#grims on the shore with them

[anbaisai]

AU where Mostro Lounge launches it as an official sporting event, because Azul smelled the business opportunity (featuring @raven-at-the-writing-desk's Miss Raven with Jade)

(Continuation of the book 4 mystery)

Bonus of the nefarious opportunistic octopus:

[lotrmusical]

My high school did a yearly poetry recitation contest (Poetry Out Loud), so Oh Boy do I know some poems. My favorites are Ozymandias and "the world is about to end and my grandparents are in love," by Kara Jackson. Also in 8th grade we had a Poe unit and had a class contest to make the best music video of the Raven, so I still know a good chunk of that.

i hadn't heard of the kara jackson one! just read through it and enjoyed it, particularly these lines > 'grandma returns to her love like a hymn, marks it with a color. // when the world ends will it suck the earth of all its love? /will i go taking somebody’s hand, / my skin becoming their skin?'

[loves0phelia]

hii, I was wondering if I could request something with rafe! when they’re stranded in Morocco, at night, all of them together after Sarah and JJ come back, around the fire, all bonding and rafe being a bit apart, maybe reader tries to talk to him, trying to make him feel less alone or something? would love to see what you come up with!<3

Crazier

Summery: Realizing your as crazy as Rafe for loving him.

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: mention of murder, grammar mistakes.

A/N: thank you for requesting i hope you like it even though its not exactly what you asked xx

Everyone walks out of the water slowly and exhausted, the night was crazy. The boat was stranded a few feet away from the shore because of the intense storm that had hit. You were all dizzy and disoriented but also insanely worried. Your friends Sarah and JJ had both disappeared into the water earlier that night, lost in the waves, with no way to find them.

Rafe was the first to hit solid ground. He stumbled forward, collapsing onto his back in the sand, spitting out seawater. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, the salty air biting at his raw throat. 

“I looked everywhere,” John B said, running up the hill, his voice shaky and hoarse. He coughed, forcing himself upright with one hand pressed to his chest.

“I couldn't find them,”  He said in defeat, but nobody answered. You and the rest of your friends only shook your head and sighed. The silence was heavy.

You pushed your hair out of your face, looking over the crackling fire.

“Maybe they just washed up further down the beach. We have to keep looking,” John B said, still hoping his pregnant wife and his best friend weren't gone forever.

“Well look at first light” Kie affirmed earning nods from the rest of the pogues.

Your gaze drifted from the fire for a second and you noticed Rafe, sitting on the other side of the fire, apart from the group. His eyes connected with yours and a chill went down your spine. It's like you and he understood each other without speaking a word. You knew you needed to talk to him as soon as possible. You needed to.

The sun rose on the horizon and the beach was eerily quiet now, save for the crashing waves and the occasional call of a seabird. The others were spread out, combing the shoreline for any sign of Sarah or JJ. But Rafe was apart from them, sitting on a jagged rock a little further down the beach, his shoulders hunched and his face set in a grim expression.

Rafe had stayed up all night, he would never say it but he was worried about his sister. The mere thought of his sister being gone, drowned in the ocean, with no way to find her body, sickened him. He looked so out of place—angry, lost, and alone and while the Pogues had ignored him, you couldn’t. You knew Rafe too well to leave him like this.

Taking a deep breath, you veered off course and approached him.  

“Hey,” you called softly.  

Rafe didn’t look up. He was staring at the waves, his jaw tight, his hands resting on his knees.  

“Rafe,” you tried again, more gently this time.  

He finally turned his head, his eyes narrowing slightly when he saw you. “What do you want, Y/N?” His tone was sharp, but there was no real bite to it.  

You sighed, and sat crisscrossed in the sand next to him “I just wanted to check on you. You’ve been sitting here for a while.”  

“Why? Thought you Pogues hated me.”  He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head

“That’s not true,” you said quickly, and after hesitating you added, “I don’t. I never did”  

That seemed to catch his attention. He looked at you fully now, his blue eyes searching yours. “Yeah? Since when?”  

You tilted your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite the tension. “Since always, Rafe. You know that.”  

“Doesn’t feel like it,” he muttered. “Feels like I’m the villain in everyone’s story. Including yours.”  Rafe’s gaze dropped to the ground, his fingers digging into his jeans.

“That’s not fair,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “We’ve been through a lot, you and me. And yeah, you’ve made some… questionable choices. But that doesn’t erase everything from before.”  

He scoffed, running a hand through his buzzed hair. “Before. You mean before I screwed everything up, right? Before I became the guy everyone loved to hate.”  

You frowned, your heart aching at the bitterness in his voice. “Rafe, you’re not that guy to me. I still see the person I used to know. The one who’d sneak out of Tannyhill to meet me, a pogue, at the docks. The one who didn’t care I had to work 36 hours a week to be able to live. The one who used to make me laugh when I had the worst days ever.”  

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “But that guy’s long gone, Y/N.”  

You shook your head, leaning in slightly. “I don’t believe that. Not completely. I think he’s still in there somewhere.”  

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at the ocean, the tension in his jaw slowly easing. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, more vulnerable.  

“Why are you even talking to me? After everything… Why bother?”  

You reached out hesitantly, your fingers brushing against his. “Because I care about you, Rafe. I always have, always will”  

He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at you either. Instead, he stared at your hands for a long moment.

“How? How can you still care? I ruined everything after… after I killed Peterkin. I ruined us” His tone was vulnerable.

The memory came unbidden, sharp and vivid like a wound reopened. 

It had been late—one of those sticky, humid Outer Banks nights when the air clung to your skin, thick with salt and heat. You stood on the dock by the marsh, your arms wrapped around yourself, waiting. The soft lapping of water against the pylons had been the only sound as you stared at the dark water.  

Rafe had promised he’d meet you there. The day was crazy. John B had come running to the chateau his skin covered in blood that wasn't his. He had claimed Rafe, your Rafe, had murdered the sheriff. But you couldn't believe it you had to ask your boyfriend yourself.

When he finally showed up, the boy you’d known was a shadow of himself. His shirt was wrinkled and half-untucked, his hair wild like he’d run his hands through it a thousand times. And his eyes—those piercing blue eyes you used to get lost in—were bloodshot and unfocused.  

“Rafe,” you said softly, walking up to him, your hands reaching for him like magnets, the edge of worry sharpening your tone. “What’s going on?”  

He stumbled slightly as he stepped onto the dock, catching himself against a post. “Nothing,” he said, brushing your concern away with a shaky laugh. “Why do you always gotta ask that, huh? I’m fine.”  

“You don’t look fine,” you countered, stepping closer. You could smell the alcohol on him, sharp and sour, mingling with something else you couldn't quite place. Your heart twisted painfully. “Rafe, is it true? Is it true what John B said?”  Tears flooded your vision.

“John B?” He let out a bitter laugh, louder than it needed to be. His unsteady voice carried over the quiet water.

“Yes, did you kill the sheriff?”  Your brows furrowed at his behaviour.

“No! I was saving my dad!” he slurred, stepping closer to you, “you’re always gonna believe your little friends over me uh?!”

“That’s not true!” You shot back, Your voice rising in frustration. “I’m here because I don't believe them. I'm here because I want to know your side of the story.”  

He scoffed, turning his back to you and running a hand through his hair. “Fine, I did kill her!” he shouted and his voice echoed over the water surrounding you.

“Why Rafe? What happened?” your chest tightened and your hands still reached for him but he stepped back and pushed your hands away. 

“She was gonna kill my dad!” he said, his voice raw now, almost broken as he hyperventilated.

You stepped closer, Your eyes searching for his. “Rafe, breathe please, baby.”  Once more you stepped toward him but this time he pushed you away entirely. Your back hits the railing of the dock hard, the wood digging into your skin.

“Don't fucking touch me!” he screamed and held his head like he was in pain.  

Tears burned in your eyes. “Rafe,” you said, your voice trembling. “don't push me away, please. We can figure it out together okay? It doesn't matter to me what you did, I love you”  

He took a step back, his gaze dropping to the ground. “Don't come near me again alright?”  

“Don’t do this,” you begged, your voice cracking.  

But Rafe had already turned away, walking back down the dock toward his truck. You stood there, frozen, watching as he disappeared into the night.  

What you didn't know was, after this moment Rafe felt as if his lungs were being ripped from his body, he couldn't breathe. The feeling of losing you was too much for him even though it was his fault. But you didn't deserve the chaos of his life so he left you broken and empty.

That was the last time you’d seen him before everything fell apart—before all the adventures, the chaos, and the betrayals that split your worlds in two.  

Back in the present, you blinked, the memory dissolving like mist. You glanced over at Rafe, his face as unreadable as ever. For a moment, the words were stuck in your throat.  

“I've always loved you, Rafe. Maybe it's because I'm crazy. Maybe I'm even crazier for thinking you're a good person for killing for the people you love no matter what” At your words Rafe eyes widen and his hand tightens around yours almost like he searched for signs to understand if he was dreaming or not.

“I'd kill for you in a heartbeat,” he whispered.

“And I'd kill for you” Yours and Rafe's eyes pierced each other's souls.

“Guys, they are back!” You heard Pope scream as JJ and Sarah appeared behind the mountain of sand.

Rafe broke eye contact to look over at his sister and when he saw she was in fact well and alive you could see the tension being lifted from his shoulder.

Knowing you still loved him just as much as he still loved you and knowing his sister was safe was all that mattered. 

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love (3)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.7k words

summary | calm before the storm. the queen forces you to go to the targaryen-hightower supper where you finally sit face to face with aemond, (whilst getting interrogated by prince daemon as well.)

tags | reader is just here for the targ drama tbh, fluff, small angst/but reader comforts,

note | I just realised that both rebekah and reader fall for boys that they technically watched grow up (not really, but really tho, also would you consider this pedophilic, since rebekah and reader had mere platonic feelings, while marcel and aemond were already obsessed)

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

It had been a moon's turn since your return, and Aemond had taken to shadowing you through the sunlit halls of the Keep, his presence felt like a specter lurking just out of reach. Instead of confronting you directly, he observed, his violet gaze lingering on you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Meanwhile, the currents of Targaryen drama began to stir anew, this time not over the succession of the Iron Throne, but over the shores of Driftmark and the title of the Lord of Tides.

Lord Vaemond Velaryon was set to make his case, summoned to the court to argue vehemently against Lucerys Velaryon’s claim to the ancestral seat, while the King deliberated on who would wear the mantle of the next successor.

Your mind, however, was torn asunder by the weight of the situation. It was as clear as the midday sun that Rhaenyra's three sons bore the mark of bastardy, the truth hanging in the air like a bitter fog. Yet, despite their dark hair and brown eyes, they were still Princess Rhaenrya's sons, making them true Targaryens, and as long as the crown acknowledged their legitimacy, they had every right to embrace their heritage.

Yet, the specter of justice loomed heavily. They bore no true Valaryon blood in their veins, a fact that rendered their claim to Driftmark similarly disquieting. If they were to inherit such a coveted title, it would be naught but a dagger to the heart of the Velaryon legacy, erasing centuries of honor and heritage in one fell swoop.

But who were you to cast judgment on the matter? You were, after all, a bastard yourself in your own right. With no discernible features from either your father or your mother, the only tether to the Mikaelson name was the multitude of witnesses who could attest to your mother birthing you into this world.

Soon enough, the matter erupted into a grand spectacle, as the Queen had relayed with a glint of grim madness in her eye. Viserys, frail and near death, had heaved himself from his sickbed, a ghost of his former self, to proclaim the legitimacy of his grandsons. That proclamation, laden with tension and bitter truths, secured their claim to Driftmark—an act of desperation that would surely echo through the halls of history. It was not long after this madness that the Prince, Daemon Targaryen, wielded his fury like a sword, severing Vaemond Velaryon's head from his shoulders for daring to call Rhaenyra a whore.

To your great displeasure, Queen Alicent had insisted your presence at the supper of Targaryen and Hightower—a feast destined to spiral into a night of revelry or ruin, most likely the latter. You preferred the shadows, where the light of their self-destructive feud would not touch you, allowing you to observe from afar rather than be ensnared in their political webs. Yet, refusal was a luxury you could not afford.

As the time of the supper approached, you dedicated a substantial time deliberating over your choice of attire. The vibrant hues of black and green were decidedly unfit, signifying discord and allegiances you wished to avoid at all costs. Instead, you selected a gown of soft pink silk, its flowing fabric draping elegantly over your form, a symbol of innocence amidst the clamor of tensions. You wove your hair into intricate braids interspersed with delicate pearls that caught the flickering candlelight, culminating your preparation with a cherished pendant—a family heirloom adorned with the Mikaelson crest.

Stepping into the grand dining hall, you were met with the scrutinizing gazes of the Blacks. Whispers and curious glances darted in your direction as you approached the long table, poised and unwavering, choosing to disregard Aegon's lecherous leers that felt all too familiar. A frown tightened your lips when you spied that both seats beside Helaena were occupied. Resigned yet resolute, you claimed the next available chair—seated close to Aemond.

"My prince," you intoned softly, offering a nod of acknowledgment.

Aemond's violet eye bore into you, a swirl of unspoken thoughts birthing an electric tension between you. Time seemed to stretch as he regarded you, his expression inscrutable, before he replied, "My Lady," his voice low and controlled, yet laden with something you couldn't discern.

With practiced grace, you settled into your seat, the heavy air thick with unspoken politics. You leaned slightly forward, attempting to listen as King Viserys, broken and weary beneath the weight of his crown, delivered a grand speech. He spoke of unity and the bonds of family, though in truth, all you wished for was the freedom to roll your eyes, a habit you had long restrained. His words felt hollow, a poignant irony given his role in fracturing his family as much as he sought to mend it

From what Queen Alicent had confided in you, you were painfully aware of the King's heart-wrenching choice—his decisions that saw his first wife deprived of her future and life, all in favor of the male heir he hoped for. That tragic episode echoed through the halls of the Red Keep, leading to not just his wife but both her and their son's death. And now, as King Viserys eagerly sought the son he so desperately desired, he had all but disregarded Aegon, neglecting the boy from the moment of his first cry.

As the King’s voice echoed in the hall, you caught sight of Helaena, Aegon, and Aemond—each face twisted in quiet agony, a poignant testament to the empty love their father bestowed upon them. In that moment, you felt a surge of empathy and support for them — even Aegon. With a discreet but deliberate motion, you slipped your hand beneath the table, gently covering Aemond’s tightly clenched fist.

He tensed at your touch, but after a heartbeat of hesitation, Aemond relaxed and opened his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. A small squeeze passed between you—a silent token of gratitude that spoke volumes in contrast to the empty words spilling from the King's lips.

As the evening wore on, the air thick with unwelcome tension, your mind began to drift, thoughts becoming a haze as the speeches droned on around you. It was only when Aemond's hand slipped from yours, his presence withdrawing as he rose to his feet, that your gaze sharpened. You found him casting a fierce glare at Jacaerys, who was regaling the gathering with yet another toast.

However, it was Helaena's gentle voice that truly broke through the fog enveloping you. She stood, her lovely countenance illuminated by a warm, sugary smile as she raised her glass high. "I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena," she declared, her tone carrying a dreamy lightness, "They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad. Mostly he just ignores you... except when sometimes he's drunk."

Her words pierced your heart, the bittersweet truth laced within them shattering whatever sympathy you had harbored for Aegon. With a mixture of sorrow and indignation igniting within you, you cast a venomous glare towards Prince Daemon, who, aflame with mirth, laughed at Helaena’s toast. Yet you were not as discreet as you’d hoped; the piercing gaze of Prince Daemon met yours, a knowing smirk creeping upon his lips.

“I do believe I am yet to have the distinct pleasure of being introduced to our guest,” Prince Daemon declared, his voice tinged with the kind of arrogance that could curdle the blood of the unwary. The room fell silent; all attention was drawn to you, as if you were a curious creature caged among the dragons, and you suppressed the urge to sigh at the mischief brewing in his expression.

Queen Alicent cleared her throat—a notable attempt to extricate you from Daemon’s merciless gaze. “She is one of my esteemed ladies, Prince Daemon,” she interjected, her tone hinting at a subtle warning, though the sharpness of the prince’s wit remained unyielding.

“A lady, indeed?” Daemon’s voice was laced with mockery, his eyes flickering over you as if you were an intricate puzzle, “Yet here she sits, so comfortably, as if she belongs to the very blood of House Targaryen.” Daemon replied, the cunning glimmer in his eye only intensifying. He leaned forward, every inch the contemplative predator. “What is your name, my lady?”

The warmth of the hall contrasted sharply with the coolness of his gaze, yet you met it with unwavering resolve, the remnant courage of your lineage steeling your heart as you told him your name and lied about hailing from The Reach, your voice steady, resonating amidst the stillness.

"Mikaelson?" Daemon mused, his smirk as sharp as Valyrian steel. His silver hair framed a face both youthful and hardened by conflict, and his voice dripped with the playfulness of a cunning predator. "And yet you're no son."

A tight smile graced your lips, the playful banter igniting the spark of your short temper. "My father has enough sons, I assure you, Prince Daemon," you rebuffed, your tone dipped in irritation.

"How old are you? Six and ten?" he pressed, his gaze unwavering, while you caught sight of young Jacaerys approaching Helaena, asking her for a dance. If only irony were not woven into the very fabric of their fates—how you wished Queen Alicent had seen fit to unite them in a more harmonious bond than the betrothal she made with Helaena and Aegon.

But also at that moment, you recognized the precariousness of your own web of lies. Since your arrival at King's Landing, you had deceived the queen into believing you were six and ten, which in truth you were. Oh, how the centuries rolled by, yet your vampiric nature kept your visage untouched, a fragrant bloom eternally in its prime. It was a game of wit and veiled truths, and you knew well how to play.

You met Daemon’s piercing gaze anew, your expression turning steely, tinged with an edge of irritation. “No, your highness,” you replied, your voice as cool as ice. “I am three-and-twenty.”

Prince Daemon raised a silver eyebrow in surprise. “My, my, even older than Prince Aegon,” he drawled, the words rolled off his tongue like honey laced with venom, aimed to sting, "And unmarried, I presume?"

Though you longed to retort with the truth, that you were even older than him, a creature of darkness preserved by the very essence of your nature, you instead offered a demure smile, saying, “Yes. But I prefer it that way. Much more preferable than marrying whilst I was a girl." Your words, though soft-spoken, held a steel beneath their surface—a blade forged in the fires of countless unsaid anger at the world around you.

Daemon’s lips curled into an amused smirk, and he shrugged, seemingly unfazed. “And yet, that is the world we live in.” His tone was laced with the disillusionment of a man who had seen much—his own brand of charm wrapped in an air of indifference.

“Indeed, a world where old men prey upon young girls,” you countered, your voice steady and unwavering, “but I daresay you are no stranger to such tactics, your highness.” The look of amusement that had brightened Daemon’s features dimmed, his smirk wilting like a flower in winter, which you took great satisfaction in.

You jolted in your seat, when Aemond, seated beside you, suddenly slammed his fist onto the table. The cacophony of music and chatter in the hall fell silent as he rose, his goblet held aloft like a rallying cry. "Last Tribute!" he announced, a boldness in his voice that demanded attention.

You glanced around the room, and the unease reflected in the faces of his kin did not escape you. Aemond continued, "To the health of my nephews: Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… hm… strong."

A faint gasp escaped your lips as you caught the veiled insult aimed at the Velaryon boys' bastardy. The shocked expressions of the Targaryens around you were a clear indicator that Aemond’s words had struck a nerve. Queen Alicent, her composure straining against the affront to her family, attempted to intervene. "Aemond," she cautioned, her voice taut with concern.

But he paid her no heed, raising his goblet higher, a wicked gleam in his eye as he spoke, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Come… let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys," he declared, the words echoing through the revelry like a distant thunderclap.

The hall fell silent, eyes turning to Jace Velaryon, whose face had flushed a deep crimson, betrayal etching lines into his young features. He advanced on Aemond with the fury of a dragon, fists clenched tight. "I dare you to say that again," he challenged, his words barely concealing the tempest of wrath within him.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment." Aemond retorted with a smirk that could cut glass. "Do you not think yourself Strong?" The taunt flew from his lips like a well-bred serpent, and before the words had fully settled in the air, Jace's fist met Aemond’s cheek with a resounding smack.

Yet, to Aemond, it seemed naught but a gentle breeze, his expression barely shifting as he staggered back only a pace. His pale violet eye sparkled with mischief, unfazed by Jace's sudden fury.

In a swift motion, you rose from your place at the table, the wooden chair scraping against the stone floor as you moved to intervene. Aemond, with a dismissive shove, pushed Jace down, the young prince hitting the hard ground with a thud.

