a glare over at Khaos. “Why do you get to play with her so often? You're being unfair.”

Khaos raised an offended brow at the accusation, “I invited her over to play, you're the one openly trying to steal her.” While you awkwardly walk over to the side. Avoiding being in the cross fire.

Phainon looks taken aback by his oldest brother's words as he lets out a gasp, before forming a pout on his face. “.. Why can't I just join you guys?” He huffs out and his stubborn action only made Khaos even more exasperated.

“You're not joining us.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“You're not being nice to me.” Khaos nearly rolled his eyes at that.

“I'm being honest.” Phainon's pout deepened even more.

A tense beat passes before the youngest brother seemingly relents, crossing his arms before making his way back to the living room couch. Stomping with each step, making it clear that he'll be sulking. Once he reaches the cushion, he topples over with a sad huff as Snowy follows after him, settling on the carpet floor beside him.

Khaos was about to take you to his room when you stopped him by tugging on his sleeve.

“.. Hey.. Can we let him join? Just this time.”

Phainon could barely contain the smile on his face.

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[theyumeplanet]

sparring with f/o only to realize they were holding back the whole time as they easily pin you to the ground

[yangchenglove]

Small 41AC YC drabble

Imagine taking care of a sick Yang Cheng who keeps trying to go back to his hero work, but as you keep nagging him about how he's not in good health, he just stops fighting and let's you help him get better

[duckirubb3rart]

Yang Cheng, let's play trivia!

First question, what day of Daily Yang Cheng/E-Soul is it? 📅

Second question, how many E-Souls are there? 🦾

Third question, how many confirmed kills do you have? ⚡️

Fourth question, how many baddies did you fumble in your arc? 💛💚

Wow, you got them all right!!! You might be a fucking disaster of a man, but at least you're not stupid! 🤪

Shhhh I'm not late idk what you're talking about. And no I totally did not use snipping tool again I would never do something so degenerate no way nuh-uh not me.

In all seriousness though, I started drawing this morning and took a break to go outside for a bit. The weather was too nice and I stayed out for several hours. By the time I came back to my drawing, I didn't like it so I started again. And then I had to make dinner. And then I came back to drawing again and got carried away studying anatomy lmao. But ermmmm here we are, Day 2. Here's the proof that I'm not bullshitting.

I can point at my tensor fasciae latae now and you can't stop me. Don't even get me started on my pronator teres.

I probably won't get a drawing tomorrow though because it's gonna be a busy day for me. I'll still try to scribble something stupid though if I find a few minutes. 🫡

[xfeiteism]

funny acts | vein

you thought it'd be funny to mess with your lover just for the shits and giggles, even though you should've known better when the lover in question is none but vein himself.

w.c: 0.9k

a.n: purely wrote this so i could make my headcanon of vein calling his s/o 'darling' a reality.

fully dressed in his usual, stylish work attire, vein is surprised upon entering the bedroom just to see that you’re… anything but that. 

the curtains are still as drawn over the window as they were when he left the room earlier this morning. strings of light pass through the fabric, faint but enough to reveal the mess of hair just barely peeking up from the top of the duvet. it’s more quiet than death ever would be, and he could almost begin to wonder whether you’ve suffocated in your curled up, cramped space, had it not been for the rising and sinking of your figure with each breath you take. he has to stifle a laugh, briefly thinking about how he’s never seen someone sleep so deeply with not a single care for the world.

then again, it’s past one in the afternoon. you have to wake up at some point.

while making his way closer, vein places his signature metal fan on one of the drawers. the same hand that’d been holding onto it settles on top of the sheets, supporting his weight as he leans over your figure. the index finger of the other crooks around the edge of the duvet, carefully pulling it down far enough to reveal your awfully peaceful face.

“isn’t it time you wake up, y/n?” vein hums, rising an eyebrow when you don’t as much as stir even a little. “it’s getting pretty late.” there’s a reaction for once, though nothing more than a short-lived grimace. the next reaction, just a short while later, is an unconscious shiver when you’re exposed to a chill as he pulls the duvet down a bit more.

“darling,” he attempts, pausing to lean closer and place a light kiss to your lips. pulling away, he doesn’t miss the way they slightly pucker for a moment as if chasing after his own. this time, he can’t hold back a quiet laugh despite continuing, “are you perhaps not feeling well?”