Without thinking, you stepped towards Helaena, and gently took her by the arm. “Come, boys are such immature creatures, yes,” you said softly, guiding her away from the escalating chaos that threatened to engulf them both. Her wide eyes flickered with uncertainty, but she leaned into your touch, casting a sorrowful glance back at the scene as you ushered her away.

You watched as Aemond stormed out the dining hall, his anger crackling in the air like the storm clouds that often loomed over King's Landing. As chaos settled around you, you felt an impulse, a momentary lapse in resolve, and left Helaena's side to pursue him.

He strode fiercely through the halls of the Red Keep, the glint of his silver hair catching the flickering torchlight. You hurried to match his pace, concern fluttering in your chest. "Aemond," you called out softly, "are you alright?"

The scent of his wrath surrounded him, palpable as the incense in the court. He did not glance your way, his voice a frigid whisper laced with venom. "Absolutely splendid."

Your brow furrowed at the sharpness of his words, and with a hint of naïveté, you responded, "I sense a trace of sarcasm in your tone."

Aemond exhaled sharply, quickening his steps in a feeble attempt to distance himself from your probing presence, but your determination was steady. "Did my mother send you to chastise me?" he snapped, the words like arrows loosed from a drawn bow.

"No," you responded gently, your eyes softening with empathy. "I am here of my own accord, wishing only to know if you are truly well."

His stormy glare wavered for the briefest moment, as if the floodgates within him were on the verge of breaking, as if realising it was you he was talking to. But just as swiftly, he clamped down on it, his demeanor hardening once more. Suddenly, he halted and turned to face you, the tension palpable in the air between you.

You lifted your chin defiantly, unwilling to cower beneath the intensity of his stare. "Knowing," he began, his voice low and resonant. "And yet I find I do not know you at all."

Your brow furrowed, a hint of confusion playing at the corners of your lips. "I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean."

He raised a hand, holding out three fingers as if counting off a point. "Three things," he affirmed, his tone matter-of-fact. "I now know three things about you: your name, your home, and that you have brothers."

You paused, gazing at him with wide, innocent eyes, your voice a gentle whisper, "You seem troubled by this knowledge."

He exhaled heavily, pressing a knuckle to the jagged scar that marred his skin, perhaps seeking solace from its lingering pain. A part of you longed to ease his suffering. "It is only my frustration that weighs heavily upon me," he confessed, his tone laced with a mix of irritation and longing. "You hold the knowledge of my life in your hands, yet I know naught of your story."

You crossed your arms defiantly, donning a mask of indifference, "I do not understand the depth of your frustration."

Aemond's singular violet eye bore into your soul with an intensity that made your heart race. "I suspect you do. You are well aware of the affections I hold for you."

A sharp breath caught in your throat as you shook your head, dismissing the peculiar warmth blossoming within your chest. "Those were mere whims of a boy, your grace," you retorted, attempting to cloak your uncertainty in bravado.

His gaze remained unwavering, a storm of emotion swirling within that piercing eye. "Yet here I stand, no longer a boy, and the flames of my desire for you still burn fierce."

"You mustn't speak so," you urged, desperation threading through your voice like a fraying rope.

"Why ought I to remain silent?" Aemond shrugged, a hint of defiance lacing his words. "This is but the truth of my heart."

"Which is wholly improper," you retorted fiercely, the tension between you thickening in the wake of your words.

An awkward silence enveloped you both, heavy with unspoken thoughts, until Aemond cleared his throat, shifting the fragile atmosphere. "You held your own remarkably well against my uncle's incessant probing," he remarked, seeking lighter ground.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as a tendril of chill from the nearby window touched your skin, though the coolness hardly bothered you. "There is only one man who may speak to me in such a manner," you replied with a touch of defiance, "and that is my brother."

“Mhm,” Aemond murmured, his gaze locked onto yours, an intensity in his violet eye that seemed to pierce through the very air between you. “Pray, tell me more.”

You stifled a roll of your eyes, at once annoyed and amused by his insatiable curiosity. "I am the youngest of six," you said, your tone now lighthearted yet elusive, "and my favorite color is pink. Might that suffice for your unquenchable thirst for knowledge about me?"

His lips curved in a smirk, his gaze unwavering. "No," he replied, his voice low and firm. "It shall never be enough."

With a genuine exasperation, you rolled your eyes this time, a small smile betraying your annoyance. "Well, if you must know—"

But your words were abruptly stolen by Aemond’s boldness. His strong hands cupped your face, his touch igniting a warmth that seeped through the layers of silk between you. In an instant, his warm, soft lips met yours, and time seemed to freeze. Your heart raced, an unexpected firework of emotion exploding within you as you instinctively leaned into him, responding to the kiss despite the whirlwind of confusion in your mind.

Yet reality came crashing back as your senses settled, and you hastily broke away from him, breathless and bewildered. The air in the room felt charged, and you glared at him, regaining your composure and a semblance of control

The fool wore a dopey grin, that infuriatingly charming smile that only deepened your ire. You shot him a withering look. “I was speaking,” you pointedly reminded him.

His brows knitted in confusion, a flicker of surprise on his face. “What?”

You planted your hands defiantly on your hips, your indignation brewing like a storm. “I was speaking, and you interrupted me! Not only that, but you did not seek my permission to claim my lips.”

Aemond’s laughter rang like the chiming of bells, an amused glimmer in his eye as he observed your vexation. “Very well, my lady. May I kiss you again?”

Your irritation flared, your cheeks warming with a blend of anger and embarrassment. You took a deliberate step back, confusion simmering just beneath your skin. “No, of course not. You have already stolen a kiss from me, but I shall not so easily grant you another.” You held back the childish urge to stomp your foot in frustration. With a petulant huff, you turned on your heel to storm away, your voice carrying a wisp of indignation. “This is most improper and indecent! Good night, your Highness.”

“Good night, my Lady Love,” Aemond murmured, his violet gaze lingering on you until you vanished around a distant corner. His heart swelled with an unexpected mix of hope and affection, the chaotic Targaryen supper and the impending shadows of war fading from his mind. With a tender gesture, he brushed his fingertip against the spot where your lips had just brushed against his, savoring the memory.

And as you stalked off into the dimly lit corridors of the castle, the weight of his gaze lingered, leaving you with a tumult of emotions swirling in your mind, an echo of the kiss that you could neither dismiss nor desire to forget.

[velaris-fic-repository]

What the Tides Bring in (Part 2)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

An uncooperative prisoner was not the most shocking thing Azriel encountered in his line of work. He had several favorite ways of handling that problem.

An uncooperative, flirty female prisoner who’d washed up exhausted and bleeding on the shores of Velaris who did not seem to be unsettled by him in the slightest?

That gave him a bit of pause.

You two had been in that dark room for an hour or two, another round of unproductive back and forth having passed between you. He knew you were enjoying this. Your eyes held little sparkles of mischief in them even in the low light of the room.

“Are you finished yet?” He asked you.

“Do you ever lighten up?” you quipped back, stifling a smile.

It was clear you weren’t afraid of him, you hadn’t warmed up to him in any way, but something in you had shifted just slightly. The confrontational attitude he had found you with had not so much dissipated as it had changed tactics. Gone from outright threats and gnashing teeth to teasing. Pushing his buttons to see what reaction you could get. To say he was frustrated was an understatement. None of his usual interrogation strategies were getting him anywhere. Short of hurting you, he was running out of options. He didn’t harm the females he brought in as a principle, and truth be told, he hadn’t had that many to begin with. For most prisoners of any kind, his reputation did most of the work for him.

He leveled an unimpressed look your way and to his dismay, your smile broke free of the hold you had on it.

“Do you ever smile?” you asked, humor evident in your voice, “Or laugh? Or do anything but present that grim mask of death you’ve got going on with your face?”

Azriel’s jaw twitched as he fought once again to keep his expression neutral. A thought occurred to him.

“Do you even know where you are?” he asked as if coming to some kind of understanding.

“You’re a pretty good indication that the answer is somewhere in The Night Court. But other than that, no,” you said in a deadpan nature that made clear your honesty. “Lot of question marks on your side of Prythian’s map.”

“You didn’t seek out this location?”

Now it was your turn to look irritated. “Shipwreck victims usually don’t intend to wreck, let alone choose where they do it, so I’d say no.”

The few shadows of his that had circled around you on the floor looked up at him, mirroring your blank look of sarcasm. ‘Dumbass,’ they seemed to say.

Despite this, a few tidbits of information clicked into place in his mind. “Shipwreck? How many more of you are there?”

He expected another vitriol soaked sarcastic comment. Something like, ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

What he hadn’t expected was for you to freeze. Your breath hitching as your eyes went from looking at him to looking somewhere beside his head, quickly glazing over as you shivered involuntarily. The shadows around you shook, peering at you in what could be considered alarm before slowly slinking back to their master.

Scared, one said in his ear.

Sad, another murmured, carrying with it some of that same emotion.

Guilty, the last one whispered after a moment, a shocked hush in the wispy voice.

A female, washed up alone on the shore without an inkling of where she was, cut up, bleeding and exhausted, storm clouds whirling out at sea. Frozen at the mention of her potential crewmates.

Sad, the shadows repeated, guilty.

Right.

You weren’t a threat to Velaris or its citizenry, at least not yet, not like this. He couldn’t let you go, not yet, not until he was sure, but…

He cleared his throat and watched as you pulled yourself almost painfully out of wherever it was you had disappeared to in your mind.

“I’ll, um, be back with food later.”

“Thanks I guess,” you said, attempting to reuse your sarcastic demeanor from earlier, but Azriel could see it didn’t quite reach your eyes this time.

Some quiet part of him wilted at the realization, but he said nothing, tossing the small keys to your restraints across the room.

You looked at the keys, then up at him, head tilted to the side and brows furrowed. He turned and exited the room. He turned the lock on the door loudly though. He heard your scoff from outside and found himself chuckling at it as he wandered off to find you some food.

He returned with a plate along with a blanket and pillow.

“Oo, sleepover!” you said sarcastically.

“Just eat this,” he said, handing you the plate.

You continued like this for a little while, him bringing you food and once a pair of dry clothes that you changed into after he’d left - but not without a suggestive comment or two from you before - and you continuing to conversationally dance around each other.

It was a little difficult for you to reconcile the stories you’d heard about this major player in the terrifying myth that was The Night Court and this cautious and thoughtful male in front of you. You realizing he was your mate was not making that reconciliation any easier either. You weren’t there yet, far from it for sure, but in these fleeting little moments of care, you could see yourself falling in love with him somewhere down the line.

You understood the need for performance, showing the world something dark and sharp to achieve your ends. Maybe The Night Court wasn’t all choking shadows and star kissed death like you’d been led to believe.

Slowly, you warmed up to each other in bits and pieces, sharing tiny aspects of each other to fill the time you spent eating.

After a while, you’d told him what had brought you into the area. If he’d wanted the information for nefarious purposes, he would have tortured you for it already. The info wasn’t worth that much all things considered.

You were a pirate, yes. You stole things, true. But most pirates didn’t redistribute the things they’d taken to less fortunate Fae. Most pirates didn’t risk their lives so other people could have better ones than they’d had before. Most pirates did it for the profit and thrill of villainy. You did it for adventure’s sake and to help where you could.

The soft smile you’d received from him at the revelation swirled something in your chest, but you still hadn’t felt anything from his side.

Not that that was something you were even concerned about in the first place. Ahem.

“Okay, so maybe I took a few things for myself that I liked, okay? You know the truth now, I’m not a perfect angel. Are you happy now?” you said with a laugh when he questioned the totality of your altruism.

The chuckle that rumbled from him stirred those feelings around inside you again.

Damnit.

As much as he despised the teasing he’d received for the formal request he’d made to Rhys concerning you, he’d been quietly excited about it. It was a reaction he’d had a bit of trouble reconciling, unsure how exactly his perception of you had changed so quickly over the course of a week.

But, he supposed, maybe it wasn’t so odd. He, and many members of his family, had been where you were. Haunted, battered, bruised and in need of a friend. That’s what he’d be to you, if you’d have him, he found himself thinking. A friend to help you through your own patch of darkness into the starlight.

As much as you liked to push and prod at him. That had never gone away.

Considering his family, you’d fit right in.

Huh.

Azriel opened the door around his usual evening time, but instead of holding a plate and walking in, he simply leaned in the doorframe, watching to see what you’d do with a smirk on his face.

“What?”

“Ready to see where you landed?”

A/N: Hey gang! Me again! Having fun out here with this! I hope you all are enjoying reading as much as I am writing! As always, let me know what you think and if you wanna be tagged just give a shout! <3

Taglist: @rcarbo1 @shylahstarzz

[jezebelblues]

𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 | 𝐇.𝐒 ݁ᛪ༙ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭.

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐧—𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲.

pt. i, pt. ii

𝐂𝐖: fem!reader, blood+blood drinking (bro is literally a vampire there's going to be blood) 1700s!harry, mentions of death

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 7.3k

❏ yall this excruciatingly long so i just figured it was better to split this into four parts. it starts off kinda slow i knowwww but i feel like it fits his character. anyway I hope u will like. mwah :* also YES his heart beats idk i took creative liberty in assuming the blood he drinks would give him some sort of circulation and YES i drew inspo from tvd i like their vamp lore the most ok bye

Fourth of November, 1701

The English flag thrashed wildly in the biting wind, its edges snapping above the clank of chains and the groan of wood as boats were fastened to the harbor. Hooves clattered against the cobblestone, mingling with the grumble of cart wheels as townsfolk hurried homeward, eager to escape the deepening chill of evening.

Winter crept in with an ill-fated air, a shadow over the town. The fishermen’s hauls dwindled to nearly nothing, their nets coming up bare. Squash and pumpkins, once abundant, softened and rotted on their vines before they could be harvested. Livestock, struck by a strange sickness, perished too soon, their spoiled meat no longer fit to eat. Lately the townsfolk scraped by on what little they could hunt—rabbits, mostly—a meager fare that barely stretched to sustain a family for more than a few days.

YN stood at the end of the dock, the sea’s bitter wind pulling at her hair. A basket woven by her mother dangled from her arm, half-covered by a cloth beneath which a few herbs and stunted vegetables peeked through. She waited for Niall, a fisherman she’d known since childhood, to come ashore. His face was grim, his knuckles pale as he secured his boat. “Any luck?” She asked over the wind, though she already knew the answer.

His mouth twisted into a scowl as he wiped his hands on his trousers and approached her. “Lucks got nothin’ to do with it. s’the new king, swear it. God turned his back on us ‘cause of him.”

She winced and swatted his arm lightly as they started toward the stone walls encircling the town. “Don’t say such things, not out loud.” She kept her voice low, though she too had her doubts about the new ruler. “Best not to tempt fate with those words.”

He rolled his eyes and took the basket from her arm, letting it hang from his own so she could tuck her hands into her sleeves. “You agree with such things. S’pose God does as well from the lack of bloody fish.”

They passed under the worn stone archway marking the entrance to town, their footsteps echoing against the ancient stones. Dover was nestled between the English Channel and rolling green hills, hemmed in by rocky shores and the stark rise of the cliffs, standing watch like grim sentinels over the troubled little town.

As YN and Niall made their way up the winding path from the square, the quiet crept in around them, settling like a thin mist. The evening was thick and gray, heavy clouds stretching over Dover and flattening the light into a cool, uneasy dusk.

Each face they passed, they recognized. it was impossible not to, in a town so small. There was old mrs. Harris, hunched beneath a weathered shawl, who gave them a knowing nod as they went by, as if she alone were privy to the day’s secrets. And mr. James, pulling his cart toward home, who offered a quick tip of his hat, but avoided meeting their eyes too long, as if a weight hung over all of them that no one cared to mention.

Niall, walking beside her, held his silence longer than usual, and there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes when he finally turned her way. “You’re still makin’ that stew, yeah?” He hummed, nodding toward the basket swinging lightly in his hand. His tone was casual, almost lazy, yet she sensed something else beneath it, like he was testing the waters of a conversation he couldn’t quite bring himself to start.

“Mum has already started it,” YN replied, keeping her voice as light as his. “Cabbage, onion, bit of thyme. barely a stew, more a broth.” She cast a sideways glance his way, catching the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.

“No doubt you’ll have your sister servin’ it, then?” He asked, as though it were an afterthought. “I hear she has a way of makin’ anything taste finer.”

YN’s lips twitched, a hint of humor flickering in her eyes. She knew well enough where this was going, but she didn’t indulge him outright. “Oh, she has her charms, but she’s picky ‘bout who gets to see ‘em.”

He laughed quietly, a low sound that seemed to carry on the breeze, soft and uncertain. “She's got the whole town near dreamin’ of her, from what I hear. never seen her eye stray toward anyone, though.”

YN glanced away, her gaze drifting over the clustered rooftops, the narrow chimneys stretching into the dimming sky like spindly fingers. “You’d need more than a bowl of stew to catch her fancy, Niall. You’d best hope for a rich merchant or a duke comin’ ashore.”

His chuckle died off, and for a few quiet moments, they simply walked, the soft scuff of their shoes blending with the distant murmur of the sea. Yet something hung between them, unspoken, like the faintest shadow shifting at the edges of their conversation.

It was Niall who broke the silence, his voice lower this time, his words careful. “Have you heard the talk? About the old watchtower?”

YN’s gaze drifted to the far side of town, where the dense stretch of forest gave way to a steep rise, the silhouette of the abandoned tower just barely visible through the trees. “Folk say all sorts of things,” She muttered, almost to herself. “Been empty as long as I can remember.”

Niall’s eyes narrowed as he looked out toward the darkening line of trees, his jaw set. “Empty, maybe, but someone’s taken to hauntin’ it now. The lads swear they’ve seen a figure up there at night, just a shadow movin’ about, like he’s watchin’ the town from that high window.”

She felt a faint chill that wasn’t from the cold, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “They say a lot of things,” she repeated, her tone steady but soft. “Could be nothin’ but the wind playin’ with shadows.”

He tilted his head, the edge of a smirk softening his face. “Aye, that’s what I'd think, too. But seems each person’s got a different tale to tell. Some say he’s a protector, sent to keep us safe.” He shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the distant woods. “Others say it’s somethin’ darker—maybe one of the king’s men, sent to spy on anyone who dares breathe a word against him.”

YN’s lips parted, but she hesitated, the words hanging unspoken as her gaze lingered on the watchtower. Her grandmother had told her stories of that tower once, years ago, when she was still young enough to believe in the old tales without question. But she’d since brushed them off as the ramblings of an old woman long passed. Now, though, the stories flickered back to her, sharp and vivid as they’d once been.

“I heard some folk say it’s not a man at all,” She murmured, so quietly that her voice nearly vanished into the chill air. “Gran said it’s a spirit—a demon.” she let out a breathy laugh, sending a glance his way. “You believe my ol’gran true?”

Niall made a sound, halfway between a scoff and a chuckle, though he didn’t argue with her. “You don’t seem the sort to believe in demons,YN.”

She didn’t answer him, and for a moment, they stood in the gathering dusk, looking out toward the distant, looming shape of the tower, as if something there had caught them both in its thrall. A strange, unsettling weight hung in the air, pressing down around them, and neither seemed willing to break it.

The faint toll of the chapel bell echoed across the town, marking the evening hour. The sound seemed hollow, almost mournful, as it resonated through the narrow streets, slipping into every crack and crevice, lingering like a warning in the growing dark.

The path wound through the clustered homes of their town, each one narrow and stacked close beside the other, the rooftops tilting like old friends leaning together to brace against the coming winter. Flickers of candlelight peeked through small, thick-paned windows, casting brief glows over doorsteps worn smooth by years of footsteps. Voices drifted out faintly as neighbors settled in for the night, the low buzz of comfort after a long day’s labor.

As they neared her door, YN glanced sideways at Niall, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Well, no use lettin’ the stew go to waste with just me. You might as well come in and help make somethin’ decent out of it. And,” she added, with a playful glint, “my sister will be there, too. Might be the only chance you get to impress her.”

Niall feigned indifference, though she caught the hint of a flush in his cheeks beneath the dimming light. “Well, if it’s to spare you from that sorry excuse of a stew, I s’pose I could lend a hand,” he said with mock reluctance, yet his steps quickened as they approached the small wooden door.

Inside, the house was simple and small, with a low ceiling that sloped slightly, forcing even YN to duck beneath the beams as she led him in. A narrow hearth crackled with a weak but steady fire, casting warm shadows across the modest room, which served as both kitchen and living space. The scent of herbs, drying in bunches along the walls, mingled with the faint tang of smoke from the hearth. A single table stood in the center, its edges worn smooth, surrounded by a handful of mismatched stools and chairs, each one slightly wobbly but bearing the marks of care and countless meals.

“Is that you, YN?” Her mother’s voice came from the corner, where she was bent over a pot, stirring with steady, practiced hands. She looked up with a gentle smile, her face flushed from the warmth of the fire. “And Niall too! Just in time. I was about to send Arthur to fetch you, but he’s off fiddlin’ with somethin’ in the corner.”

Ten-year-old Arthur looked up at the mention of his name, a wide grin splitting his face when he spotted the blonde. “Niall!” He called, scrambling to his feet and darting over, a wooden sword in hand. “You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”

He placed the basket next to the older woman before he tousled the boy’s hair, giving a wink to YN. “That depends—will your sister cook, or will your ma have mercy on me?”

YN rolled her eyes as her mother chuckled, stirring the stew with a knowing look. “I'll make sure to keep it fit for eatin’. Now, why don’t you both make yourselves useful and set the table?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Niall replied with a quick bow, flashing his best charming smile, though his eyes lingered on the slender figure by the fire.

YN’s older sister, Ella, sat with her needlework in hand, her fingers nimble as she embroidered a delicate pattern into the edge of a linen cloth. She looked up as Niall approached, offering him a nod and a faint, polite smile, though a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes.

“Ella,” Niall greeted, taking the opportunity to lean a bit too casually against the edge of the table. “Now there’s a sight finer than any supper, if I may say.”

“Oh, you may say.” Ella sighed, her tone as mild as her smile. “But sayin’ doesn’t make it so, does it?” Her eyes sparkled with a touch of mischief, and she kept her gaze on her stitching as if he hadn’t said a word.

YN snorted, reaching past Niall to set the bowls on the table. “She’ll need more than empty flattery to be wooed, Niall. You’ll be talkin’ all night before she so much as bats an eye.”

“Empty flattery?” he echoed, feigning shock as he helped with the cups, placing them with exaggerated care. “This is pure honesty, YN. Your sister’s a vision, though I'm not sure she sees it herself.”

Ella finally looked up, one eyebrow arched. “Perhaps that’s ‘cause it’s hard to see with all the bluster in here. Is it flattery or just another of your tales, Ni?”

Arthur laughed as he climbed onto his chair, his wooden sword clattering to the floor. “Tell a tale, Niall!” He urged, his eyes bright.

He obliged with a grand sweep of his arm. “Ah, tales are easy to tell when the company’s fine.” His gaze drifted meaningfully to Ella, who only smirked, clearly unbothered.

“Enough of your foolishness, Horan.” YN’s mother cut in, though her tone was warm as she dished the stew into the bowls. “There'll be time for tales when your stomach’s full. Now, all of you—sit, before this stew turns cold.”

They settled around the table, the simple meal set before them steaming in the flickering firelight. YN ladled out servings, keeping her own expression solemn as she dished out the rather grayish stew. Niall took a tentative sip, raising his brows in mock surprise.

“Well, I'll be,” he declared, setting his bowl down as if astonished. “Tastes just like stew!”

YN kicked him under the table, rolling her eyes. “Don’t sound so shocked, else we’ll make you eat the scraps.”

Ella, watching them from across the table, hid a smile behind her hand. “It's better than you deserve,” she teased, offering Niall a faintly teasing look that sent Arthur into a fit of giggles.

As they settled into their meal, the conversation turned to the familiar rhythms of the day—the fish hauls, the scarcities at the market, the latest mischief Arthur had managed, and the townsfolk they’d seen along the way. Laughter bubbled up around the table, filling the small room with warmth as the stew slowly disappeared, their bowls clinking softly with each spoonful.

It wasn't until they’d nearly finished eating that YN’s mother’s voice turned low, a faint shadow crossing her face as she glanced at arthur. “Arthur,” she said gently, “I don't want to hear any more of you playin’ outside the town walls.”

The boy frowned, his spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “But ma, I’m careful,” he protested, glancing between her and YN as if hoping for support.

“She's right,” Ella added, her voice calm but firm. “The woods aren’t safe, especially with winter comin’ on.”

He looked to Niall, his face a mask of confusion and a bit of defiance. “Niall plays near the woods, don’t you?”

He shifted in his seat, his smile fading just slightly as he glanced at YN. “Aye, lad, but it’s different. I'm older, and I keep my wits about me. Besides,” he added lightly, though his voice held a trace of something darker, “there’s been talk of someone wanderin’ near the old watchtower.”

YN’s mother sighed, folding her hands on the table. “Too much talk.” She said quietly, her gaze drifting toward the narrow window. “I don’t care if s’only lore, you’ll be safe rather than sorry.”

A hush fell over the table, and Arthur's wide eyes darted from face to face. “Who is it, then?” He whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “A man?”

Ella reached over to ruffle his hair, her voice soft. “No one knows. could be a man, could be no more than shadows. But some say it’s best not to linger too close to it, just in case.”

Niall, watching Arthur's reaction, leaned in with a grin. “There now, it’s probably nothin’ more than a lonely ol’ fox. But best stick close to home, eh? Can’t have you disappearin’ on us.”

YN tried to keep her voice light as she chimed in, though she felt the faintest prickling unease beneath the laughter. “You heard him, Arthur. best keep to the town, else you might end up a story yourself.”

The boy’s eyes grew even wider, and he gulped, glancing nervously toward the window as if expecting to see the mysterious figure standing just beyond. He fidgeted, his hand reaching instinctively for his wooden sword on the floor beside him.

With a faint, tired sigh, YN’s mother rose and began clearing the table, signaling the end of the meal. The warm glow of the evening seemed to have dimmed, and even Niall’s usual cheer was muted as he helped gather the bowls, his gaze drifting back to the light flickering along the walls.

Outside, the wind picked up, brushing against the windows and rattling the latch ever so slightly, a whisper against the warmth of the firelight. The small house was silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought, each glancing occasionally toward the dark window where the night gathered, close and watchful.

Morning seeped slowly into Dover, pale and cool, bringing with it the damp scent of the sea and the faint call of gulls overhead. YN was awake early, as was her habit, slipping quietly out of bed while the house still lingered in the soft dimness of dawn. The fire in the hearth had died to embers, and a chill clung to the air, but she moved quickly, tucking a shawl around her shoulders as she crossed the small room.

Arthur, already up and dressed, was tugging at the latch on the back door, eager to start his morning chores. He looked back when he heard her steps, his face lighting up with a grin. “Thought you’d sleep through it, lazybones.” He teased, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.

She snorted softly, pinching his cheek as she passed him. “Cheeky lad,” she muttered. “Come on, then. Let's get to it.”

They stepped out into the brisk morning, their breath puffing in the cold, and began making their way down the narrow stone path that wound through the small patch of yard behind their home. Frost clung to the grass, glinting in the pale light, and the chickens shuffled restlessly in their pen as Arthur went to check on them.

“Careful now.” 

He bent down next to them to scatter their feed. The hens fluffed their feathers, clucking contentedly as they pecked at the ground, and Arthur kept one eye on the rooster, who strutted about with his chest puffed, keeping watch over his domain.

“Look at him,” he whispered, stifling a laugh as he threw a handful of seed. “Thinks he’s king of all creation, that one.”

She grinned, crouching beside him. “Well, he’s a rooster. not much else to do but look important, is there?”

The boy giggled, tossing a bit of feed toward the rooster, who eyed him warily before puffing up even further. YN kept watch as he finished the feeding, carefully securing the pen’s latch when he was done.

They moved on to check the small patch of herbs and vegetables that clung to life in the early cold, though the frost had already done its damage. The leaves hung limp and dark, and YN  frowned, brushing a thin layer of frost from a withered cabbage leaf.

“S’not lookin’ good, is it?” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a murmur as he followed her gaze.

“No,” she replied softly, her fingers brushing over the leaves. “But we’ll manage. Always do.”

He gave her a solemn nod, but she could see the worry in his eyes, the way he seemed to glance toward the woods, as if he might glimpse the shadowed figure their mother had warned him about the night before. She reached over and squeezed his shoulder, offering a smile.

“No need for lookin’ so glum, Arthur,” she said, keeping her tone light. “We've plenty to keep us busy, and I'll wager you’ll see that rooster crowned king before anything happens to us.”

He managed a faint smile, his spirits lifting just enough to reassure her. They finished up quickly, making their way back inside, where the warmth of the house greeted them. YN set about preparing a quick meal for Arthur and her mother, who was just beginning to stir, her tired eyes softening at the sight of her children.

Once breakfast was sorted, YN returned to her small room to ready herself for the day. She tugged off her worn nightdress, slipping into the fresh linen undergarments she’d set aside, and carefully pulled on a plain woolen dress that hung neatly from a peg beside her bed. It was a simple dress, but a neat one, its modest collar and long sleeves making it suitable for the chilly weather. she straightened the fabric, adjusting the waist so that it lay just right, and wrapped her shawl back over her shoulders, pinning it at the front with an old, weathered brooch that had once belonged to her grandmother.

She caught her reflection in the small, scratched mirror by the window—a young woman with steady eyes and a hint of determination in her gaze, her hair braided behind her, a few strands slipping free to frame her face. After a moment, she tucked a few stray wisps behind her ear and gave herself a brisk nod, turning to head out.

The streets were beginning to stir as she made her way down to the docks, the early morning light casting a soft, muted glow over the cobblestone. A few shopkeepers were already sweeping their doorsteps, preparing for the day’s trade, and a handful of townsfolk passed by, nodding their greetings as she walked.

When she reached the docks, she found Niall already there, standing by his boat, his hands working quickly to secure the ropes. His coat hung loose over his shoulders, and his hair was tousled from the morning breeze, but there was a contented look in his eyes as he glanced up and saw her approach.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen of the cabbage patch,” he greeted her, a grin breaking across his face. “Come to see if I've hauled in a king’s feast for ye?”

YN rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she stopped a few feet away from him. “I wouldn't go that far. but I'll settle for a decent fish, if you’ve managed one.”

He laughed, giving the rope a final tug before stepping back, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Oh, a decent fish, she says. Well, lucky for you, I've got just that.” He reached into a small wooden crate and held up a plump haddock, its scales glinting in the early light. “Not a king’s ransom, but it’ll do for stew, won’t it?”

She eyed the fish, unable to suppress a smile. “Aye, it’ll do. Might even save us from havin’ to wrangle another cabbage.”

Niall chuckled, tucking the fish back into the crate. “Couldn’t have that, now, could we? I’m doin’ my part to keep your cookin’ passable.”

“Passable?” She laughed, nudging him lightly as she stepped up beside him to peer into the crate. “You’re just glad to have an excuse to come round, steal our bread, and charm my sister.”

He gave her a mock-offended look, though his eyes glinted with humor. “Now, that’s hurtful, YN. I'm here for the food and the fine company, naturally. If your sister happens to be nearby, well, that’s not my fault, is it?”

She rolled her eyes, unable to help the small laugh that escaped. “Poor Ella’ll need more than a fish to be impressed. Best not get your hopes up too high.”

“Aye, she’s a hard one to please,” he admitted, a faint, wistful smile crossing his face. “But I'll manage somehow. or at least, I'll keep tryin’.”

They both fell silent, their gazes drifting out over the water, where a thin mist clung to the surface, casting an eerie calm over the harbor. The other boats rocked gently in the quiet, and the gulls called out above them, their cries echoing faintly across the empty stretch of sea. Together they turned back toward the town, the mist curling softly around them as they walked, side by side, in the quiet of the morning.

The midday lull brought a hush over the town, as folk took their brief respite between the day’s labors. The soft light of afternoon slipped over the rooftops, and YN found herself winding her way down one of the quieter streets toward Maura’s, a modest little cottage that doubled as the gathering place for the women in town. Here, around a crowded table of mismatched cups and chipped saucers, town gossip simmered as steadily as the tea.

Maura's door was open, the sound of voices spilling out into the cobbled lane, and YN slipped in quietly, greeting the women with a polite nod before finding a seat near the end of the table. The familiar faces of neighbors turned to greet her—Maura herself, with her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the kitchen, mrs. Harris with her ever-watchful eyes, and a handful of others who paused only long enough to give YN a quick nod before returning to the subject that had clearly held their interest long before she arrived.

“I'm tellin’ you,” mrs. Harris was saying, her voice low and edged with certainty. “There's somethin’ in that tower. maybe it’s a spy, maybe it’s worse.”

Maura scoffed, shaking her head. “If it were a spy, we’d know by now, wouldn’t we? why bother lurkin’ about if there’s nothin’ worth seein’ here?”

“There’s plenty to see, Maura,” the older woman sighed, leaning forward, her teacup nearly sloshing over the rim as she gestured toward the window. “Who’s to say he hasn’t been watchin’ us all along, takin’ note of who’s loyal to the new king and who’s not?”

Maura snorted, but one of the other women, Anna, leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. “or worse—what if it’s no man at all?” Her gaze darted to the others, her eyes wide with a kind of fearful excitement. “There are tales, you know. Of things that wander the woods. Spirits that linger in dark places, things that only come out when the days grow short.”

Mrs. Harris crossed herself, nodding solemnly. “Aye. folk say it’s a night creature—a demon, even.“

YN listened quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup, but she held back a smile. as the women exchanged anxious looks, she leaned back, sipping her tea, the warmth of it calming her nerves. To her, the stories felt like little more than old wives’ tales—a way for folk to pass the time when the days grew cold and bleak. A lonely man, perhaps, who’d taken to the tower for solitude, a soul with nowhere else to go. Nothing so sinister as the women here believed.

“You've a skeptical look about you, dear” Maura said, catching her eye with a wry smile. “Don’t tell me you’d walk up to that tower yourself, would you?”

She met her gaze calmly, setting her cup down. “I'd sooner believe it’s a wanderer, Maura. Maybe one who wants peace more than anything else. Don’t see why we should fear him.”

“Peace, or no peace, he’s still up there, watchin’ us all.”

YN didn’t reply, only nodded politely as the conversation swirled on, the voices around her swelling in speculation and rumor. After a while, she quietly rose, setting her cup aside and offering Maura a grateful nod before slipping out the door and into the fresh air.

The chatter of the women faded behind her, and she took a deep breath, the cool air filling her lungs and clearing her thoughts. She knew she was unlikely to shake their unease or convince them of her view, but as she thought of the lonely figure up in the tower, something tugged at her—a kind of curiosity that gnawed gently at the back of her mind.

Without a second thought, she made her way home, moving quickly and quietly, her mind already set. She slipped through the door, pausing only to grab her small woven basket from its hook. Her mother glanced up, but YN offered her a calm smile, murmuring something vague about a quick errand before supper.

IN the small corner of their kitchen where they kept their stores, she selected a handful of berries from the last of their foraging, a few slightly bruised carrots, and a small bunch of herbs tied with a thin scrap of cloth. Modest offerings, but enough, she hoped, to serve as a token of peace, a sign that she meant no harm.

She took a deep breath and headed toward the edge of town, her footsteps light as she made her way past the familiar lanes and toward the narrow path that led up to the old watchtower.

The path leading to the watchtower was narrow, winding its way up the hillside in gentle, uneven curves. YN had walked these woods many times before, though never with the purpose she had now. Above her, the sky was beginning to darken, clouds gathering in ominous clumps, casting long shadows across the land as the sun slipped lower.

Her heart thudded in her chest, not from fear, but from a strange mixture of curiosity and anticipation. The stories she’d heard that morning lingered in her mind like faint echoes, each warning a small reminder of the mystery ahead. But she felt something else too—a quiet resolve, an odd certainty that she had to see this figure, whoever he might be, with her own eyes.

The watchtower loomed before her, its crumbling stone walls climbing into the sky, weather-worn and scarred by time. She could see now why the townsfolk feared it; it looked like a relic from another era, half-hidden by the dense growth of ivy and the creeping fog that clung to the base of its walls. It was silent here, too silent, as if even the birds dared not sing in the shadow of the old tower.

Steeling herself, she moved forward, her footsteps muffled by the damp earth. The closer she got, the more the watchtower’s age showed itself in cracked stones and vines, a darkness that seemed to pool between the stones, deepening the gray of the twilight. At the base of the tower, a narrow door sat slightly ajar, barely wide enough for her to slip through. She paused there, glancing up, feeling an odd twinge of nervousness as her gaze drifted to the upper windows, dark and empty.

Drawing a deep breath, she pushed the door open, stepping into the dim interior.

The inside of the tower was colder, the air thick and still. Faint light seeped through cracks in the walls, just enough to reveal the sparse furnishings—a wooden table, books, a chair beside the hearth, long since gone cold. Dust motes hung in the air, catching the dim light like fragments of stars, and a faint, earthy smell lingered in the space, as though the room hadn’t seen another soul in years.

Yet something else lingered too, something that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle—a sense that she wasn’t alone.

A figure stepped forward from behind a wall, emerging so quietly she almost missed it. He was tall, with dark curls that tumbled around his face, shadows clinging to his features as though he belonged to the darkness itself. His eyes met hers, a piercing green that seemed to hold an entire century’s worth of secrets, and for a brief, unsettling moment, she felt as though he could see straight through her.

“What brings you here?” His voice was low, quiet, each word clipped and precise, yet holding a softness that surprised her.

YN swallowed, her hand instinctively tightening around the basket she held. “I–I thought you might be hungry,” she stammered, offering the basket forward with a hesitant smile. “Folk talk of you up here, you know. Thought it might be nice to see if you wanted some company.”

He raised a brow, a faint trace of amusement softening his gaze. He didn’t reach for the basket, but instead continued to watch her, as though trying to make sense of why she would come here, alone, to his solitary refuge.

Didn’t seem exactly the safest thing.

“People rarely visit me,” he said finally, his voice barely more than a murmur, as though he were speaking more to himself than to her. “Especially not with offerings.”

“Well, it’s no great feast,” she laughed breathily—nervous, setting the basket down on the table. “But it’s enough for a quiet meal.”

He looked down at the basket, his expression unreadable. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he would turn her away. But then his gaze shifted back to her, gentle, as though something in her gesture had reached him in a way she couldn’t quite understand.

“I don’t need much,” he breathed, finally stepping closer, his movements careful, almost tentative. “But thank you.”

The silence stretched between them as Harry’s eyes lingered on her, his regard tracing every movement of her face, the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her lips pressed together as if searching for words. He could feel it—her pulse thrumming in her neck, the warmth radiating from her skin, the soft, steady rhythm of blood rushing through her veins. It was maddening. The sound alone clawed at the quiet corners of his mind, stirring that old, cursed hunger he’d worked so hard to bury.

But he couldn’t let her see that. Couldn’t let even a flicker of it touch his face.

With a composed nod, he turned his attention to the basket, using the small action to steady himself, to pull his focus away from her and fix it on the modest offering she’d brought. Herbs and roots, earthy and clean, none of it touched by blood. He forced his breath to steady, aware of her watchful eyes on him as he sorted through the items, careful to keep his hands stable.

“Are you here… often?” She asked softly, breaking the silence in a voice that felt almost hesitant, as though unsure whether it was allowed. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the sparse surroundings, the thick shadows that crept into every corner.

Harry let his fingers linger on a sprig of thyme, keeping his voice level as he answered. “Yes,” he confided simply, his tone giving nothing away. “I find it… peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” she echoed, a faint smile touching her lips as she looked back at him. “It doesn’t frighten you, being all alone up here?”

He allowed himself the smallest of smiles—him—frightened? How sweetly ironic. “Sometimes solitude is easier than the alternative.”

She studied him, and he could feel the weight of her eyes, searching for something beneath his answer. Her heartbeat quickened just a bit, a small, steady thump that seemed to reach straight through him, its warmth coiling like a spark inside his chest. He could almost taste it—the sweet, heady pull of her pulse.

But he forced the thought down, burying it beneath years of restraint. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, redirecting the focus onto her. “And what about you?” he asked, his tone soft but steady. “Doesn’t it frighten you to come all this way, alone?”

She gave a small laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe it should. But I suppose I don’t scare easily.” She paused, her gaze slipping to the narrow window where the trees outside swayed gently in the wind. “It’s quiet here, almost like a different world. Sometimes it feels like our town is shrinking, like it’s closing in. Out here, it’s–it’s freer.”

Harry’s gaze softened, though he said nothing. There was something in her words he understood, something that echoed faintly in his own memories of why he’d chosen this place—this forgotten, lonely tower—to escape. A life he could no longer live, a curse he couldn’t risk unleashing.

She looked back at him, curiosity bright in her eyes. “People say you’ve been here a long time—I mean, they say the tower’s been abandoned forever. But you don’t seem…” She trailed off, biting her lip as though she didn’t quite know how to finish.

“Don’t seem what?” he asked, his voice low, inviting her to continue.

She waited, and he watched her carotid flicker in her throat as she searched for her words. “You don’t seem like someone who belongs in a place like this,” she murmured. “Like you’ve got more in you than—than just seclusion.”