“...”

once again, no reaction. and once again, vein leans down for another kiss. “you know i don’t like funny acts like that,” he speaks, softly yet making the reminder clear, “keep this up and you’re going to leave me with no choice.”

“...” 

the current freezes for a few seconds, as if to observe whether there’s going to be some sign of further life from you. there’s nothing, and he realizes he’s left with no choice after all; vein dives in again, letting his lips stay locked with yours longer than before; he parts, very briefly, one of his hands finding its way below your back to hold you closer. another kiss, and another, and another.

“how much longer are you going to pretend you’re the sleeping beauty?”

your eyes don’t open but - at last - you crack the smile that’s been threatening to reveal itself for a while now. you feel the linger of another touch to your lips and although you don’t speak, you don’t try to hide the way you respond to it. it drags a low laugh out from your lover.

vein leads his other hand further up, cradling the back of your head - it’s a sweet gesture, but you’re aware it’s also purposely blocking any opportunity for escape as he lands one kiss after another. each is a bit deeper than the previous, and you’re certain he unfortunately doesn’t miss your light flinch upon feeling his tongue swipe across your bottom lip. it continues like that, until you eventually reach the inevitable. 

well, vein doesn’t, but you gradually begin to feel out of breath, and maybe you’re soon to be more likely to suffocate than you did earlier, cocooned under the duvet.

you’ve lost count of exactly how many kisses it’s been until instinct abruptly has you slapping his chest in an attempt to give you some air. 

“there we go,” he laughs, equally heartedly as proudly. “wasn’t that hard, was it?”

“vein, you’re ruthless!” you laugh back, not bothering fighting back when he helps you sit up. “what if you seriously knocked me out there!”

he responds with a much amused chime, “please, i would never.” still standing on his feet, he reaches to hold your face in the warmth of his hands and looks down at you. although the pride and smugness doesn’t leave his face, his voice falls the slightest bit softer. “you slept a lot, dear. you’re not getting sick, right?”

deeply breathing out, you slightly nestle your face into one of his palms. “nope. i’m just sleepy.”

“oh, is my little darling feeling eepy today?” vein coos and judging by the silly tone of his voice as well as the playful grin he flashes, you know he’s thoroughly entertaining himself by messing with you. in return, you shoot him a glare, although only half-seriously.

“i don’t know where you picked up eepy from, but never say that again,” you grimace and arch your head away from his hold. “get out, i’m getting changed.” he laughs once more, but opts to not disturb you any longer as he turns around on his heels. in the meantime, you kick the duvet off and stand up as well. “gosh, almost thought i'd throw up there.”

“yeah, whatever,” vein sing-songs, curling his arms up in a shrugging manner and picking back the metal fan on his way out, “take your time, morning breath.”

“i don’t have morning breath!”

[kiku-66]

Lowkey, just some pictures of the sky I've taken. Some have more adjusted saturation to look nicer, in my opinion

[written-and-readen]

Window to the Soul

Yang Cheng x reader

a/n: I feel like it's been a while since I've written something. Quick, take this before I descend into madness again.

You can't seem to escape E-Soul.

Anytime your eyes are open, it feels like he's in your periphery. Hero City has billboards and posters around every corner with his image. The newsstands and your phone carry headlines with his name. The televisions broadcast his every heroic deed. It sends a shock through your system every time you lay eyes on him—like something inside you disagrees. You’ve picked up a habit of focusing on the sidewalk as you make your way through the city.

Sometimes you see him in person, although it's never for more than a minute as he runs by at lightning speed. The gust of wind that follows in his wake pushes you back slightly. Your eyes always turn in the direction he's running, although, quickly, you find he's long gone.

Even at the end of the day when you reach the safety of your bed and close your eyes, you dream of him. Well, not quite, you suppose.

You dream of days long past. Studying together. Writing messages in the margins of his notebook. Leaning into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. How you couldn’t help but smile when he blushed at your affection.

You dream of what could have been. Graduating together. Moving into the same apartment. Good morning kisses. Your limbs entangled when you wake up. Packing lunches for each other. Texting the other throughout the day. The commute back home becoming a race between you. Bumping hips in the kitchen while cooking dinner. Collapsing into someone’s arms at the end of the day. Good night kisses.