He felt a tug deep in his chest at her words, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time—a faint longing, a half-forgotten ache for a life he’d once dreamed of. But that life was gone. He’d buried it the night he’d been turned, when the world as he knew it had collapsed into a semblance of hell.

“It’s strange,” he replied carefully, his eyes drifting toward the flickering shadows on the wall. The hunger gnawed at him, unrelenting, every second reminding him of how close he was to her. She was standing barely a foot away, her warmth filling the small space, her heartbeat a steady, maddening drumbeat that drew him closer, closer…

He straightened slightly, pulling himself back. “Solitude,” he said quietly, almost as if reminding himself, “sometimes feels simpler.”

She nodded slowly, but her eyes stayed on him, and he could see the spark of curiosity still there, unquenched. She was brave, this girl. Far braver than most. And something about that bravery—the quiet way she stood her ground in the face of shadows and rumors, in the presence of a stranger—intrigued him. She wasn’t running away. And a part of him, despite everything, wanted her to stay.

“Thank you,” he mumbled—almost a dismissal, gesturing to the basket, his voice softened with a touch of genuine gratitude. “Not many would bring gifts to a stranger. Especially not one so isolated.”

She smiled, her cheeks flushing faintly in the dim light. “Well, maybe I’ll bring something better next time,” she replied with a small laugh. “If you’d want that.”

He paused, her words lingering in the air between them. Next time. It felt dangerous, allowing the thought of it, letting her return. But as she looked at him, her smile warm and unguarded, he found himself nodding almost without thinking.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I’d like that.”

But even as he spoke, he felt the old thirst stir beneath his words, a dark reminder that she was flesh and blood, and he was anything but.

Harry watched her retreating figure until the last of her shadow disappeared down the winding path. The silence settled thick around him once more, yet it felt different now, charged with the lingering warmth of her presence. The faint echo of her heartbeat still pulsed in his mind, like a phantom drum that refused to fade. He drew in a slow, deliberate breath, pushing down the hunger that had clawed so violently to the surface, fighting a void that had nearly overpowered him the entire time she’d stood there.

He had always been a weak man for the living.

Turning back into the tower, he closed the door and leaned against it, his hand flexing as he grappled with that old, familiar agony, the ache that thrummed through his veins whenever he was near a human. After all these years, after countless nights spent mastering his restraint, he still struggled. The curse was unrelenting—an obstinate thirst that he could never truly silence, only suppress.

Memories rose in him unbidden, dark and sharp, clawing their way out of the places he kept them buried. He could still recall the crisp air of that autumn night in 1601, back when he was alive, when he’d believed his life was bound for something beautiful. He’d been a poet then, a young man enamored with language, eager to make something of himself. He’d had dreams of attending university, of pursuing a life dedicated to literature and ideas, a life where he could spend his days wrapped in thought and art.

But all of that had been shattered in a single night. He had been walking back from a small tavern in London, tipsy and laughing, still reciting lines of poetry in his head, the night air filling him with a light, exhilarating hope. He remembered it so clearly—the dimly lit street, the damp chill creeping into his coat, the rough hand that had seized him by the throat and dragged him into an alley. He’d thought it was a robber at first, maybe a cutthroat from the docks looking for a quick coin.

But then he’d seen his attacker’s face.

The man’s eyes were inhuman, glinting with a feral hunger, and his skin was pale, almost translucent in the moonlight. Harry had fought, struggling against the impossible strength of those arms, but it had been useless. The man had pinned him down with a brutal ease, baring his teeth—a flash of something razor-sharp, malevolent—before sinking them deep into Harry’s throat. The pain had been excruciating, and then everything had gone dark, his life draining away into a cold, endless void.

He hadn’t known what had happened to him for days afterward. He’d awoken alone, hidden in the dark recesses of a forgotten basement, his body shuddering with an unholy thirst that tore through him like wildfire. The transformation had left him a half-mad, hollow shell, consumed by an insatiable need he didn’t understand. He’d stumbled through the streets, eyes wild, hunting without even knowing what he was hunting for. And when he’d finally cornered a man in the dead of night, tearing into his throat with a frenzy he could barely comprehend, he’d learned what he had become.

The first months were a blur of blood and horror, a nightmare he hadn’t known how to escape. He had been controlled by an ache, a greed—enslaved by it, a wretched creature lost to bloodlust. He’d fought it as best he could, but each time he tried to resist, the thirst only grew stronger, until he was reduced to a brutal, savage need that erased everything else.

It had been a year later, in 1602, when he encountered another vampire. His name was Thomas, a wily, unrepentant creature who fed freely and without remorse. Thomas had found Harry alone and ravenous, nearly mad from weeks of starvation in an attempt to restrain himself. He’d taken Harry under his wing, teaching him how to survive in this new, cursed life, how to hunt, how to kill cleanly. But while Harry had been grateful for the guidance, he quickly saw that Thomas reveled in the whispers of the devil, that he viewed humanity as little more than prey. He was malignant. 

His own heart was too soft for such cruelty. He’d hated the feel of human flesh beneath his hands, the way his victims’ eyes widened in terror as he held them down, the way their life drained away in his grasp. He hadn’t wanted this life. But the need was too powerful, too all-consuming, and he had been too weak to fight it.

And then, in 1643, came the night that shattered him completely.

Her name had been Beatrice—a young woman from Manchester, one of the few souls who’d looked past his oddity, his quiet reserve, and seen something in him worth knowing. She’d been kind, curious, always showing up at his door with a warm smile, her laughter lighting up his otherwise bleak existence. For months, she’d been a balm to him, her presence a brief reprieve from the loneliness that gnawed at him. He’d been so careful around her, so painfully restrained, never allowing himself to get too close. But one night, after days of starvation, he had faltered. She’d come to visit him, concern etched on her face, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek.

And in that moment, he’d lost himself.

The memory of that night was burned into him like a scar, the scent of her blood, the warmth of it cascading from his lips and developing him whole— the sound of her heart slowing as he drank from her—all of it haunted him, even now, decades later. He had tried to pull away, tried to stop himself, but the hunger had overpowered him, consuming her life, taking everything she had. When he finally came to his senses, she lay cold and pale in his arms, her eyes staring up at him, empty and accusing.

After that, he’d fled, haunted by the horror of what he’d done, determined never to let it happen again. He’d hidden himself away in this tower, learning to feed from the animals that roamed the forest, forcing himself to endure the hunger rather than inflict his curse on another innocent soul. He would never again allow himself to feel that agony, that terrible loss.

And yet tonight, with her presence in his small, empty world, something had stirred in him, a strange, aching reminder of what it meant to be human, to crave connection, companionship. It was dangerous, foolish to even entertain such thoughts, yet he couldn’t deny the faint spark she had left behind.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly, steadying the wild, restless energy that surged in him. She couldn’t come back. He couldn’t risk it. He would have to find a way to make her think the tower was haunted, or evil—something to scare her off for good. Because he knew himself, knew that he was a creature of hunger, bound to a curse he couldn’t escape.

And if she returned—he wasn’t sure how long he could resist.

[novaursa]

The Chains We Break

- Summary: Otto Hightower comes to negotiate the release of his son. Daemon does not humor him. But you and your sister are dragons as well, who answer to neither gods or men.

- Pairing: Gwanye Hightower/trag!reader/one-sided Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after The Flames We Share. If you want to read all parts before this one in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+ (chapters that follow will be rated higher)

- Word count: 4 580

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

You sit beside your sister, your gaze cast toward the window where the distant waves of the sea crash against the shores of Dragonstone. The sunlight, filtered through heavy clouds, is gentle on your skin as the salt air brushes your face. The wounds you sustained at Rook’s Rest have begun to heal—your body mending faster than your spirit. Every breath still carries a phantom ache, reminding you of how you fell from Silverwing’s back, the cries of dragons echoing in your ears as death nearly claimed you.

Rhaenyra sits close, her face etched with remorse. She hasn’t been the same since Rook’s Rest, the burden of guilt gnawing at her. You see it in the way her fingers fidget, how she can’t meet your eyes for long before looking away. She’s your sister—your queen—and you know the weight she carries. But you do not hold her responsible for the choices that led to that fateful battle. It was war, and war spares no one, even the innocent.

“I should have never let you go,” Rhaenyra whispers, her voice thick with regret. “It should have been Rhaenys. Not you. It was my decision that put you in harm’s way.”

“Rhaenyra,” you reply, your tone soft but firm. “You did what you thought was right. We cannot turn back time, nor can we carry blame that doesn’t belong. It was my choice, too. And I would do it again, even knowing the cost.”

Your words hang in the air, but they do little to soothe her troubled heart. The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken thoughts, until you find the courage to speak what has truly been gnawing at you.

“Gwayne Hightower,” you begin, lifting your eyes to meet hers. “You must release him from the dungeons.”

Rhaenyra’s expression tightens at the name. The guilt in her eyes shifts to something more conflicted, more political. “It isn’t as simple as that, Y/N. He betrayed his own House, his blood, to bring you back here. Daemon—”

“Daemon,” you interrupt, bitterness lacing your tone despite your attempt to remain calm. “Daemon has imprisoned him, forbade me from even setting foot near the dungeons. He practically bought the loyalty of the guards to keep me away! But you are the Queen, Rhaenyra. Daemon may be my husband, but you hold the power.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrows, and for a moment, the sister you know peeks through the layers of the ruler she has become. “And if I were to free him, what then? Daemon will see it as defiance. You know how he is—he will not take kindly to having his authority challenged, even by me.”

Your heart aches at the thought of Gwayne, alone and confined, after all he sacrificed for you. A man who went against everything he was raised to believe to save you from certain death, only to be thrown into a cell by the very people he saved you for. “He did not deserve this. He did what he did for me, and now he is paying the price. Rhaenyra, please. He doesn’t deserve to rot in those dungeons. He saved my life.”

Before she can respond, Grand Maester Gerardys enters, his expression grim. “Your Grace,” he says with a deep bow. “A ship bearing the banners of Aegon II has docked in the harbor. Prince Daemon has gone to meet them, with his men.”

Rhaenyra stiffens, but your thoughts drift to Daemon, and what this meeting could mean. Your gaze darkens at the thought of your husband—how he holds Gwayne’s fate in his hands. He’s always been a tempestuous man, fierce and unyielding. The very traits that once drew you to him now feel like iron chains wrapped around your heart.

You watch as Gerardys takes his leave, the room falling silent once more. “Daemon may be the one to hold him prisoner, but I will not let this stand,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Rhaenyra. The decision settles like a stone in your chest. You have to do something. You owe Gwayne that much.

Daemon strides down the rocky path that leads toward the harbor, his cloak snapping in the breeze. The sea roars beneath, a fitting backdrop to the turmoil within his mind. His steps are sure, his presence commanding as always, but there is a tension between his shoulders—an unease that’s hard to shake. Vaeron, your son, walks beside him, mirroring his posture. Boy’s gaze is distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, but he keeps stride with Daemon, a silent observer to the storm brewing within.

“Remember what I’ve taught you,” Daemon says, his voice low but carrying authority. “In these dealings, never let them see weakness. We do not bend to those who would see us destroyed.”

Vaeron nods, but his thoughts are torn. He has spent his life idolizing Daemon, the man he believed to be his father. But now that illusion is shattered, replaced by the knowledge that his true father sits rotting in the dungeons beneath their feet. The revelation has left him conflicted, struggling to reconcile the man he loves with the man who has imprisoned his blood.

“What will you do with him?” Vaeron asks, his voice careful, testing the waters.

Daemon’s eyes flicker with a dangerous light. “With Otto Hightower? Or with the man who abandoned his oaths to save your mother?”

“The latter,” Vaeron clarifies, though he knows the question risks Daemon’s ire.

Daemon’s expression hardens. “Gwayne Hightower is a traitor, no matter his reasons. He made his choice when he turned his back on the Greens. Such a man is not to be trusted lightly.”

“And yet he saved her,” Vaeron says, his voice dropping. “Would you have let her die, had he not intervened?”

Daemon’s steps slow, and he turns to face Vaeron, his eyes narrowing. “Mind your tongue, boy. There are things you do not understand.”

“I understand enough,” Vaeron counters, his voice tinged with defiance. “You taught me that loyalty is everything. But Gwayne’s loyalty was to her, not to a cause, not to a side in this war. Can you not see the worth in that?”

Daemon’s jaw clenches, his patience fraying. “You forget yourself, Vaeron. This war is not a matter of sentiment. Your mother’s survival matters because of what she represents—our family, our claim. If you think Gwayne Hightower acted out of love, then you are as naive as you are young.”

Vaeron’s hands curl into fists at his sides, but he keeps his emotions in check. This is the man who raised him, who taught him strength, yet in this moment, all he feels is a cold distance between them. Daemon sees only the war, the struggle for power. But Vaeron sees something else—something more human in the man who risked everything for his mother.

As they near the harbor, the banners of Aegon II come into view, and with them, Otto Hightower’s grim countenance. Daemon’s focus sharpens, his thoughts already turning to the game of strategy ahead. Vaeron falls silent, but in his heart, the conflict festers. 

The wind whips through the banners of Aegon II as they flutter in the sharp sea breeze, the air thick with tension. Otto Hightower stands at the head of his retinue, his face carved from stone, the faintest flicker of unease buried deep within his shrewd eyes. He is older now, his hair nearly all grey, but the calculating sharpness in his gaze has not dulled. Daemon approaches with that characteristic swagger, a predator prowling toward prey, flanked by his guards and with Vaeron at his side. The contrast between them is stark—Daemon, vibrant in his ruthlessness, while Otto wears the weariness of his long-fought battles.

Otto speaks first, his voice carrying the authority of years spent in the small council chamber, dictating the fates of lesser men. "Prince Daemon, I come on behalf of my King to negotiate the release of my son, Ser Gwayne Hightower."

Daemon’s lips curl into a mocking smile. "Negotiate?" He laughs, the sound rough and laced with dark humor. "You truly believe you are in any position to negotiate, old man? What is it that you offer in exchange for a traitor? Perhaps another decrepit stronghold that falls to ruin as we speak?"

Otto's jaw tightens, but he remains composed, his voice cool. "You underestimate what Gwayne’s return means to the Greens. A gesture of goodwill in such tumultuous times could open pathways you might find advantageous."

Daemon’s amusement only grows, his eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "Goodwill? From you? That’s as valuable as a beggar’s coin. Come now, Otto, surely you didn’t travel all this way just to insult my intelligence. Speak plainly, before I grow bored and send you back to King’s Landing with nothing more than salt air in your lungs."

Vaeron stands to the side, his gaze flicking between the two men. Inside, a storm churns. He has known Daemon’s temper his whole life, the simmering cruelty always ready to break the surface. Yet today, that same temperament is turned toward negotiations that directly concern the man who is his true father. The words spoken twist in his mind—‘traitor,’ ‘exchange,’ as if Gwayne were nothing more than a pawn to be bartered, his life subject to whims and strategies. Vaeron keeps his expression neutral, as Daemon taught him, but beneath it all, the confusion gnaws at him.

Otto, sensing that he must tread carefully, adjusts his approach. "You dismiss too quickly what might be gained from a show of mercy, Prince Daemon. Your position, while strong, is not unassailable. A trade, even a gesture, could ease the tension between our forces. And you would gain much in return for sparing Gwayne’s life."

Daemon narrows his eyes, his amusement slipping away, replaced by cold calculation. "And what is it that you think I desire so much that I would let a Hightower return to his family? More land? An empty promise of peace? We both know that Gwayne’s life is worth more to you than any temporary truce you could offer."

Otto’s voice drops lower, becoming the tone of a man who has orchestrated more than one coup from the shadows. "There are things we could discuss—terms that could shift the tide of this war, perhaps even ending it in a way that leaves the realm less fractured. Aegon is willing to be reasonable if it means preserving our shared interests."

Daemon’s smile returns, this time sharper, more dangerous. "You think I care for shared interests? I care only for victory—unquestionable, complete. I care for the destruction of every man, woman, and child who stands between me and that victory. Gwayne’s life is a grain of sand on that battlefield. You know it, and so do I. The only reason he breathes is because my wife begged me not to have his head on a spike the moment he arrived on Dragonstone."

Vaeron stiffens, eyes fixed on Daemon’s profile, a silent witness to the deep ruthlessness within the man he once saw only as a hero. But now, he sees the cracks—how Daemon views everyone as a piece to be sacrificed for his goals, no matter the cost to their souls. He swallows hard, forcing his voice to remain steady. "And what of mercy, Father? Does it not hold any value in this war? Or is it all to be blood and fire until none are left standing?"

Daemon turns sharply to regard Vaeron, his expression unreadable, a flash of something indiscernible crossing his eyes. "Mercy is for the weak, boy. Those who offer it do so only when they have nothing left to give. Do you believe Gwayne deserves mercy for betraying his family, his House, for a fleeting moment of sentiment?"

Vaeron meets Daemon’s gaze, unflinching. "I believe that loyalty beyond reason deserves acknowledgment. Even in war, there are choices that define a man. He chose her—he chose my mother. If that is treason, then perhaps we are all traitors in our own ways."

Daemon studies his son with a shrewd gaze, weighing those words. The silence stretches until Otto steps forward, seizing the opening Vaeron has created.

“Let me look upon my son, Prince Daemon. Let me see the man who has caused this… conflict. If nothing else, I would know whether the man I seek to retrieve is worth the trouble. Bring him up from those dungeons, and if you wish, you can watch as I confront what my son has become.”

The corners of Daemon’s mouth twitch upward in a grin that holds no mirth, only cold amusement. “Very well, Otto. I’ll indulge this request. Let you see what has become of the son you so poorly raised. But do not mistake this for mercy, nor a sign of weakness.”

He turns to one of his men, gesturing with a flick of his hand. “Bring him up, but keep him chained. Let his father see what the consequences are for those who betray their kin for a moment’s folly.”

As the command is relayed, Otto’s mask of composure remains intact, but there is something strained in the tightness around his mouth. Vaeron watches, his heart pounding, knowing that soon he will come face-to-face once more with the man who has haunted his thoughts since learning the truth. The man who is more than just his mother’s savior but is also the father he never knew.

The minutes stretch painfully, each one heavy with anticipation. The creak of footsteps echoes through the stone as the guards finally return, dragging Gwayne Hightower from the depths. The man who emerges is a shadow of the knight he once was—his face gaunt, his clothes tattered, and his once-proud bearing diminished beneath the weight of his chains. But despite his disheveled state, there is a spark in Gwayne’s eyes, a defiance that has not been extinguished.

Otto’s gaze is icy, but there is a flicker of something—regret, perhaps, or shame—as he regards the man before him. “You’ve disgraced us all, Gwayne. For what? For a woman who was never yours to protect?”

Gwayne’s voice is hoarse from disuse, but it still carries strength. “For a woman worth more than all the crowns and thrones in the world. If that is a disgrace, then so be it.”

Daemon’s laughter rings out, cold and mocking. “Hear that, Otto? Even chained and broken, he clings to his foolish convictions. This is what you came for—this pathetic display of misguided loyalty.”

Vaeron watches the exchange, torn between anger and a deep, aching sadness. The man before him is no longer the fearsome knight from the stories but a father who sacrificed everything for a fleeting chance to save someone he loved. The realization sinks in like a stone—this war, this endless cycle of violence, leaves no room for anything as simple as honor or love. It’s all twisted, corrupted by the ambitions of those who claim to know best.

The tension in the air crackles like the distant storm clouds gathering over the horizon. Gwayne Hightower stands before his father, closer now than he has been in years, his once-strong frame worn by weeks of confinement. He walks with a limp, the weight of chains dragging at his wrists, but there is still a pride in his bearing, a defiant spark that refuses to die.

Daemon watches the exchange with a calculating smile, his eyes flicking between father and son, delighting in the bitter reunion. 

Otto closes the distance, gripping Gwayne by the arm with a roughness that belies the controlled facade he wears. The old man’s eyes burn with a fury tempered by long years of cold, strategic thinking. “Have you lost your mind, Gwayne?” he hisses, his voice low, sharp as a dagger’s edge. “All your life, you’ve chased after her like some lovesick fool. You could never accept that Viserys refused your suit, that she was never meant for you!”

Gwayne’s expression barely shifts, but the muscle in his jaw twitches, a hint of the rage he has long kept buried beneath duty and restraint. He leans closer, ignoring the sting of Otto’s grip, and murmurs, his voice so low only his father can hear, “The boy standing next to Daemon is my son, Father. And that is all that matters now. My fate is inconsequential.”