You dream of the stars aligning. Of your eyes meeting blue ones again—this time not through a photo that makes your heart ache and your hope waver with every year it grows older. Hesitance as your hands reach out, not wanting this to be a dream. Please don’t let it be just a dream this time. You welcome him into your embrace, and he doesn’t slip through your arms—

It’s morning. You open your eyes and stare at the ceiling for a couple minutes. Rubbing sleep from them, your hand falters. How long have you been crying? Nevertheless, it’s time to get up. You fumble with the switch on your lamp. Cold light stings your vision. You open your phone, checking the news. The first headline to greet you:

E-Soul on the scene at train disaster

You close your eyes again.

[loving-dearly]

Imagine your stoic f/o being very ticklish ♡

Pr*-shippers don't interact

[sqgeism]

love mail — oneshot era. because sometimes a girl cannot do it all ❤️‍🩹 jinhsi came home hooray ! this will probably bs how content will look for a while till i get the motivation for 3 man posts again (o；д；)o

early in the relationship, phainon didn't like petnames. he didn't like how corny some of them sounded, like who calls their partner love or baby.. totally not his style.. totally..

plus, he thought your name was pretty. he liked to mumble it while you slept, calling out to you like you were real. the greatest blessing in his life.

so as time passed, of course relationships change. staying the same forever was never phainons style, always wanting to grow and experiencing new things. that includes in your relationship :)

so when you call for him at the door, "phai, can you get me some snacks while you're out?" and he walks over to you, kisses your forehead and says; "sure, angel." before leaving the house.. after so long of just your name, it leaves you a little stunned.

and when he opens the door to your giddy smile, it seems like it's a keeper.

"you seem happy." phainon sighs fondly, placing the bags of food and other needed items on a table as he brings you into his arms. "maybe. just... angel? really?"

listening to his soothing laughter, it's followed by him pressing kisses all over your face. "my angel."

[lostpai]

REBIRTH - The New E-SOUL Guys, I just can't draw men not-shirtless okay, I promise I don't have any ulterior motives. Take this mindless sketch I did with my finger in an hour because I lost my apple pen again.

[twinwaterfalls]

Drabble Challenge May 2025: day 05 - Cold

summary: you decide to mess with your f/o before going to bed

tags: (generally stoic) f/o x gn!reader, sfw, fluff

a/n: hello! i hope it’s not too late to join this challenge! i can’t do every day cause i have a very busy month, but i still wanna participate at least some!

You lay on your side of the bed, not touching your f/o.

“That’s how you’re going to sleep?” they ask.

“Something wrong with that?”

“It’s just you’ll get cold sleeping like that.”

“I have blankets.”

“We don’t usually sleep like that.”

You sit up. “Ohhh do you want cuddles?” They give you a look. “If you want cuddles, you gotta ask nicely.”

“Stop.” They blush, looking away.

“Okay, guess I’ll just stay on my side then if you don’t want cuddles,” you tease.

“Enough of this.” They wrap their arms around you, pulling you down onto their chest. “I do.”

[birdsofpasssage]

quick doodle of phainon in nice's fit because they look way too dang similar

[devdozes]

GRAFFITI GIRL!!♥

reader is an archer, phainon the cutie patootie is a very famous basketball player

The sound of an arrow slicing through the air had always been familiar, comforting even. You had spent years perfecting your craft, mastering the bow until it felt like an extension of yourself. Every competition, every target practice, every moment spent under the sun with an arrow nocked had led to this: your undeniable rise in popularity as one of the best archers in the city.

It had started as murmurs online—clips of you landing impossible shots, slow-motion replays of arrows piercing bullseyes from meters away. People admired your technique, your precision, your beauty. And you had thought that was all there was to it. Until one morning, when your phone blew up with messages that had nothing to do with archery.

[Bro, when did you get into graffiti??]

[Check your socials. You’re literally everywhere.]

[You’re the ‘Graffiti Girl’ now lmao.]

Confused, you scrolled through your notifications, and what you saw nearly made you drop your phone. Murals—detailed, striking, larger-than-life murals—of you, painted on walls all over the city. They weren’t just random sketches either; they were hyper-realistic depictions of you mid-shot, bow drawn, gaze sharp and focused. Some were vibrant and colorful, others grayscale and hauntingly dramatic, but all of them unmistakably you.

“What the hell?” you muttered to yourself, staring at a particularly stunning piece where you stood against a stormy backdrop, hair windblown as you let loose an arrow.

The internet was eating it up. The hashtag #GraffitiGirl was trending. Speculations ran wild. Who was the artist? Was it a secret self-promotion? Some even joked that you had an unknown admirer with insane artistic talent.

“I swear, I have no idea who’s doing this.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you sat in the archery range’s locker room, still in your gear. “I hold a bow, not a spray can.”

Your coach chuckled, sliding their phone over to you. “Well, whoever it is, they sure captured your likeness. People love a good mystery. It’s only making you more famous.”

You groaned, scrolling through yet another wave of tagged posts. “Great. Because being known for my archery skills wasn’t enough, now I’m an urban legend.”

Still, as the days passed and more murals appeared, you couldn’t shake the curiosity gnawing at you. Who was behind this? And why you? The portraits were breathtaking, each one showcasing a level of admiration and effort that felt almost personal.

Little did you know, someone was watching from the shadows, amusement dancing in cerulean eyes. Someone who had been following your career longer than you realized. Someone who had a habit of leaving their mark wherever they pleased.

Phainon smirked as he capped a spray can, admiring his latest work. “Let’s see how long it takes for you to find me, Graffiti Girl.”

The next day, another mural appeared, this time on a massive billboard near the heart of the city. It was unlike the others—this one had your signature pose, mid-draw, but behind you was a flurry of painted arrows, almost as if they were frozen in motion, caught between reality and artistry.

You stood beneath it, staring up in awe and bewilderment. “Okay, this is getting ridiculous.”

A few people nearby were already snapping photos. A pair of teenagers whispered excitedly before one of them approached you hesitantly. “Uh, excuse me… are you really Graffiti Girl?”

You turned, exhausted. “I’m really just an archer.”

“But you’re the girl in all these paintings, right?” They held up their phone, flipping through dozens of pictures of the murals.

You sighed. “Yeah, that’s me, but I’m not the artist.”

They grinned, undeterred. “Can I still get your autograph?”

You blinked. “You want my autograph? I—” You looked around. A few more people had gathered, watching with anticipation. Clearly, they wanted one too.

With a deep sigh, you took the offered notebook and signed your name. “Here.”

“Thank you!” The kid practically squealed before rushing off. More people moved in, shoving out shirts, phone cases, anything they could find for you to sign.

You shot a glare at the enormous mural overhead. “Whoever you are, you better come out soon, because this is officially out of hand.”

Meanwhile, from the rooftop above, Phainon chuckled to himself, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The steady rhythm of arrows striking targets filled the air as you exhaled slowly, eyes locked on your next shot. The world around you faded—the buzz of your rising fame, the endless stream of people calling you "Graffiti Girl," even the latest mural that had appeared overnight. None of it mattered when you were here, bow in hand, muscles tensed in perfect control.

You loosed the arrow. It cut through the air with precision, landing dead center. A perfect shot.

And then, peace shattered.

"YO! GRAFFITI GIRL!"

The loud, unmistakable voice of Stelle nearly made you misfire the next arrow. You turned just in time to see two figures strolling onto the archery ground like they owned the place.

Phainon, the city’s golden basketball star, walked with lazy confidence, hands in his pockets, his ever-present smirk firmly in place. Beside him, Stelle, the infamous baseball prodigy, balanced a bat on her shoulder, looking far too pleased with herself.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” you asked, lowering your bow.

Phainon tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “What? We can’t visit our favorite viral sensation?”

Stelle grinned. “Yeah, man, you’re, like, famous famous now. People keep saying you’re the face of urban art or whatever.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I am NOT an artist! I don’t even own spray paint!”

Phainon hummed, glancing at the newest mural painted on the outer wall of the training center. “Damn. Whoever this artist is, they’re crazy talented. Captured your whole ‘focused warrior’ thing perfectly.”

You shot him a flat look. “Don’t sound so impressed. I don’t even know who they are, and it’s driving me insane.”

Stelle whistled. “Must be a super fan. Or a stalker. Could be both.”

“Helpful,” you muttered.

Phainon chuckled, stepping closer until he was just within your space. “C’mon, Graffiti Girl, you have to admit—it’s kinda fun. The whole city’s obsessed with you.”