Otto’s eyes widen, his breath catching as though he has been struck. For a moment, his iron composure fractures, disbelief and horror warring on his face. He releases Gwayne, recoiling as if the revelation has physically burned him. His gaze snaps toward Vaeron, the truth now laid bare, searing into him like a brand. The boy—no, the young man—is not just the child of Daemon’s wife; he is a Hightower. His grandson.

Vaeron meets Otto’s gaze briefly, not fully understanding what has just transpired but sensing the seismic shift in the atmosphere. Daemon notices the exchange and narrows his eyes, his amusement giving way to suspicion. His grip tightens on the hilt of his sword, as if ready to end this farce with a single stroke.

Otto recovers quickly, his face once again a mask of practiced indifference, but there is a tremor in his voice when he speaks, barely contained. “You’ve doomed us all, Gwayne. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You threw away everything—your name, your family’s honor, for what? To save a woman who could never be yours? A child you will never truly claim?”

Gwayne’s gaze is steady, unflinching. “I would do it again, Father. A thousand times over if it meant protecting her and our son. You can call me mad, you can brand me a traitor, but I regret nothing.”

Otto’s eyes darken as he processes the full scope of what has been revealed. He turns slowly to Daemon, who watches him with the cold eyes of a dragon ready to pounce. Otto studies Vaeron with renewed interest, seeing him now not just as a pawn but as a potential key to unraveling this web. He tries to capitalize on this revelation, his voice taking on a more calculated tone. “It seems, Prince Daemon, that the boy you’ve raised as your own has more complicated parentage than we knew. Perhaps this presents an opportunity—one that—”

Daemon’s face hardens instantly, his lips curling into a snarl. “Do not presume to speak of him as a bargaining chip, Hightower. I care nothing for your intrigues, nor do I care for whatever misguided sentiment your son clings to.” He steps forward, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You came for your son, and I’ve given you this moment to see the disgrace he has become. But do not mistake this for weakness. Gwayne Hightower is nothing more than a broken tool, and I’ve no use for broken things.”

Otto opens his mouth to argue, but the steel in Daemon’s eyes leaves no room for discussion. He knows better than to push further when the dragon’s teeth are bared. Reluctantly, he pulls back, the wheels of strategy already turning in his mind, but knowing this is not the moment to press.

Daemon turns sharply to his guards. “Take him back to the dungeons. Let him rot where he belongs.”

The guards move swiftly, seizing Gwayne by the arms. Before they drag him away, Gwayne locks eyes with Vaeron one last time, a silent exchange passing between them. There is no plea for understanding, no attempt at explaining what words cannot convey. Just a look—a father recognizing his son, and a son realizing the depth of what was sacrificed for him.

The confrontation ends not in bloodshed, but with Daemon’s final, sardonic remark. “You’ve seen your son, Otto. Now crawl back to King’s Landing and tell your king that mercy is the last thing you’ll ever find on Dragonstone.”

Otto holds his gaze for a moment longer, then turns on his heel, a man who has measured his options and found them lacking. As he departs, Gwayne is dragged back toward the dungeons, his chains rattling with every step. 

In that instant, Vaeron knows that the next time they meet, it will not be as strangers, but as something far more complicated—something that even Daemon may not be able to control.

The clinking of chains and the rough shuffling of boots against stone echo through the courtyard as Gwayne is dragged back toward the dungeons. His face is set in grim determination, resigned to his fate, yet his eyes still hold that spark—the fire of a man who has found something more precious than victory in war. The guards are silent, their expressions hard and unreadable, loyal to their prince’s orders, despite whatever inner conflict they may harbor.

But as they round a corner, the way is blocked. Standing firm are Rhaenyra and you, their Queen and her sister. The two women’s presence immediately shifts the air, tension snapping taut like a drawn bowstring. The guards pause, uncertain, as their gazes flicker between Rhaenyra’s command and the one issued earlier by Daemon.

Rhaenyra’s voice rings out, clear and commanding. “Release him to Otto Hightower. He is to leave Dragonstone at once.”

The guards stiffen, the weight of conflicting orders hanging heavy on their shoulders. “Your Grace,” one of them ventures, his voice laced with hesitation, “Prince Daemon’s orders were clear. Ser Gwayne is not to be released.”

You step forward, eyes blazing with resolve. “And who is your Queen? Who commands this keep? You will do as she says or face the consequences. Daemon’s orders hold no weight when the Queen herself speaks.”

There’s a moment of palpable tension as the guards exchange uncertain glances. But the authority in Rhaenyra’s gaze, coupled with your fierce insistence, finally breaks their hesitation. They nod reluctantly and begin to unshackle Gwayne, their hands shaking slightly as they fumble with the locks.

Gwayne breathes out a quiet sigh, rubbing his wrists where the heavy manacles have left raw marks. He looks to you, a softness in his gaze that defies the bleakness of the situation. You step closer, the world around you narrowing to just the two of you in that instant. His eyes hold yours, and in them, you see the unspoken words, the regret, the love, and the inevitable farewell.

“This is not the end,” Gwayne murmurs, his voice rough but steady, his eyes gleaming with quiet intensity. “If my nephew has any mercy left in him, I will find a way to return. But if not… know that protecting you was worth everything. Every sacrifice.”

You reach out, your hand trembling slightly, resting it against his chest where you can feel the steady, yet faint, beat of his heart. “You’re the only reason I’m alive, Gwayne. You risked everything for me, and I won’t forget it. No matter what happens next.”

He leans in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and whispers, “Remember me, Y/N. And if this war ever ends, perhaps fate will be kinder to us in another life.”

Your eyes sting with unshed tears, but you manage a faint smile, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek in a rare display of affection. “I will. I promise.”

Before either of you can say more, the guards hastily usher him toward the docks, anxious to see him gone before Daemon can intervene. Gwayne casts one last lingering glance over his shoulder, a look full of unspoken promises and finality, before he is led away.

As they escort him down the winding paths toward the ship, the sails already being unfurled, Daemon and Vaeron catch sight of the commotion from a distance. Daemon’s eyes narrow dangerously as he realizes what is happening. His fury builds like a storm, the anger practically radiating off him as he strides toward the scene, Vaeron following, his own emotions churning in the wake of what has transpired.

As Gwayne passes by Daemon, their eyes lock for a brief moment. Gwayne’s lips twitch into a faint, knowing smirk—one that speaks volumes, a silent challenge, as if to say, You didn’t win this time. It’s a gesture that only fuels Daemon’s rage, the dragon within him rearing its head.

Daemon’s hand tightens on the hilt of Dark Sister, his knuckles white with fury, but before he can draw it, Gwayne is gone, escorted swiftly onto the ship where Otto waits with grim satisfaction. The gangplank is raised, and the ship begins to pull away from the harbor, sails billowing as it heads back toward the horizon.

With the Hightower entourage retreating, Daemon’s fury turns on Rhaenyra and you. He storms up to the two of you, his eyes blazing, voice like thunder. “What in the name of all the gods are you doing, woman? Do you realize what you’ve just done?”

Rhaenyra stands her ground, unyielding, her chin lifted defiantly. “I did what was right, Daemon. Ser Gwayne Hightower saved my sister’s life at Rook’s Rest, and I will not be the one to condemn him to rot in chains for it. Let the Greens decide his fate now. It’s no longer our concern.”

Daemon’s glare shifts from Rhaenyra to you, his gaze scorching with silent accusation. The promise of a reckoning lingers in his eyes, a vow that this conversation between you and him is far from over. But he turns back to Rhaenyra, the anger in his voice uncontainable. “You’ve weakened our position, Rhaenyra. Do you not see what this act of so-called mercy has cost us? We hold every advantage, and now you hand them back one of their own, giving them hope when we should be crushing it.”

Rhaenyra’s voice remains steady, firm in her conviction. “Hope may be our enemy, but I will not sacrifice decency for the sake of cruelty. This war has already claimed enough souls—if showing mercy weakens us in your eyes, then so be it. But I will not let this conflict strip us of our humanity.”

Daemon’s eyes flash dangerously, his rage palpable, but even in his fury, he knows better than to challenge her publicly. The exchange bristles with barely restrained venom, both of them locked in a clash of wills, neither willing to yield. But it’s clear that this is a rift that will not be easily mended.

Vaeron, who has watched it all unfold in silence, feels a small surge of triumph swell in his chest. For the first time, his mother acted on her own terms, free from Daemon’s influence. The knowledge that Gwayne is safe, at least for now, is a balm to his inner turmoil. Yet, even in his moment of quiet victory, he knows that the repercussions of this day will ripple far beyond the shores of Dragonstone.

Daemon finally steps back, his gaze returning to you, the promise of confrontation lingering like smoke in the air. “This is not over,” he hisses, his words directed more at you than at Rhaenyra. Then, without another word, he turns and stalks off, his rage still burning as he disappears from view.

The ship grows smaller on the horizon, taking with it the man who dared defy every loyalty, every oath, for the sake of love. And in that moment, you know that whatever happens next, the war has shifted—not because of power or strategy, but because of the choices made out of love and loyalty. Choices that may very well reshape the fate of everyone involved.

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

NRC And RSA

(What if Yuu went to Royal Sword Academy for a Exchange/Transfer student program?)

-

Yuu sat on the plush bed, the private room given to them was rather luxurious than the room they shared in Ramshackle. Little bits of belongings still sat in their luggage, a few trinkets (Y/N) had been packed to remind Yuu of NRC during their stay.

The magicless student smiles at the thought of their dorm and friends. Sighing as they eye the special uniform the RSA students had provided them.

While the rather, “princely” students were rather kind in their greetings, Yuu still didn’t feel all too comfortable. The quiet sounds of the ocean clear their thoughts as they get up from the bed. Peaking outside from the satin curtains, the small waves crashing along the sandy shore. 

After finding out that Yuu would be going to the school alone, Headmaster Crowely graciously offered Yuu a new phone. While you kept the old one. 

“To keep in touch during the trip!” Yuu heard the Headmage state, smiling too sweetly, clearly hiding his true intentions.

Picking up their phone, Yuu skims through the messages you had sent as soon as they left.

Pictures of Grim sleeping in class, pictures of you and Grim sitting next to the first-years at lunch. Then a photo of you, unaware, talking with a nervous student as figures zoom into the scene. Too blurry to make out the familiar uniforms on their persons. 

“Grim probably took that photo…” Yuu laughs. Before a knock is heard on the door. 

Yuu heads over, not before taking a small pick of the ocean.

Opening it up, preppy voices cheer loudly. “WELCOME TO ROYAL SWORD ACADEMY! YUU!”

-

“I miss Yuu…” You bemoan, lightly banging your hands on your face. Groaning in annoyance as Ace side eyes you. “(Y/N), Yuu’s fine. Probably annoyed with all those high-horse RSA students though.” Deuce makes a small sound of agreement. 

Grim munches on his tuna melt, a bit quiet… Which was never a good sign.

-

Yuu sat with Chenya and Neige, a few other students seated with the as well during lunch. The NRC picks at the dishes served as they listen to the small discussions going about. Occasionally giving a small response when a question was asked to them personally.

“Hmm.. Yuu~! I’m curious about something, if you don’t mind me asking..~” Chehnya smiles, eyes bright like a curious cat.

“Yes?”

“How’s (Y/N) doing? I haven’t seen’em in a bit, so I wanted to know.~” Chenya purrs out, laying a lazy hand on Yuu shoulder. Neige, overhearing, beams. White as snow skin becoming a soft pink as they lean in as well. “Oh yes! How are they? I haven’t seen them much since the masquerade event at Noble Bell College.” 

The actors red as rose lips turn into a frown, “My schedule has been so packed I haven’t had time to see them around town..” The boy wilts at the thought of missing his chance to see you as Snick offers him a sympathetic pat on the back. 

Yuu hears more chatter from a few other students popping in to add their own statements about (Y/N).

Rielle, Yuu recalled him from somewhere… Had spoken up. “I’ve seen them around the beach a few times!” 

“Really?”

“Uh-huh!”

Yuu blinks, the conversation becoming bigger than expected. But, they grin just like their fellow NRC friends. 

“Well, (Y/N) is good. I mean, they are Dorm Head of our Dorm, along with meetings with the other Dorm Leaders…  As VICE Leader, we’re with each other often.” Yuu smiles, shrugging. A certain glint in their eye. 

Neige's features become more flustered as he tries to ask another question. Before being interrupted by Yuu’s phone ringing.

-

“GRIM! GIVE IT BACK!”

“No! I wanna’ send Yuu photos of my tuna can tower!”

“Grim!” You try to grab the phone back as Jack follows after, but Grim was surprisingly quicker! Epel manages to corner the fur-ball, “Oi! Ya’cat! Give it up!”

“Epels accent is out! He’s pissed!”

Ortho readies his laser cannon, trying to get the perfect aim. "Grim, stand still please!" Grim shouts to as he tries to figure out away to avoid capture.

“Grim?”

“Yuu!”

“YUU!?”

The first-years shout all together, happy to hear the student.

Sebek grabs Grim by the scruff of his collar, handing him over to you as everyone gathers by the lounge area. Discussing about their day as Yuu talks about their own, “I gotta go guys.. I’ll see you in a couple days!”

“Give’em hell Yuu!”

“Good luck Yuu!”

“See you soon!”

Hanging up the call, Yuu returns back to the lunch table, a satisfied expression on their face. Maybe even a bit sentimental if you looked close enough...

-

[To celebrate the news of Twst FINALLY GETTING THE ANIME SOON. I decided to write a small fic for yall! Enjoy! Thanks for reading! LET ME KNOW HOW I DID! IM SO HAPPY WE GETTING THE ANIME!!!]

[yenyu1s]

girls never die.. underground boxer!kang sae-byeok x f!reader written by @yenyu1s ( ˶˘ ³˘(⋆❛ ہ ❛⋆)

pairing(s) : kang sae-byeok x f!reader

contents : fluff/comfort, angst if you squint, reader has a bad relationship with their parents, violence, sexual and physical assault, mild cursing synopsis : underground boxer kang sae-byeok hides her life in the ring from her brother, knowing he hates them—but it was their only lifeline. to make it up to him, she takes him out for lunch.

on the way, they spot a drunk creep harassing you. your punch wasn’t enough, but sae-byeok’s was. with one swift move, she puts him in his place and disappears into the train station, leaving you dumbfounded.

you trailed behind them, curiosity and gratitude pushing you forward—offering lunch in exchange for answers. wc : 5.02k request (dt) : @saebyeokbliss

(a/n) thank u sm to one of my fav mootie @saebyeokbliss for requesting this! i had so much fun writing teehee~ i have NO IDEA how to write fight scenes! also to all my triples wavs pls moot me

(for more, masterlist)

kang sae-byeok felt a strain in her muscles walking out into the arena. floodlights illuminating her sweaty face and slender frame. she slapped her muscles and shook of any weight she had in her body, flexing her tatted arms and back, cracking her neck, popping her knees and punching in her exposed stomach.

the crowds chanting got louder and louder by each second, frothing in anticipation. each and every one of them placing their bets on their biased boxer. a restless tide crashing against the shores of the fighters' silence.

she felt around inside the foam boxing gloves, getting used to the tight space. punching and swishing her hand in the air to break it in. her sports bra beginning to tighten around her, suffocating her.

sae-byeok glared at the woman standing in front of her. tall, lean, poised and unshaken. her crazy hair going in all sorts of directions. a sharp disgusted look painted her opponents face.

a silence stretched between them.

sae-byeok tilted her chin. perceptibly flexing her fingers as the muscles under her skin move. a silent but deadly action, sending a clear message to her opponent:

i don't fear you.

the bell rang through the thick air. there was no going back now.

sae-byeok's opponent strided towards her, covering her face with her red gloves. a jab snapped towards sae-byeok's face sending electric shocks throughout her lower jaw.

sae-byeok had barely ducked in time, taking a half-blow to her cheek.

she was not going to give up. the woman's eyes were unreadable in the dim lighting of the ring. sae-byeok saw the glint in her teeth. the subtle action of the woman smirking fueled sae-byeok's desire to win.

sae-byeok struck the woman in the nose, a trail of crimson ran down her lips. the impact sent her into a whiplash for a second before sae-byeok continued hooking on her ribs. the collision was rock solid, a satisfying crunch of leather and flesh rang throughout the arena.

her rival didn't back down, however. instead, she pressed forward, forcing the short-haired girl back with low-blows, the rhythm of the fight shifted, both fighters were relentless.

sae-byeok managed to send a punch to her underarm, disabling it from pushing her forward.

the berserk woman stumbled but didn’t fall. Instead, she spat onto the canvas, rolling her jaw with a grim, almost amused smirk.

sweat trickled down sae-byeok's spine. tracing her visible back tattoo. she wasn't going to give up now.

they were now circling each other, the back to back coming to a halt as they put their gloves up, footsteps light and calculated.

sae-byeok watched the expression of the woman creeping before her change, this made her curl her fists inside the gloves tighter. ready for any attack the woman had against her, waiting for the next strike.

the woman took two quick and heavy steps before her arms flailed into the air, ready to knock out the slender girl infront of her.

an opening.

sae-byeok ducked low before her opposition could lay a hand on her, her weight shifting onto her front foot before driving an uppercut right under the crazed woman's jaw, knocking the air out of her and snapping her head back.

with this advantage, sae-byeok gave her a low-blow. making her crash into the plush ground.

3..

2..

1..

the crowds were split in two, the roars of victory overtaking the disappointed, angry sighs and complaints.

sae-byeok sighed deeply, relishing in her triumph before looking back at her rival who was on all floors, clutching her jaw in grimaced pain.

"good game." sae-byeok taunted, her voice low, just for the woman to hear and stare daggers up at her, before spitting on the ground next to her and walking off, wiping away the dried blood on her temple.

the atmosphere at the children's home was.. serene. it was too quiet. too unusual for sae-byeok. she could hear the faint rustling of oak trees outside and the light chirping from house sparrows, circling the air.

she crouched on the small red chair of the visitor's room, her pouty lips were pressed into a line, studying her brother, cheol's mannerisms as he picked on his food, swishing and splashing the miyeokguk with his wooden spork beside her.

"stop doing that will you?.. you know, something's up with you today." sae-byeok doted, brushing off the hair that covered his cheek, revealing a freshly placed bandage.

before sae-byeok could question and pry at her brother for answers, cheol started :

"you went back didn't you?"

"what?"

"to fighting, in the place with bad people in it." cheol reminded sae-byeok. his face was stern and solemn.

"i told you i didn't like seeing you get hurt, and i don't like seeing you hurt others."

her usual apathetic expression quickly turned into a slight frown that shined in the golden haze of the afternoon.

"cheol, i've told you this a million times.. that place.. it gets us the money we need." the short-haired girl ducked to catch her brother's gaze.

when she noticed cheol avoid eye contact with her, she frustratedly ran her slender fingers through her hair.

"cheol." the north-korean cleared her throat, biting and licking on her chapped lips.

"the money that i've earned from today alone.. it could pay for all of this week's meals and necessities. it's a huge sum. if we are able to save up and spend our money wisely, i would be able to get mom out of the north, i'd be able to get you a real home, cheol. you, me, mom."

cheol lifted his gaze from the seaweed soup. his teary eyes caught sae-byeok's tired ones.

"all the kids say that you're lying. that you're just making fake promises." his voice broke, tears started to run down his puffy cheeks.

sae-byeok couldn't believe what his brother was saying, shaking her head frantically before wrapping him in a bear hug.

"don't listen to them. what they say doesn't matter, they don't know the reality of our situation."

sae-byeok could feel her brother shake under her arms. quiet sobs escaping from his quivering lips. her grip on him tightened.

her tough heart saddened at the condition of her brother. echoes of apologies directed to her brother invaded her mind.

"how about we go to that favorite night market of yours? with the kind auntie who sells tteokbokki?" the short-haired girl whispered into his ears, the mention of his favorite dish made him quirk up his head.

the pair were hand in hand. sae-byeok's left hand was holding a folded envelope full of money she had earned from the fight, her opposite hand was intertwined with cheol's tiny hand.

the streets was quieter than usual, a few cars and tour buses had passed by them, the vehicles hummed under the red traffic lights.

sae-byeok admired the horizon as she strolled. you would've thought the gradient afternoon sky was made for a humid, sunny day, but it was freezing outside. a gust of wind past by them, the cold breeze made sae-byeok zip up her jacket close.

the sister-brother duo was quiet throughout the walk to the station, they both enjoyed the silence, however.

the quietness was just a gesture of comfort and reassurance to them.

they entered the sterile looking train station, sae-byeok's boots and cheol's sneakers squeaked at the slippery floor, the noise pierced through the barren entrance of the station.

cheol was curiously admiring the colorful, tattered posters that decorated the station's wall, his eyes following the pattern of colorful posters as they walked.

the trance that cheol was in was interrupted by a long hallway of the train station coming into view beside him. a man walking behind a girl suspiciously close to her.

cheol stopped in his tracks.

the man was dressed in an all black tux, he was following behind the girl, his phone was sneaked right under her skirt.

you instinctively turned your head back, feeling somebody's presence behind you. your weary eyes met with the disgusting face of a man, maybe in his 30s, in a full tux, his saggy eyes bore unto the camera he held under your skirt.

you panicked at the man's action, quickly slapping his phone to the ground, a shatter rang through the narrow hallway.

you stumbled back as you interrogated the man, your expression grimaced.

"ya! what do you think you're doing?!" your grip tightened around your briefcase. your high-pitched yelling startled cheol, who was frantically tugging at sae-byeok.

sae-byeok eventually noticed the scene that was unfolding in the long hallway beside the pair. her eyes narrowed, finding your stiff body, backed against the wall by a drunk businessman. a feeling bubbled up in sae-byeok's chest, an ugly feeling that she's never felt before. her jaw ticked.

"noona, what's wrong with them?" cheol questioned, looking up at his agitated sister.

fear and disgust clawed your skin.

your lips that held a content smile from the great work day you had today turn into a harsh scowl.

"oh baby, don't tell me that you don't like it when i do that." the man slurred, his steps slow and wobbly as he cornered you into the cold walls of the station, kneeing you against the wall.

"go away!? seriously you people are disgusting!" your voice gruff, shoving the man away from you with your hands with a hundred percent of your power.

the force may have made the man stumble back, but it had made him even angrier, he charged towards you.

"crazy bitch!" he barked, gripping your shoulders shoving you aggressively into the wall, making your back arch in pain.

sae-byeok bolted towards the commotion, her face sour.

she stuffed the brown envelope on her hand into the pocket of her bomber jacket, replacing it with her swiss army knife, her grip on it tightened as she flicked it open, the blade reflected the white lights of the station.

her ears rang, drowning out cheol’s shouts as she walked away. each step was deliberate and heavy, the sound of her feet striking the slick floor shifting from a faint squeak to sharp, forceful stomps.

you cowered under the drunk man's grip. shutting your eyes, accepting your fate.

suddenly, you felt the weight of the man that was leaning towards you being lifted off. you gasped for air before frantically averting your gaze to a tall short-haired girl pinning the man down beside you, gripping the collar of his cheap tuxedo with her other hand handling the knife, pressing it under his chin.

"didn't you hear what she said? go away, bastard." sae-byeok's voice grumbled, threatening the sloppy man infront of her. "mess with her, you mess with my knife."

"what is wrong with girls nowadays? i can take on both of you." his croaky voice mocked you.

you were in disbelief, your mouth agape. how could someone be such a disgrace..? you thought.

with that comment, sae-byeok harshly kneed the creep's diaphragm, causing him to spasm. she grasped his shoulder blades before throwing him on the ground, a loud groan escaping his mouth.

you stared in shock at the scene, covering your mouth as you winced at every time the girl landed a punch or a slap on the man.

the man managed to violently strike sae-byeok to the ground, making her lose touch of the blade, the swiss army knife skidded away to the opposite side of the wall.

before the man could kick sae-byeok's curled up frame, you decided to help by throwing in a measly punch on his nose, you felt his cartilage shift at the force of your knuckles on his nose, making his eyes water.

you had never punched anyone before, so with the impact, a jolt of electricity ran throughout your body, making you yelp in pain, your knuckles reddened.

"gosh, that hurts!"

the punch worked, making the man trip over his own foot.

he scoured back on the ground seeing that sae-byeok had already gotten up, eyes firing with rage. the blade held firm on her hand.

sae-byeok kneeled down and reached for the man's head of hair, grasping it, making him lean his head back.

the chilling blade ran through his neck, the force wasn't enough to cut through.

you watched in fear as you saw the kneeled down girl run her knife across the man's neck as he pleaded.

was she actually going to kill him?

you closed your eyes with a heavy sigh when you watched her merely slash the knife on his cheek.

blood dripped down his oily, defined cheekbone as he winced in pain.

"consider this a warning, yeah?" sae-byeok gave him a cold, manic smile. she relished in the fear that gleamed in the man's eyes.

the man nodded frantically before scrambling and picking himself up, retreating to the other side of the station.

"noona!" cheol gasped at the sight of his sister's bloody knife and bruised knuckles. "are you okay?"

you softened at the sight of the little boy running towards the older girl, your gaze travelled upwards to find her face.

your savior.

you couldn't've imagined what would happen if she wasn't there in your defense. your heart swelled with gratitude.

your hands reached for the taller girl's shoulders, "oh my. are you okay? thank you so much for saving—"

you were cut off by the sight of the girl fully ignoring you, her expression turned cold, hastily darting around the corner with her brother.

you were at such a state of confusion that your face scrunched.

what just happened?

you wanted answers to the unsolved mystery of the girl that had saved you. you felt an unfamiliar magnetic pull towards her, it made you trail behind her, your steps light and breezy.

sae-byeok quickly noticed you following her.

the agitated feeling quickly crawled up the back of her neck again, shooting you a look that screamed : leave us alone.

but you were persistent. without a word, you followed her to the faregates. swiping your metro card to whatever place she was going to. strutting past the open gates to continue pursuing her.

cheol looked back at you, slightly worried at the sight of your determined face.

"noona, i think the lady wants to talk to you." he whispered innocently. "is she okay?"

"don't look back, cheol." sae-byeok demanded, her face grim. her subtle walking turned into long strides.

just in time, the train pulled up to the station, waves of people pool out the just barren platform and sae-byeok was quick to enter the last car.

you picked up your pace and pushed your way through the sea of people, stubbornness evident in every step.

you manage to squeeze in the last second before the train doors closed, cramped in a crowd of businessman, high school students and office workers.

you squeezed your way right in front of the tall girl. furrowing your brows as you looked up to her.

she was already staring at you as you make your way to her, her head slightly tilted upwards, expressionless. the little boy hid behind his sister, his tiny hands held the hem of the sleeves of her jacket.

"what was that?" you asked, batting your eyelashes in dismay.

radio silence.

you waved your manicured hands in front of her face. "helloo? you just saved me?"

"it was nothing."

"nothing..? oh right, nothing. now imagine what would've happened to me if you weren't there."

your words made sae-byeok stiff, she loosened the grip she had on her brother. she couldn't imagine what would've happened to you, she seethed at the thought.

you frowned at the change in her expression.

"at least let me thank you, please. where are you guys headed?" you diverted your gaze to the girl's brother, who was shyly peeking out his sister's back.

cheol looked up at sae-byeok, looking for signs he was still cowering behind her.

she gave him a look, signing him to not answer to you. but cheol being cheol, mistook it for the opposite.

"we're going to the.. uh.. street food market." cheol mumbled fixing his puffer jacket that was too big on him.

sae-byeok mentally facepalmed at her brother's response, throwing her head back, before instinctively looking through the train's windows into the abyss.

"gwangjang? the one in jongno district..?" you questioned, earning a nod from the little boy. "i live in that area, please as a sign of gratitude, let me treat you both to lunch!"

cheol looked up at his deeply troubled sister, catching her tired, narrowed eyes.

he had realized his mistake now, pressing his lips into a thin line and hung his head in embarrassment.

she took a deep sigh looking at her moping little brother, pinching her nose bridge, "if we accept would you please leave us alone?.."

"yes! yes, of course, i will get out of your hair." you smiled sweetly from victory, the taller girl's face twitched.

so with that, she looked you dead in the eye before her eyes trailed up and down your body. making you shift in your position.

"whatever." sae-byeok mumbled, too hungry to argue back.

gotcha.

you squealed internally, a wave of relief washed over you.

you turned towards the trains windows, your right hand steadily held the train car handles, you left arm cradled your briefcase, your face brightened up with a satisfied smile, pleased with the short-haired girl's reply.

sae-byeok's head was still turned towards you. observing every inch of you, the way you smiled and hummed to yourself, the way your eyes flickered from the ground then to her brother, the way you lowered your head after sae-byeok finally accepted your offer..

amongst the deep irritation inside of her towards you, there was also a sprinkle of curiosity.

why were you so determined to thank her?.. if sae-byeok was in your shoes, she would've definitely just went back in the comfort of her own home.

the north-korean rolled her eyes, not wanting her thoughts to be clouded with you. instead, she put all of her attention to cheol who was also inquisitively staring at you, furrowing her eyebrows at the sight.

like sister, like brother i guess.

the cold afternoon breeze felt comforting on your skin, even though a piercing silence went on between you and the girl next to you.

cheol skipped ahead of you both, admiring the city scene since he hasn't really had the chance to be in the city ever since he was enrolled in the children's home.

his eyes wandered around the tall buildings, the high-end department stores, worn-down shop houses and hole-in-the-wall fast food stores.

you and sae-byeok strolled right behind the boy. your eyes were fixated at his amazed demeanor, smiling at the heart-warming scene in front of you.

sae-byeok was just bitterly walking in brooding silence, deep in thought.

the silence between you two was awkward, the only thing breaking the ice was cheol's frequent "what's that building?" and "look it's tayo!" commentary.

"what's your name?" you asked gently looking up at sae-byeok, testing the waters. wondering if it's safe enough to ask questions to the stone-cold girl.

"none of your business."

"what? so do you want me to call you blade girl then?" you teased, flicking your hair.

she shot you an annoyed, stern look. "please don't."

"tell me your name then!" you whined, looking at her properly this time. your eyes lost in sae-byeok's brown ones, the shared gaze lingering for a little too long.

the taller girl contemplated, clearing her throat before she tore her eyes away from you, now looking at cheol who was speeding up his pace.

"noona, we're here!"

she looked back at you still waiting for an answer, and instead of giving you what you want, she repositioned herself next to her brother, leaving you asking more questions in your mind.

you entered the market right behind the duo, taking in the vibrant hue of warm lighting. the air was thick with the scent of mouth-watering street food.

the market wasn't as packed as it usually was, but you could see that there was still crowds of people sitting by the stalls, stuffing themselves with comfort food. the hum of conversations blends with the rhythmic chopping of knives and the sizzle of oil.

you followed the pair to a more secluded side of the street food stalls, they stopped to take a seat in a bench in front of a cozy stall, a kind-faced auntie greeted them with such gentleness.

sae-byeok looked at you, she looked hesitant, pressing her lips together before starting.

"can.. can we eat here?"

you were surprised at the sudden vulnerableness the girl had, you would've thought she'd just grab and take whatever she wants, drain out your bank account.

not that the food was that expensive, though.

"yeah.. of course." your voice softened, nodding in assurance before smiling at the boy next to her, "get anything you want, okay?"

cheol's eyes lit up, taking a seat, sandwiched between you and sae-byeok before asking the auntie for the usual and some other dishes.

sae-byeok couldn't lie, but your gesture has brought an excited expression to cheol that she has rarely ever seen, and it tugged on her heartstrings.

sae-byeok nodded in appreciation, "thank you."

"it was nothing." you giggled, mimicking the girl's words from before, earning an awkward, tight-lipped smile from sae-byeok.

you smiled at her sweetly before ordering a twigim platter and a glass of sikhye.

it was humid inside the market, especially in the narrow space you three were crammed in, so you took of your gloomy, grey, cropped work blazer and placed it beside you, on top of your work briefcase.

sae-byeok mimicked your actions, zipping open her bomber jacket, rolling up her black, loose t-shirt's sleeves to reveal her tatted upper arm.

your eyes widened while your cheeks flushed at the sight of the pretty red ink trailing down her arm, the girl's arm flexed as she stretched. a red dragon tattoo wrapped around her biceps, it somewhat matched the short-haired girl.

"i like your tattoo." you commented, wiping your hands with sanitary wipes before using the steel chopsticks to take a bite of tempura seaweed roll.

sae-byeok looked up from her plate of kimbap, her eyes caught yours that was reflecting the gold hue from the single bulb that hung above the stall, before shyly looking down at her arms.

"thank you." she mumbled, tying her hair into a half up half down style.

you nodded, taking a sip of your rice punch. an unfamiliar comfortable silence appeared between the group.

you'd hate to admit, but the raven-haired girl beside you was attractive. you went dry mouth when you saw her jaw tick open, taking a bite of her food. the way her freckled nose twitched at the scent of cheol's tteokbokki being cooked, the way she gave him a delighted slight smirk when he excitedly retrieved the styrofoam plate full with tteokbokki from the auntie.

"excuse me, noona?" cheol looked up at you breaking your trance, his hands hung in the air, holding a spoonful of tteok. the boy was still a tiny bit skeptical about you, but his curiosity pushed him to his limits.

"yes.. uhh?" you trailed off, quirking your eyebrow up.

"cheol.." he hummed, you nodded, "what's inside your bag?"

"oh, my briefcase?" you quipped, shifting to place the briefcase on your lap, clicking the lock open.

the brother-sister duo looked at you curiously with a similar expression on their face. sae-byeok's eyes lingering on you a bit longer as she chewed on her food.

"i study architecture, so i'd have to have my tools with me you know." you smiled, voice like honey.

your hands trailed on the neatly stored scale rulers, cutting knife case and tracing papers.

the pair's eyes followed your hands as you flipped the case over, another section of books and a colorful array of pens and pencils were revealed.

"wow! so many colors.." the little boy gasped in awe.

you giggled at his reaction, finding it cute. you slipped out your thick sketchbook and flip through the pages, bringing it close to cheol so he could see.

"mhm, i also draw from time to time, they're mostly of sceneries around me." you explained gently. sae-byeok took quick glances at you and cheol from time to time, in between bites.

she wondered how cheol was so open to talking to you, he was typically a quiet kid at the children's home, reserved. he kept to himself, if someone insults him, he'd go hard on them.

"i also really like drawing, but i don't think i'm as good as you, noona." he acknowledged. his eyes stuck on a sketch of a stray cat by a tree.

your heart swelled at the compliment, how could someone sweet like cheol have a tough-hearted sister like blade girl? you thought.

"it takes practice, you know. i could teach you if you want." you offered, his mouth curved upwards,

"really? thank you noona.." cheol's eyes crinkled at you before digging into his plate of tteokbokki once again.

the market lights flickered, casting long shadows through the plastic tarps that lined the food stalls.

occasionally, sae-byeok would glance up, as if about to say something, only to decide against it, instead nudging a piece of her kimbap towards you.

you eyed it for a moment before taking it without a word. a silent acceptance.

sae-byeok could feel her guard slipping away from her every second, but she rebuilt that wall over and over again throughout the evening.

the afternoon turned evening turned in to a warm conversation, mostly between you and cheol about your shared interest of drawing, cheol's dream of going to a public school and all of "your favorite.."s

"what's your favorite insect, noona?" cheol asked innocently.

"do you seriously want me to answer that?"

sae-byeok also joined the conversation when you asked where'd she learn self defense from, you were clearly amazed on how she handled the creep the way she did.

"so.. where did you learn how to fight like that?" you queried, swishing a prawn tempura around the styrofoam plate.

sae-byeok nudged cheol, giving him a stony glare. his mouth was already opened wide to answer the question for her but he was quickly reminded of his place, so he slumped back into his seat before he stole a single kimbap from sae-byeok's plate.

"i..i do taekwondo."

you raised your eyebrow at the odd interaction of the two strangers, but quickly shrugged it off.

to you,

there was no need to fill the space with words.

the warmth of the meal, the quiet sounds of chopsticks clinking against bowls, the soft presence of a brother and sister duo who wasn’t asking for much—

it was enough.

you thought about why did you insist on having lunch with them for a second as you sipped the remnants of your sikhye and realized that you're having the sweet indirect family time you've always longed for.

the simple act of sharing food—none of it was grand or dramatic, but it filled a space inside you that had always been empty.

you have been dismissed by your parents your whole life, they say it's to train your independence skills but that clearly did nothing.

instead, it made you deprived of social.. heck, any interaction.

but being next to the mysterious girl you had deemed your savior and her adorable little brother, they simply existed beside you, allowing you to take up space by answering your questions without asking for anything in return. they'd even spark up conversations of their own.

you stared down at your empty cup, tracing the rim with your thumb.

“thanks,” you murmured, barely above a whisper.

sae-byeok looked up, chopsticks pausing mid-air, her face still stuffed. "for what?"

you hesitated, then shrugged. "for not telling me to shut up."

she blinked, then snorted softly, her tough exterior breaking for a second. “you barely talk.”

"no, i know, it's just.." you let out a breathy laugh, trailing off.

sae-byeok shared a silent understanding that you didn't want to continue with the subject of the conversation, going back to her food, the corner of her lips twitched up ever so slightly.

"kang sae-byeok."

"hm?"

"my name."

"oh." you muttered, nodding your head, trying to fight the excitement that burned in your chest at the sound of her name.

"kang sae-byeok." you repeated, testing her name on the tip of your tongue.

the sun began to set in the horizon, the air had grown colder, crisp enough that you unrolled the sleeves of your blouse, letting the last traces of warmth from the meal linger in your chest.

sae-byeok stood up first, letting cheol intertwine his fingers with hers.

"we should go. he has curfew." the short-haired girl mumbled, "thank you.. for the food."

you nodded, remembering how cheol talking about how he was staying at a children's home while sae-byeok worked.

sae-byeok bowed lowly first, cheol following shortly after.

"ah~ no need to thank me so formally, besides, you saved my ass back then." you shook your head, deep inside, you wished time would stretch just a little longer.

"thank you, noona! i hope we can play again." cheol gave a shy smile, waving his hands.

"see you, cheol." your voice softened at the sight of cheol, waving.

sae-byeok wrapped her arm around her little brother, before looking back for the last time, pausing.

"you should head home."

you huffed out a quiet laugh. “are you worried about me now?”

she didn’t answer immediately, just glanced at you, her expression unreadable beneath the market's glow. then, with a small shake of her head, she turned. “goodnight.”

it was just one, singular word. but it held weight, something unspoken hung in the air—an acknowledgment that the time spent between three strangers together mattered.

you watched as the pair merged in to the crowd of visitors.

you sighed softly before turning your heels towards the other direction, disappearing to the night yourself. the loneliness you had grown so used to didn’t feel quite as heavy tonight.

maybe you weren't as alone as you thought.

[nobodysnowhere]

A needless contest

A How-To Guide to Breaking a Table

Summary: A friendly „discussion“ about who’s the physically strongest breaks out after reviewing pictures from the Ghost camera. What better way to solve this issue, than to test it with an arm wrestling contest?

Cast: First years, gn reader

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

„You guys are so childish.“ You watch as your friends set up a table in the middle of Ramshackle Lounge, making sure that there aren’t any tripping hazards around.

„You don’t have to participate if you’re that scared of coming last.“ Ace replies as he and Deuce push one of the couches further out of the way.

„I never said anything about being scared.“ raising your arms in surrender before continuing to write down the tournament tree onto a blackboard you found in some random closet. „It‘s just that I can acknowledge that this is a kind of childish hill to die on.“

„It’s only childish if we let it be, for as long as none of us throw a fit over losing, then there won’t be a problem.“ argues Epel, as he prepares his wrist for the battles ahead.

„So who’s up first?“

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

„I can not believe this…“

Ace stares blankly at the results of the tournament.

„How do Grim and I have the same amount of wins?!?“

„I mean it’s pretty clear to me how that happened. You won once against Grim and Grim won once against me. I don’t see what’s so confusing about that.“

„You let him win against you! There was no way he won that legitimately.“

„It’s okay to lose sometimes Ace. No need to get mad. You have other important qualities.“, like being a smartass, but you decide to let that part stay quiet.

Before Ace can continue his complaints, you turn around to congratulate Ortho, who is currently being celebrated by the others, on his effortless win.

You wait for the others to finish with their congratulations, even Ace as miffed as he is congratulates him, before chiming in with your own praises.

„Congratulations on the clean sweep. I don’t know what I expected would happen, after all, you were able to carry an entire Amusement Park back to shore once. It’s no wonder the table broke under all of that force.“

„I��ll make sure to order a replacement to be sent here, but more importantly is your arm alright? I slammed it pretty hard into the table before it broke.“ Ortho asks Jack with concern.

He shrugs his shoulders, dismissing the boy’s concerns. „It’s fine. The table broke because of your fingers hitting it, so my arm had not a lot to do with that.“

You nod your head relieved that nobody was injured. „Congratulations to you too Jack. Second place is nothing to sneeze at.“ Jack acknowledges the praise with a simple nod, though his real feelings are being betrayed by the wagging of his tail.

„I‘ll make sure to work harder next time to beat the two of you.“ Sebek loudly declares.