“I didn’t ask to be turned into a public phenomenon!”

Stelle shrugged. “Too late. You’re a legend now.”

You groaned, grabbing another arrow and nocking it, trying to drown out their teasing. You had a tournament coming up, and the last thing you needed was to be distracted by whatever graffiti conspiracy was unfolding around you.

Unfortunately, Phainon and Stelle weren’t exactly the type to leave you alone.

The next day, you arrived at school only to be met with another painstakingly beautiful mural of yourself—this time on the wall behind the campus.

It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

You stood in front of it, staring up at the massive artwork. It depicted you mid-tournament, bow drawn, eyes burning with determination. The shading, the details, the way your hair seemed to flow as if caught in motion—it was infuriatingly well done. And at the bottom, in neat spray-painted letters, was the artist’s signature: a tiny crescent moon with the words “For Graffiti Girl.”

You groaned. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Students passing by murmured in awe, some taking pictures, others outright staring at you with knowing smirks. “It’s her,” you heard someone whisper. “The Graffiti Girl.”

Clutching your books, you stomped towards your locker, praying for some kind of normalcy. But the moment you swung it open, you froze.

Inside, neatly placed on top of your books, was an assortment of your favorite snacks. A small bag of chips, a neatly wrapped protein bar, and even a chilled bottle of your go-to energy drink. Nestled beside them, almost too perfectly positioned, was an empty spray paint can.

Your eye twitched. “Oh, come on.”

Laughter echoed down the hallway, and you turned just in time to see Phainon and Stelle walking past, both of them grinning like they knew something you didn’t. Phainon lifted a hand in a casual wave. “Morning, Graffiti Girl.”

You glared. “I swear, one of you is behind this.”

Stelle snorted. “Us? Nah. We’d never be that subtle.”

Phainon only smirked, golden eyes gleaming with mischief. “But if we were, wouldn’t that make things more fun?”

You stared at him, trying to decipher his words, but he simply turned and walked away, hands still in his pockets, the very picture of nonchalance.

You looked back at the empty spray can in your locker.

ugh, who even were they man

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

You spent the rest of the day ranting to Phainon and Stelle about the unknown graffiti artist.

“I mean, who even does this?” you huffed, dramatically waving your arms as the three of you sat outside on the school’s courtyard steps. “They’re obviously super talented—like, I’ll give them that—but why me? Why not, I don’t know, a city landmark? A basketball star? A baseball player?”

Phainon, sipping his drink far too nonchalantly, shrugged. “Maybe they just really like archery.”

Stelle snorted. “Or really like you.”

You shot her a glare. “Not helping.”

Phainon leaned back, resting his elbow on his knee. “So, what’s your plan, Graffiti Girl? Gonna track them down? Challenge them to an art duel?”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know! But this whole thing is making me look like some kind of underground celebrity, and I just want to focus on my tournament.”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s kinda cool,” Stelle teased. “Not everyone gets a mysterious, devoted artist making masterpieces of them.”

Phainon smirked. “Yeah, sounds like someone’s muse-worthy.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “If I ever meet this artist, I have so many questions. Who are they? How do they know what I look like in such detail? And where do they get the time to pull this off?!”

Phainon hummed, the corner of his lips twitching. “Yeah. Sounds like a real mystery.”

You didn’t notice the way his fingers idly spun a tiny, dried fleck of paint between them.

The day of the tournament arrived, and you walked onto the competition grounds with your bow slung over your shoulder, mentally preparing yourself for the matches ahead. You had spent weeks training for this moment—blocking out distractions, fine-tuning your form, and ensuring your focus was razor-sharp.

And yet, the universe clearly had other plans.

The moment you stepped onto campus, five brand-new murals greeted you, each one more breathtaking than the last. They were scattered across different walls, but all of them had the same theme: you, in various moments of focus, determination, and skill, capturing your strongest moments in striking detail. And at the bottom of each piece, painted in elegant, sweeping strokes, were the words:

“Good luck on the tournament.”

Your stomach flipped as you took in the sheer effort that had gone into them. The shading, the lighting, the emotions conveyed—it was insane.

You were about to scream when your phone vibrated aggressively in your pocket. Pulling it out, your screen was flooded with notifications. Your name was trending.

#GOODLUCKGRAFFITIGIRL had taken over social media.