You look over at a disappointed-looking Deuce, patting him on the back to try and console him. „It’s ok. The competition was pretty strong. See the positives. At least you beat put Ace.“ „Hey! Stop slandering me.“

Deuce looks at you and gives you an appreciative smile. „You’re right. I‘ll just beat them at something else later down the line.“ he points at Jack, „Get ready for the next track meet. I won’t hold back.“

Jack meets his eyes looking confused for just a second before nodding his head with determination. „Challenge accepted.“

You back yourself out of that conversation and meet up with Epel. You hold your hand up for a high five, which he gladly returns.

„Fifth place eh? At least we don’t look like those two.“ he says while looking over at Ace and Grim who seem to have started arguing about the legitimacy of their rankings.

„As long as no more tables get destroyed I’m fine with whatever they decide to do.“

[mingi-s-dimples]

Vampire's Den

KINKTOBER DAY 1 - REQ. BY @mingleshine:

~ "vampire mingi x siren fem reader, enemies to lovers type shi. vampires and sirens hating each other’s species, etc etc, whatever you want 😭😭 also maybe some praising, degradation kinks?"

pairing: vampire!mingi x siren!fem reader

genre: 18+, filth (ish), enemies to lovers

summary: Meeting one of the vampires that once saved you at the bar you often frequent... ends up being one of the spiciest nights you've ever had with someone and.. with your mortal enemy.

wc: 3.2k

warnings: vampire x siren, enemies to lovers, reader is bratty & cockt af, Mingi is really strict, threats & death threats, mentions of death/murders but not happening in the present, only in the past, knife play, bickering, size kink, big dick!mingi (obvi), choking, degradation (slut), movement restriction (cuffs), face fucking, deepthroating, gagging, throat bulge (yes from Mingi's dick), some praising (good girl), creampie, anal, lots lots of cum, 2 rounds implied 3rd round, manhandling, completely consensual, unprotected (wrap up irl!), unedited, for sure forgot sth.

Author's Note: Enioy, my love. I hope it's up to your expectations 😋. I enjoyed writing it so much! I'm so sorry I am so so behind with some of the other fics 😭 I'll finish them on time I promise 🫣. ENJOY MY LOVES !

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

In the world of the immortal, where darkness and the supernatural intertwine with the shadows of the mundane, two ancient species have long harbored a deep-seated animosity toward one another. Vampires, with their predatory grace, and Sirens, ethereal creatures of the sea with voices that could enchant and destroy, were bound by a history stained with blood and treachery. Their animosity was woven into the very fabric of their beings, a loathing that stretched back to the time when the world was young, when both species ruled their respective domains with an iron fist. Yet, in this tale of enmity, there lies the seed of an unexpected bond, a story of two souls who defied the boundaries set by their kind.

The hatred between vampires and sirens was born in the primordial past, a time when their realms occasionally overlapped. Vampires, with their insatiable thirst for blood, often found themselves drawn to the shores, where the songs of the Sirens would lure them. But the Sirens, masters of deception, used their melodies not to enthrall but to lead the vampires to their doom. Many a vampire met their end, lured by the promise of sweet blood, only to be dashed upon the rocks or drowned in the treacherous waters. In retaliation, the vampires waged a silent war, hunting Sirens who dared venture too close to land, their fangs seeking to pierce the throats that sang such deadly songs. Over centuries, this cycle of violence and revenge became a grim tradition, each species teaching the next generation to despise the other with an intensity that only the immortal could sustain.

For vampires, Sirens were creatures of deceit, their beauty masking the malice in their hearts. To them, Sirens were nothing more than wicked seductresses, whose only joy lay in the suffering of others. Conversely, Sirens viewed vampires as predators devoid of honor, bloodthirsty beasts who knew only hunger and destruction. The disdain was mutual, and it ran deep, as both vampires and Sirens prided themselves on their power and immortality. Neither could bear the thought of being outwitted or bested by the other, and so the feud persisted, a war of attrition waged in the shadows and in the depths of the oceans.

Amidst this bitter rivalry, the mortal world continued to spin, blissfully unaware of the ancient conflict that simmered beneath the surface. Cities grew, technology advanced, and the supernatural beings who once ruled the night began to adapt to the new world, hiding their true nature behind human facades. Vampires, with their ability to blend into human society, thrived in the bustling metropolises, while Sirens, whose powers were tied to the sea, became more reclusive, retreating to the depths of the oceans where they could sing their songs undisturbed. Yet, even as the world changed around them, the hatred between the two species remained unyielding, a constant in an ever-shifting reality.

But as with all things, the tides of fate are ever-changing, and it was in this time of uneasy equilibrium that you, a Siren of exceptional beauty and power, found yourself unexpectedly drawn into the orbit of a vampire named Mingi. The circumstances of your first encounter were anything but ordinary, marked by suspicion and hostility, as was expected between your kinds. You were young by the standards of your people, but you had already earned a reputation for your deadly voice and your ability to lure even the most cautious of sailors to their watery graves. Mingi, on the other hand, was an ancient vampire, one who had walked the earth for centuries, his power and influence making him a figure of fear and respect among his kind.

Your paths crossed on a moonlit night, in a city by the sea where the line between the mortal and immortal was blurred by the neon lights and the pulse of music. The city, with its sprawling docks and crowded nightclubs, was a place where humans indulged in their vices, unaware that creatures of myth and legend walked among them. It was here that you had come to escape the suffocating silence of the deep, to taste the chaos of the human world, if only for a night. But even as you reveled in the music and the laughter, you felt the presence of another predator in your midst, a dark shadow that moved with the grace of a panther.

Mingi had been watching you from the moment you stepped into the club, his keen senses alerting him to the fact that you were no ordinary human. He recognized the aura of power that clung to you, the subtle grace with which you moved, and the way your eyes seemed to glow with an otherworldly light. To him, you were a curiosity, a puzzle to be solved, and yet, beneath his curiosity lay the age-old enmity that had been drilled into him from the moment he had been turned. Sirens were not to be trusted, and you, with your beauty and your voice, were a danger that needed to be eliminated.

The tension between you was palpable from the moment your eyes met across the crowded room. There was no need for words; the enmity between your species spoke for itself. You knew what he was, just as he knew what you were, and in that moment, a silent challenge was issued. The air crackled with anticipation as you circled each other, like predators vying for dominance. But this was not the open sea, where your voice could carry him to his doom, nor was it the shadowed alleys where he could strike unseen. This was neutral ground, a place where neither of you held the advantage, and so you were forced into an uneasy truce, if only for the duration of the night.

It was a strange dance, the two of you weaving in and out of the crowd, each keeping the other in sight, yet never getting too close. You could sense the power that radiated from him, the strength that came from centuries of existence, and yet, there was something else, something that piqued your interest despite yourself. He was different from the other vampires you had encountered, those mindless beasts who thought of nothing but their next meal. There was a sharp intelligence in his eyes, a cunning that matched your own, and it was this that made you pause, that made you wonder if there was more to this ancient rivalry than you had been taught.

For his part, Mingi found himself equally intrigued by you. He had seen many Sirens in his long life, had heard their songs and watched as they lured men to their deaths, but you were different. There was a fierceness in you, a fire that burned just beneath the surface, and it drew him in despite the warnings that echoed in his mind. You were a challenge, a mystery wrapped in danger, and he had always been drawn to the thrill of the unknown. And so, instead of making his move, instead of ending the threat you posed, he found himself engaging in this strange game, this dance of predator and prey where neither was quite sure who held the upper hand.

"We meet once again, y/n." Mingi whispered, slowly approaching you.

"Hello, Mingi. Haven't seen you in a while" you said, with anticipation.

Truth is, there was a single moment were the two of you met in the past. It was when one of your siren friends was being chased down by some vampires, and Mingi stepped in to stop them. Why? It's been dozens of years and you still don't know the answer.

"How have you been... in the past few..50 years?" the vampire said.

"It doesn't concern you, sweetie. What are you doing here?" you said, confidently.

"Ah, I understand. Still feisty, huh? Well, I was just.. out, for a drink, nothing much."

He continues,"Y/n,I'll keep it short. This is basically my club. I've been coming here for the past 500 something years. If you come back here unnannounced, I'll kill you"

"I don't mind, Mingi. Try all you want. You better do it soon cause that's the only way you'll make me stop coming here." you said, smirking.

"Is that right? What if I kill you right now, hm?"

"You won't. You didn't back then, so what will make your words believable?" you scoffed.

"We'll see, sweetheart." Mingi said and pushed you to the wall, hands over your head, a knife to your throat.

"Now... what should I do with you? You've got quite a mouth, you're basically begging me to put you in your place."

"You fantasise about that image a lot? You seem quite...excited about it." you said looking down to your feet, something catching your sight. A slight bulge could be seen from his thight leather pants.

"Wha- god no, don't flatter yourself. Stop glaring." he said, a bit of harshness in his voice.

"Then what does this mean?" you said and moved your knee up to his crotch, getting a low grunt out of his chest.

"You know what..." he said and closed the distance between the two of you. "Kiss me."

"You have a fucking dagger to my throat, Mingi."

"So? You look angry. How about... you take all of that energy and put it to some good use? Like.. getting on your knees for me right in this instant?" the vampire said, smirking. His dagger still at your throat, but he soon retracted it for a moment.

You continued, smiling sheepishly, "And what's in it for me?"

"Awh, don't look at me like that, sweetheart. You're lucky you're hot, otherwise you'd be 6ft underground right now. After all, you're a siren."

"You think I'm hot?" you smirked, teasingly.

"No, that's not what I-"

You interrupted him, "Your cock says otherwise." and indeed, his cock was already straining against the thight fabric, screaming to be let out. He was big as fuck, too.

"Oh? You think you're hot stuff, huh?" he said as one of his hands went right for your throat. "I want to wrap both of my hands around your throat, and choke you until the life in your eyes dies down."

A smirk curled on your lips despite the pressure of his hand on your throat. Your voice came out in a husky whisper, laced with defiance and heat. "You think you're the first one to try and break me?" Your eyes locked with his, a challenge sparking in the depths. "Go ahead, Mingi. Try. But you'd better be ready to commit, because I don’t plan on going down easy."

You leaned into his touch, the tension thickening between you like a coiled spring about to snap, daring him, teasing him with a sharp, dark grin. "And don't forget," you added, your voice low, laced with seduction and venom, "I bite back."

"I bet" Mingi said and leaned in for a kiss, his tongue interlocking with yours. His hands were roaming freely on your body, from your back to your waist and to your ass, slightly squeezing it.

"You know.. I hate you so, so much, y/n" he whispered, breaking the kiss for a moment.

"And why is that?"

"Back then when I didn't kill you and your little friend, I was so mesmerised by your beauty. I thought you'd be a good round, maybe more.." he giggled. "And I hate it so much... how good you taste" his hand went to the back of your neck.

He continued, "Look at me."

"No."

"Look. at. me"

"Why?"

"Do as I say"

"And why should I?" you said, smiling sheepishly at him, with an almost innocent look.

"You little slut-" the vampire said as he manhandled you in his grip, one hand under your ass and one on your back. He went in for another kiss while he was walking up the stairs, then dropped you somewhere, on a bed.

"See.. this room is mine, y/n. Mine to use freely."

"Ah, I see. Should I care?"

"I can see that you are fucking bratty. Aren't you afraid of what I could do to you if you go againt me, mm?" he scoffed, climbing on the bed and pinning you down.

"Not. at. all."

"We'll see"

As soon as he finished his words, he got off the bed and opened a drawer. He took out some cuffs and threw them on the bed, rapidly followed by him climbing on the bed again. He then pushed you to the headboard, tying your hands behind your back.

"Oh, so this is how we're playing, huh?" you scoffed. "Don't be fooled, I like this shit."

"Y/n. babe. You didn't even have a choice. but I'm glad you like it. Now..." he dragged you closer. "What should I do with you? I think I'll leave your clothes halfway on... you look so hot in this corset, god dammit." he whispered as his hands went to your skirt, forcefully taking it off. You were left in only your panties, soaked with your arousal. "Oh wow, all wet for me?" the vampire scoffed. He looked at you for a moment and decided to unbuckle his leather pants, not breaking eye contact with you.

"Damn.." you whispered among seeing his cock spring out of his briefs, it's huge length and girth taking you aback. You knew that was gonna hurt as hell.

"What? Like what you see?" he giggled. "Come here."

"Hm?"

"I told you to come here" and he didn't even finish talking that he grabbed you by your waist, bringing you closer. You were now sitting on your knees on the bed, eyes looking up at Mingi, him standing straight on the carpet, right near the bed frame. Your cunt was rubbing against the now-wet fabric under you, the linen soaked in your juices.

Mingi's right hand went for your chin, stroking your cheek softly, his left hand pumping his aching length lazily. "You see my cock?" he said and guided the tip to your lips. "You're gonna take it all up your throat" his pointing finger under your chin, poking you to open your mouth. You took his dick in your mouth, trying to adjust to the girth. It was really stretching your mouth out, the corners of your lips aching and tears swelling in your eyes.

"Mhm, just like this." One of his hands went to the back of your head, tangling in your hair. "Though.. it's not enough" and he thrusted himself in your throat, your nose hitting his pelvis. You gagged on his dick, but he didn't move. He stayed like that for a moment, letting your throat get adjusted to his size. In the meantime, you wanted to touch yourself so bad, but your hands were tied at your back so you were left with grinding against the linen.

"You feel so good, sweetie. Let's see, how much can you take, hm?" the vampire whispered, pleased by your performance. He then started mouth-fucking you. He went on for a couple of thrusts, stopping for a moment, as deep as possible deep down your throat.

"Look at this..." Mingi said and touched your neck, feeling a small lump. "See how good you are to me, hm? I can even feel my cock deep down your throat from the outside. Such a good girl.." he leaned in and pulled your hair to make you look up at him in the eyes. His cock dropped heavily from your mouth, precum dripping continuously from the red throbbing tip. "Look at me" your head dizzy and spinning, your eyes went up to his.

"W-what?" you murmured.

"What do you want from me, sweetheart? Tell me. I can fulfill any of your desires" the vampire said, eyes glistening red with lust. "Tell me."

"I w-want you to fuck me" you said.

"Hm? Say it again."

"I want you to fuck me!" you scoffed angrily, catching a glimpse of his smirk as soon as you finished your words.

"Good girl. Turn around, ass up"

"I hate you so much, Mingi"

"I love you too, y/n. Turn the fuck around" the vampire said and manhandled you on your belly, untying the cuffs and throwing them on the floor. He took a moment to look at the exposing position you were in, your breasts slowly falling out of the corset, your ass red from all his fondling until now. He slapped your ass once, getting a soft moan out of your slowly rising chest. He spread out your cheeks, one of his hands fondling with the rim. He prepped you for a moment then pulled you closer, his aching tip throbbing against your hole. Without warning he pushed himself in, bottoming down. You let out a loud moan, feeling your hole being stretched out. It hurt so bad, yet it was so pleasurable. Tears formed in your eyes once again, gripping the sheets around you.

"Once again, babe.. take it all up" he said and started fucking you rapidly, holding onto your ass and back for dear life.

"You feel-" he bottomed down completely once more. "So fucking good". He was becoming louder and louder, sometimes letting out soft curses and whines. He was getting closer, you thought. His thursts became sloppied and heavier, filling you up good.

"Ng-baby. I'm so close" he gripped your back tighter, deepening himself. One of his hands went for your neck, holding it from under your body, his plump lips leaving soft kisses on your spine and back. He thrusted a few more times before you felt heavy strings of silky cum filling you all up. He fucked you through his orgasm, sending you over the edge.

"Oh-my god" you shouted and gripped the sheets once again, feeling the knot in your belly getting thighter and thigther.

"What, y/n? say it. Use your words" he said, panting.

"I wann-na c-cum" you whispered.

"You want me to make you finish, sweetie?"

"Yes fuck please, Mingi!" your voice coarse and your breath hitching. He started rapidly pounding you, his hands all over your body. He picked you up, his chest close to your arched back, he was kneeling on the bed. His left hand on your belly, holding you close and his right hand on your neck, his thumb rubbing your lips. You took his finger in your mouth, sucking on it slowly, with every of his thrusts. He fucked you for a couple more times and you felt your high washing over you.

"I'm not done with you" he said and fucked you through your orgasm, himself being close again. He once again came in you, filling you up.

He stopped for a moment and stayed like that, hugging you from the back, you cockwarming him, your juices slowly seeping out of your hole right on his dick. He took his time to put you down slowly, to which he then laid next to you.

"I never thought I'd fuck my mortal enemy, y/n." he said, looking at you.

"Me neither. I hate you so much, man. I could kill you right now and no one would ever notice." you said, cocky.

"Still bratty? After I fucked you dumb? Want me to go for a 3rd round?" he said and pinned over you.

"Bet." you copied his words and taking that as a yes he leaned in for a kiss, letting you know he wasn't even close to being done with you for the night.

NETWORKS:

@illusionnet

@blossomnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117

[amitiel-truth]

River Maiden Pt. 8

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11,

🔞Groping, Exhibition, Sexual Innuendos🔞

Odysseus and Telemachus stood on the shore, watching as the fleets of ships approached the shores of Ithaca. They could see the worried and angry expressions on the faces of the families of the murdered suitors.

Odysseus clenched his jaw. Telemachus, sensing his father's tension, placed a hand on his arm, trying to calm him.

"Father, we expected this to happen," Telemachus murmured, his voice low enough that only Odysseus could hear.

Odysseus took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I know, son," he replied, his voice tight. "But that doesn't make it any easier to face."

Odysseus and Telemachus waited on the shore as the boats began to dock, the families of the murdered suitors disembarking and making their way towards them. It was a tense and volatile atmosphere, with the families all looking angry and confrontational.

Odysseus and Telemachus knew they needed to tread carefully to avoid a full-blown conflict. With 108 families to deal with, they would have to be diplomatic and tactful in their approach.

Odysseus and Telemachus made their way to the palace, where they found Laertes, Odysseus's father, waiting for them. Laertes was a tall and imposing figure, with a stern expression on his face.

"I knew this day would come," Laertes said gruffly, his voice filled with grim resignation. "I only hope that it will not end in bloodshed."

Odysseus placed a hand on his father's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll do our best, Father." he said, his voice steady and confident.

Telemachus stood beside them, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. He knew that his words and actions could either defuse the situation or escalate it to violence.

"Telemachus, go see your Lover and Mother." Laertes orders, dismissing him.

Telemachus hesitated for a moment, but then bowed his head in compliance. He knew better than to argue with his grandfather in serious situations like this.

"Yes, Grandfather," he said, his voice quiet and respectful.

With a final lingering glance at his Father, Telemachus turned and left the room, making his way to the Queen's Quarters, where he knows (Y/N) and Penelope are.

As he entered the room, Telemachus caught sight of (Y/N) and Penelope, who had obviously been discussing the situation. They looked up as he entered, and their expressions of worry softened at the sight of him.

"Telemachus," Penelope said softly, rising from her seat to greet him. "Are you alright?"

Telemachus managed a small, reassuring smile in response. "I'm fine, Mother," he replied, trying to sound calm and unruffled. "But Father and Grandfather are currently in a serious discussion with the families of the dead suitors."

(Y/N) and Penelope exchanged a tense glance, before (Y/N) stepped forward, taking Telemachus's hand. "How are they reacting?" she asked, her voice betraying her own fear and worry.

Telemachus sighed, looking down at his feet for a moment before meeting her gaze again. "They're angry, understandably," he said. "But Father and Grandfather are doing their best to pacify them. They're trying to avoid any bloodshed, but I don't know how successful they'll be."

(Y/N) sighs, shaking her head "blood feuds are long and bitter, they feel humiliated and disrespected for killing their sons, even if they were the ones in the wrong" she mutters, mindlessly playing with his hand

Telemachus nodded in agreement, his brow furrowing in concern. "Yes, I know," he said, his voice quiet. "But what choice did we have? The suitors were a danger to our family and our way of life."

He pulled her into a tight embrace, taking comfort in her presence and her touch. "But we'll have to be careful, love," he murmured, his voice low. "These families are desperate and angry. We'll have to tread lightly."

"I understand, I still have this." (Y/N) showed him the dagger Ioannis, one of her guards in his absence, lent her.

Telemachus's grip on her tightened as he saw the dagger, his expression turning hard and determined.

"Good," he said gruffly, his voice filled with protective affection. "You need to stay safe. These families are unpredictable and dangerous. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"We understand, My Love." (Y/N) nodded, pecking his lips.

"I'll stay here with your Mother, and could you please send in Ioannis and Panagiotis ones more, I don't feel safe on our own." (Y/N) requested the guards Telemachus assigned for her, a small smile on her lips.

Telemachus nodded, his expression softening as he looked at her.

"Of course, love," he said softly, reaching out to cup her cheek with his hand. "I'll go get them right away."