You scrolled in disbelief, seeing hundreds—no, thousands—of posts from people cheering you on. Fans from across the city, even people who had just seen the murals online, were hyping you up. Some were posting pictures of the new graffiti, while others were leaving comments like:

“She’s not just an archer, she’s an icon, a hella pretty one.”

“Whoever this artist is, they’re singlehandedly running a one-person PR campaign.”

“I don’t even know much about archery, but now I NEED to see Graffiti Girl win.”

Your face burned as you kept scrolling. There were even clips of your past competitions being shared with captions like “She’s insane at archery. Watch this shot.” Some posts even tagged you directly, wishing you luck.

Phainon and Stelle appeared at your side, both peering over your shoulder at your phone.

“Damn,” Stelle whistled, eyeing your phone with her golden eyes, “You’re famous-famous now.”

Phainon leaned in closer, resting his chin on your shoulder as he smirked. “So, how’s it feel to be the city’s most beloved archer AND street art muse?”

You groaned, stuffing your phone back into your pocket. “I—this—WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

Phainon chuckled. “The people love you, Graffiti Girl. Better give them a good show today.”

You huffed, gripping your bow tighter. “Oh, I will. But first—if I ever find this artist, I swear—”

Stelle nudged Phainon with a knowing grin. “Yeah, that’d be interesting, huh?”

Phainon only smirked wider, cerulean eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah. Real interesting.” ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The tournament grounds were packed, buzzing with excitement. You had expected a crowd, sure, but not this many people. And definitely not this many people holding up signs—actual signs—with your face on them. Some were even prints of the murals, and others had bold letters saying “GO GRAFFITI GIRL!” with little spray paint designs drawn around the words.

Your face burned. You had never been this flustered in your life.

As you walked toward the competition area, people waved at you, called out your name—or rather, your new nickname. “Graffiti Girl! You got this!” “We believe in you!” “HIT IT, Queen of Archery!”

You tried to keep your composure, but the overwhelming support made your heart swell. It was… kinda nice. Embarrassing, but undeniably nice. You smiled, even let out a giggle, feeling lighter with every cheer.

Then the tournament began, and you switched into focus mode.

Arrow after arrow, target after target—you gave it your all. The wind barely mattered, the noise in the background faded, and it was just you and your bow. The final shot came down to a near tie, and with one last deep breath, you let the arrow fly—

Bullseye.

The crowd erupted. Your name—no, Graffiti Girl—was chanted over and over, people on their feet, cheering, clapping, screaming. The wave of excitement crashed over you as the realization hit—you won.

Grinning, you lifted your bow triumphantly, beaming as you took in the cheers. Stelle tackled you in a side hug, shaking you back and forth.

“YOU DID IT! WINNER WINNER GRAFFITI GIRL PAYING FOR DINNER!” she cackled. (my friends used to chant this whenever I won)

You laughed, still breathless, before suddenly remembering—

Phainon’s tournament.

“OH, FUCK—” you gasped.

Grabbing Stelle’s wrist, you sprinted toward the basketball court, dodging through the crowd, ignoring all the people still calling out congratulations. You weren’t missing his game.

The moment you burst into the gym, the match was just about to start. Phainon stood near the court, spinning a basketball effortlessly on his finger, golden eyes glinting under the lights.

He turned just in time to see you practically skid to a stop in the front row, waving your arms dramatically.

“PHAINON! KICK THEIR ASSES!” you yelled.

Stelle cupped her hands around her mouth and added, “YEAH, SHOW ‘EM WHY YOU’RE THE BEST, PUPPY BOY!”

Phainon’s smirk grew as he caught your gaze. Instead of responding, he simply lifted his hand—then mimed shooting an arrow, as if mocking your earlier win.

Your stomach flipped.

Still catching your breath from running, you huffed, crossing your arms. “Just play, show-off!”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ The match was intense, fast-paced, and full of electrifying moments. Phainon moved like he was born for this, his fluid movements and precise shots making the game look effortless. Every time he made a basket, the crowd roared, and you and Stelle screamed the loudest.

“ PHAINON, YOU’RE A FUCKING MONSTER!” Stelle shouted, practically jumping.

You clapped your hands over your mouth as Phainon landed a perfect three-pointer, his sharp gaze flicking toward you for just a second. He was smug. He knew he was winning.

The final quarter arrived, and with only a few minutes left on the clock, Phainon’s team was ahead but not by much. The tension in the gym was thick as the opposing team tried desperately to catch up. But Phainon wasn’t having it.

With one last perfect steal and a smooth drive to the hoop, he launched into a jump, executing a flawless dunk just as the buzzer rang.

Game over. Victory.

The gym exploded with cheers. Phainon’s teammates swarmed him, patting his back, ruffling his fluffy white hair. The crowd was on its feet, chanting his name.

“PHAINON! PHAINON! PHAINON!”

You grinned, cupping your hands around your mouth. “LOOK AT YOU, MR. MVP!”

Stelle hollered, “GRAFFITI GIRL APPROVES!”

Phainon, drenched in sweat but still frustratingly attractive, turned toward you, shaking his head with an amused smirk. He made his way toward where you and Stelle stood, stopping just in front of you.

“You didn’t miss a second, huh?” he mused, his mischevious eyes glinting.

You crossed your arms, feigning nonchalance. “Had to make sure you didn’t embarrass yourself.”

His smirk deepened. “And?”

You huffed before breaking into a grin. “Not bad, Puppy Boy. Not bad at all.”

Phainon chuckled before reaching into his gym bag and pulling something out—a can of spray paint. He casually twirled it between his fingers, gaze never leaving yours.

Your heart skipped a beat.

…Wait.

What?

Stelle gasped dramatically. “OH—”

Phainon just grinned. “Funny thing about graffiti…”

The moment Phainon casually twirled the spray paint can between his fingers, the world seemed to freeze.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, as if everyone simultaneously pieced together the puzzle. People exchanged wide-eyed looks, pointing between Phainon, the can, and you—Graffiti Girl.

Even Stelle’s jaw dropped. “OH SWEET MOTHER OF TRASHCANS.”

Your brain short-circuited. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish as you stared at Phainon, completely speechless.

“…Wait. You—?”

Phainon, still frustratingly smug, simply lifted the can and gave it a little shake. The soft rattle of the ball inside felt deafening. Then, with the most innocent, playful grin, he looked you dead in the eyes and went:

“:3”

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

The crowd erupted. People were screaming, cheering, some laughing in pure disbelief. “PHANION WAS THE ARTIST?!” “OH MY GOD, HE WAS DOWN BAD THIS WHOLE TIME!” “GRAFFITI GIRL AND PUPPY BOY SUPREMACY!”

Your brain couldn’t keep up.

“You—you—you did all of that?” you stammered, eyes darting between him and the can. “The murals? The portraits? The ‘GOOD LUCK GRAFFITI GIRL’ everywhere?”

Phainon just shrugged. “Seemed like a fun way to support my favorite archer.”

Your entire soul left your body.

Stelle absolutely lost it. “OH AEONS, HE’S DOWN HORRENDOUS!” She grabbed your shoulders, shaking you like a ragdoll. “GIRL, DO YOU REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS?! HE’S BEEN SIMPING PUBLICLY!”

The crowd agreed. Loudly.

“GRAFFITI GIRL X PUPPY BOY! GRAFFITI GIRL X PUPPY BOY!” The chant started slow but quickly picked up speed.

Your face burned hotter than the sun. “OH MY GOD, SHUT UP—”

Phainon just leaned in slightly, voice low enough for only you to hear, his cerulean eyes glowing with amusement. “So… do I get an autograph, Graffiti Girl?”

You wanted to throw yourself into the sun.

Instead, you grabbed the front of his jersey, yanked him down, and kissed his cheek.

The crowd went feral. Screams, camera flashes, Stelle wheezing in the background.

You leaned back with a smug smile, still holding onto his jersey. “I think this is better than an autograph.”

Phainon.exe stopped functioning.

For a second, he just stood there, blinking, before his entire face broke into the biggest, most lovesick grin imaginable. He looked like a golden retriever who just got told he was the best boy in the whole world.

Then, with absolutely zero hesitation, he picked you up, arms wrapped tight around your waist as he spun you around like some kind of rom-com protagonist.

“OH MY GOD, PHANION, PUT ME DOWN!”

“NEVER! YOU’RE MINE NOW, THE ARTIST HAS FINALLY GOT HIS MUSE!”

day 791683639 of wrting abt things which will never happen to me