He kissed her forehead gently before leaving the room, going to fetch the guards.

Ioannis and Panagiotis are quickly stationed outside the Queen's Quarters, their expressions serious and alert.

"Guard them with your lives," Telemachus instructed them firmly. "I don't trust these families not to try something."

"Yes, Your Highness!" The guards nodded their understanding, their hands on their weapons. They took up positions outside the doors to Queen's Quarters their eyes watchful and their bodies tensed.

Telemachus made his way back to where the meeting was taking place, mentally preparing himself for the confrontation that was sure to follow.

"Excuse me, sir," Someone calls out as he passed, her voice sweet and soft, with a touch of sadness.

Telemachus turned to look at her, taking in her regal appearance and the grief etched on her face.

Despite her grief, she moves with effortless grace, her flowing chiton catching the light as she walks. Her dark hair is intricately styled, woven with subtle adornments, and her gaze is both commanding and serene.

Telemachus turned to look at her, taking in her regal appearance and the grief etched on her face.

She approached him, her eyes downcast, her body language radiating sadness and vulnerability.

"I'm sorry to trouble you," she said, her voice just above a whisper. "But I recognized you and couldn't help but speak."

She lifted her head, and Telemachus was struck by the depth of sorrow in her gaze. "I am the sister..of one of the suitors you killed."

Telemachus felt a pang of guilt and sorrow at her words, but he held his composure, his expression stoic.

"I am sorry for your loss," he said, his voice sincere but guarded. "But the suitors brought their fate upon themselves. They invaded my home and caused harm and chaos."

She nodded, her shoulders slumped in acceptance. "I know, and I don't blame you for what you did," she said softly. "But I can't help but feel the weight of my brother's death on my shoulders."

She took a step closer to him, her hand reaching out to touch his arm, her fingers ghosting over the fabric of his tunic.

"I was wondering if I could trouble you with a request," she asked, her voice low and melodious, a contrast to her weary demeanor.

Telemachus shifted slightly at her touch, his guard instinctively going up. He could tell that she had something to ask of him, something he might not like.

"What is your request?" he inquired, his voice neutral.

The strange girl looked up at him through long eyelashes, her gaze earnest. "I realize this is a strange request, but I was hoping that you could find some way to compensate me for my brother's death."

She took a step closer, her hand still on his arm, her touch light yet insistent. "Perhaps a favor, a gift, something to ease the pain and the emptiness I feel in his absence."

Telemachus's brows furrowed at her request, his suspicion growing. It wasn't uncommon for families of defeated enemies to seek reparations, but something about her demeanor felt off to him.

"I sympathize with your loss," he said slowly, his voice cautious. "But what, exactly, do you have in mind?"

She took took a deep breath, her hand sliding down his arm to take his hand in hers. "I was hoping you would marry me," she said softly, looking up at him pleadingly. "It would be a way to right the wrong of my brother's death and bring honor and respect to his memory."

Telemachus's eyes widened in shock and disbelief at her request. The very thought of marrying her to appease her family's sense of honor was not only ridiculous but also insulting in some way he can't explain.

"I..." he began, his voice hoarse. "That's...I can't...I'm already betrothed."

Her expression faltered, but she quickly composed herself. "But surely, you could break off your betrothal for me," she persisted, her grip on his hand tightening. "I could make you a good wife, a loyal queen. My family is wealthy and has great influence in several kingdoms. It would be a wise political move for you."

Telemachus shook his head, his irritation growing at her insistence. "No, I cannot and will not break my betrothal," he said firmly, pulling his hand away from hers. "And I'm not interested in a political marriage. I love someone else."

Her eyes narrowed, her desperation becoming more apparent. "You would rather forsake a powerful alliance for a love match?" she asked, her tone almost mocking. "That's foolish and naive."

Telemachus's eyes hardened at her words. "It may be foolish to you, but I won't sacrifice love for power," he retorted, his voice edged with anger. "And I won't be coerced into a marriage I don't want, even if it brings 'honor' to your brother."

Her face flushed with anger and humiliation. "You are an ungrateful fool," she spat, her words filled with venom. "My brother died in your palace, his blood stains your hands and you refuse even to consider my offer? You don't care about honor, or duty, or family. You're just a selfish, lovestru-"

"There you are, My beloved~" Suddenly, familiar arms snaked up from his waist to his chest, hugging him from behind, and a kiss was placed on his neck.

"I was looking for you, how mean of you to drop off the guards and not give me a proper goodbye kiss?" (Y/N) asked over his shoulder, pouting at him.

Telemachus's irritation and frustration melted away at the familiar touch and the sound of (Y/N)'s voice. He relaxed into her embrace, his hand coming up to rest on top of hers.

"Sorry love," he said, his tone softening considerably, as he turned to look at her over his shoulder. "Got into a...discussion with someone."

(Y/N) turns her gaze to the person in front of Telemachus, tilting her head "Who's this?."

The Princess bristled at (Y/N) words, her earlier pleading and sweetness replaced by a cold, hard expression. She shot a glare at Telemachus, before looking up at (Y/N) with a forced smirk.

"I am Princess Cassandra," she said, her voice strained. "And you must be Telemachus's... betrothed."

"Yes, that is I. My, A Princess, you don't look like one." (Y/N) quickly bites back, not bothering to introduce herself, playing with Telemachus's tunic.

Cassandra's eyes narrowed at (Y/N) words, her annoyance growing. She bristled at the insult, her composure faltering for a brief moment.

"And I suppose you're the epitome of a Princess," she retorted, her voice sharp and cutting. "With your disheveled hair and your hand all over his clothes in public."

"Oh, excuse my disheveled appearance, I swear I fix myself up every morning, but the Prince can't help keep his hands off me~." (Y/N) answers with a smirk.

Telemachus's face flushed a bit at Egeria's words, and he tried to suppress a smirk of his own, though he failed miserably.

Cassandra scowled at Egeria's words, her jealousy growing with every passing moment. "I doubt it," she retorted. "I can't imagine someone as...unsightly as you being such an object of desire."

🔞🔞🔞

"Believe it or not, I am~." (Y/N) answered, keeping eye contact as she licked Telemachus's neck.

Telemachus tried to hide a shiver at (Y/N) gesture, but failed miserably, his face turning an even darker shade of red.

Cassandra watched the exchange with growing fury, feeling the sharp sting of jealousy coursing through her veins. She clenched her fist, her knuckles turning white.

"How...vulgar," she gritted out through clenched teeth.

"As vulgar as trying to steal my bethrode using a dead relative?" (Y/N) asked, running her hands all over Telemachus's chest and abdomen, touching every sensitive part she knows excites him, her eyes narrow with a deadly smirk.

Telemachus's breathing hitched as (Y/N) touched him in those spots she knows drive him crazy, and he had to fight back the urge to react to her, to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless right this second.

Cassandra's eyes widened in shock. She hadn't realized that (Y/N) had been listening the whole time, and the princess was now feeling both embarrassed and humiliated.

"That...that's not..." Cassandra struggled to find the words, her cheeks turning red in a mix of anger and embarrassment.

Telemachus, however, was more amused than annoyed, enjoying the show that (Y/N) was putting on, knowing that it's all for his sake. He couldn't help but find her little display cute, and a small part of him wanted to see how far she would go.

"Not what? 'Oh! I'm a distressed Princess who passed my bethrodal age, since you killed my brother, why don't you marry me in retribution? Oh, what's that? You're already bethrode? Well, I'm a helpless Princess, what else do I have to say? Break it off for me, please?' Is that what your trying to say?" (Y/N) taunted, before sliding her hand down between Telemachus' legs, palming his bulge.

"You don't even look like you know how to touch a man, serves you right, since you can't have a man all by yourself." (Y/N) taunted, her eyes slitted with a wide grin.

Telemachus inhaled sharply at (Y/N)'s unexpected action, his body reacting instantly to her touch. He bit his lip, trying to keep a straight face and not react outwardly, but the sensation was hard to ignore.

Cassandra's face went red with embarrassment and anger, her shame and humiliation mounting with every word that came out of (Y/N) mouth.

"You...you know nothing of what I can do," she snapped back, trying to salvage her dignity. "I could make Telemachus happy, and content. I would be a loving and devoted wife."

"Then your eyes may not be working, look at him." (Y/N) points, smirking at him as she continues her wandering hands.

"He's completely happy with me." (Y/N) points out, before biting his shoulder.

Telemachus's breath hitched again at (Y/N)'s bite, and he couldn't help the soft moan that escaped his lips, his body trembling slightly under her touch.

Cassandra's eyes widened in surprise and annoyance at the sound, and anger flared up in her eyes.

"He's...he's just...he's clearly just in a vulnerable state," she sputtered out, trying to find a way to explain away Telemachus's reaction. "Any...any man would react that way to a woman touching him like that."

"Oh, is that so? Then watch." (Y/N) suddenly stops her hands, hovering in front of him.

Telemachus whimpered audibly as (Y/N) took away her touch, his body craving the sensation of her hands on him again. He had a feeling that (Y/N) was up to something, but he couldn't help his body's natural reaction to her.

"(Y/N)...please," he said, his voice strained with desire. "Don't stop. I need...I need you to touch me."

(Y/N) smirked at the princess, before continuing her intimate touches to the Prince, particularly to in between his legs.

Telemachus let out a relieved sigh as (Y/N)'s hands returned to him, her touch sending ripples of pleasure through his entire body. He leaned into her touch, his eyelids fluttering as she caressed his sensitive areas.

Cassandra's face was now a deep shade of red, her ears burning with the combined humiliation and anger. She bristled at (Y/N)'s actions, her fists clenched at her sides.

"I...how...how dare you," she spluttered, her voice shaking with fury. "You...you...harlot!"

"Think all you want, but this one's mine." (Y/N) declares with a smirk, as she fastens her stroking through his clothes.

"You should be even thanking me, for allowing you to see such a sight that I have the pleasure of seeing everyday." (Y/N) taunted, as Telemachus reached his high, staining his loincloth, falling onto (Y/N) arms, his head on her shoulder with his head tilted towards her as she kisses him passionately.

Cassandra stood there, watching in shocked disbelief as Telemachus came undone in (Y/N)'s arms, a mix of emotions rushing through her mind. Her face was flushed with embarrassment, anger, and a touch of envy, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the intimate scene before her.

Finally, she shook her head, snapping out of her daze, and spun around, her gown whipping around her. She dashed off, her cheeks burning with humiliation.

As the Princess ran away, (Y/N) drops to her knees with Telemachus, assisting him with his weak knees.

"Are you alright, My Love? Was I too rough?" (Y/N) asked in worry, running a hand on his hair.

Telemachus sagged against (Y/N), his body trembling slightly as he tried to regain his composure. He buried his face against her neck, taking several deep breaths to steady himself, the scent of her calming him down instantly.

"No, no, love," he reassured her, his voice hoarse. "You were...perfect. I just...I got a little overwhelmed there, that's all."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have touch you like that without your permission." (Y/N) pulls him into her arms, her cheek on his shoulder.

Telemachus shook his head, pulling her to his lap. "You didn't do anything I didn't like," he reassured her, his arms encircling her waist. "In fact, I loved every second of it. I just...it was just a bit intense, that's all. And in front of someone like Cassandra, too..."

"It's just...she was trying to take you from me, so I got..." (Y/N) looks away from him, blushing, she didn't want to admit she was jealous.

Telemachus chuckled, his arms wrapping tightened around her. "I know, my love," he said, his voice gentle and soothing. "And believe me, I would never let anyone take me away from you. I'm yours, and only yours. And I always will be."

(Y/N) sighs, leaning into his arms. "I love you, Telemachus, we may always have sex most of the time, heck, we had sex the second day we met, but regardless, I love you, not just for our intimate pleasures, but for everything, and I'll be damned to let anyone take you away from me." (Y/N) professes while stroking his cheek.

Telemachus's heart swelled at her words, her declaration of love and devotion filling him with a warm, fuzzy sensation. He smiled, turning his head to place a kiss on her palm.

"I love you too, (Y/N)," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. "Even with our...frequent intimate encounters, I also love you for who you are. You're my partner, my confidante, my best friend, and most importantly, my soulmate. And I would never, ever let anyone take me away from you, either."

"It's such a shame that I...soiled myself." Telemachus blushes, closing his legs as best he could with her on his lap.

(Y/N) smiled, before licking his cheek. "I can clean it up if you want~." She offers with a mischievous grin, making Telemachus blush.

"You can't be saying and doing such things! Especially in the Hall!" Telemachus scolded her as she laughs, her forehead on his shoulder.

She laughed as Telemachus couldn't help but notice that (Y/N)'s hair was a mess, despite the fact that they hadn't engaged in their "routine" yet. He tilted his head, a curious expression on his face.

"Love, your hair looks...disheveled," he noted, running his fingers through her locks. "It's not the usual after-bed head."

"I was running around trying to look for you, I was serious about the goodbye kiss." (Y/N) admits, blushing a bit.

Telemachus chuckled, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"You look adorable when you're blushing, love," he teased, his fingers continuing to comb through her hair.

"But it's good to know that my kisses are that important to you. I'll make sure to give you plenty of them, even when I'm busy."

"You better." (Y/N) pouted up at him, as he fixed up her hair for her.

Telemachus chuckled again, his eyes sparkling with affection as he finished fixing up her hair.

"Don't pout, love," he said, pinching her cheek playfully. "You know I can't resist you when you look at me like that."

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her once more, his touch gentle but possessive.

Suddenly, they heard more screaming where Odysseus and Laertes are.

Telemachus groaned, reluctantly breaking away from (Y/N)'s embrace.

"I wonder what's going on now..." he muttered, standing up and offering his hand to (Y/N).

"I suppose we better go see what's happening. Stay close, and don't wander off again, love."

Telemachus and (Y/N) quickly make their way towards the source of the commotion, hand in hand. As they approach, they see that the commotion is centered around Odysseus and Laertes.

Odysseus is locked in a heated argument with a group of men, while Laertes stands nearby, looking torn between anger and exhaustion.

"You killed our brothers, our nephews, our heirs!" one man shouted. "We demand reparations, a sum of gold for each life taken!"

"That's ludicrous!" Laertes retorted. "Your kin were thieves and traitors, attempting to usurp our throne! Odysseus and Telemachus had every right to defend himself and his family's honor!"

The men just scoffed, their lips curling into sneers.

"Honor? You speak of honor after slaughtering our kin?!" one of them spat, his face reddening with fury. "You think money will make up for their loss? We want revenge, justice for our fallen family!"

Odysseus shook his head, his jaw clenched in irritation.

"I'm not giving you a single drachma," he said, his tone firm and unyielding. "Your kin were given a choice, and they chose violence. They knew the consequences of their actions, and they paid the price."

The men bristled at Odysseus's words, their anger growing with each passing moment. Their demands grew more outrageous, demanding not only gold but also land, titles, and even the freedom to wed any woman of their choosing.

Telemachus scowled, shaking his head at the audacity of the men's demands. He stepped forward.

"This is absurd," he said, his voice sharp and cold. "You have no right to make such demands, nor do you deserve any reparation for the lives of your kin. They were enemies, and they were dealt with accordingly. Your outrage is misplaced."

The men took a step closer, their anger now directed towards Telemachus.

"You dare to speak to us like that, you upstart brat?" one of them snarled. "You think you're so high and mighty now that you have your father's throne? Well, let me tell you-"

But Telemachus cut him off, his gaze steely. "I am the next king of Ithaca," he said firmly. "And I will not be intimidated by your empty threats. You have no claim to anything, least of all my compassion or forgiveness."

Odysseus's thoughts turned dark as he listened to the men's demands. He knew all too well that blood feuds were bitter and long-lasting, and that granting the men's demands would only escalate the violence further.

"Enough!" he finally snapped, his voice booming. "You have no right to come into MY home and make demands of ME! You want vengeance for the deaths of your kin? Fine! But I will not give you gold, land, nor shall you marry any of my people. Your kin made their choices, and they paid the price."

(Y/N) frowns, glaring at the Suitors families, her hand twitching, itching, planning, as a storm seemed to brew outside the palace.

Odysseus's voice continued to rise, his anger and frustration palpable. "You speak of honor and justice, but you know nothing of either. Your kin were villains and cowards, unworthy of my mercy or compassion."

The storm outside seemed to reflect Odysseus's mood, the sky darkening and the wind picking up. A few of the men blanched at the sight, clearly unnerved by the weather.

Suddenly, the air around them stilled, the Families stood in place as if stopped in time, with only Odysseus, Telemachus, and Egeria being able to move.

And with a silent gust of wind, Athena appeared, she turned her attention to Odysseus, her gaze softening slightly.

"Odysseus," she began "You have endured much, and I know your patience wears thin. But violence and bloodshed will not bring you or your people lasting peace."

"And for that, I'll give you my help, once more." Athena raises her hand to the Families, a glow flowed from her hand to their heads

"I wiped their memories of their lost families, once this is over, they go back to their ships in a trance like nothing happened." Athena explains, turning to Odysseus.

Odysseus looked at her in shock, before bowing to the Goddess.

"Thank you, Athena," he said, his voice steady once more. "You have my gratitude once again for your aid."

Telemachus follows suit, bowing to Athena, and pulling a reluctant (Y/N) to bow as well.

"Thank you, Athena." Telemachus says, gratefully.

"Yes, Thank you..." (Y/N) mutters reluctantly with a frown, looking onto the ground, Athena notices it, but doesn't speak out about it, given their difficult relationship.

With a snap, the Families grew silent, and with a trance, they began walking back to their ships, one by one, they began sailing off, like they were never here.

Odysseus watched the ships vanish into the horizon and murmured, "With their memories cleansed and their hearts unburdened, the gods have granted me peace at last."

Telemachus approached his father with a smile and said, "Father, after all these years of struggle, it's time we fill this hall with laughter and song again—tonight, we celebrate your return."

Festivities and celebrations erupted throughout The Kingdom as news of Odysseus's return spread. The people of Ithaca were overjoyed to have their king returned to them after his long absence, and they threw a lavish feast in his honor. Nobles, servants, and commoners alike gathered in the palace courtyard, feasting and drinking, dancing and singing.

Odysseus was the center of attention, surrounded by well-wishers and admirers. Telemachus and (Y/N) at a roundtable near him, watching as Odysseus basked in the adulation of his people with Penelope in one arm.

Odysseus recounts the time when he was on the run from Poseidon, the god of the sea, who had cursed him for blinding his son, the monstrous Cyclops. Odysseus describes his harrowing journeys through treacherous seas, battling monstrous creatures and facing deadly storms.

The people listen intently, enthralled by Odysseus's tale of survival and resilience. Telemachus, too, is captivated by his father's story he never truly knew until now.

"And as I neared Ithaca, Poseidon himself emerged from the depths, vowing to drown the entire island unless I threw myself into the sea. Thinking of you and your mother, I didn’t hesitate—I leapt, believing it would be my end. In that instant, I nearly glimpsed your grandmother, my fallen comrades, and the afterlife itself. But then, the windbag intervened, saving me from the abyss. To honor my lost comrades, I delivered 600 strikes with Poseidon's own tridents, a fitting tribute to their sacrifice." Odysseus recounts, lifting his hands as if lifting the trident once more.

Telemachus listened in awe to his father's tale, his eyes wide with amazement. He had heard stories of his father's adventures, but it was another thing to hear it directly from his father's lips.

(Y/N) on the other hand, nearly toppled her goblet, shaking. Telemachus noticed it.

Telemachus reached out a hand to steady her goblet, his gaze concerned.

"Love, are you alright?" he asked quietly, noticing her shaking hand.

"I-I'm fine, I guess I just have too much to drink." (Y/N) smiles sheepishly, before standing up.

"I'm feeling a bit woozy, It's best I retire to your room for the night." (Y/N) says, still stiff.

Telemachus frowned, unconvinced by (Y/N)'s excuses.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" he asked, looking at her closely. "You're not your usual self, love. Is there something bothering you?"

(Y/N) takes a deep breath, before hugging him over the shoulder

"Nothing, My Love, don't mind me. enjoy the festivities, you didn't get a chance to bond with your Father, I'll just be in your room." (Y/N) pecked his cheek, before turning to enter the palace, to the Prince's room.

Telemachus watched (Y/N) walk away, unease settling over him. He knew something was bothering her, but he didn't want to push her. He turned his attention back to his father's tales, but his mind kept drifting to (Y/N) and the strange mood she was in.

As (Y/N) enters Telemachus's room, she takes a deep breath, hugging herself, before removing her hair pieces onto Telemachus's desk, and walking to the balcony, a tight frown on her lips.

"Show yourself, I know you're watching me, Athena." (Y/N) calls out, leaning out the balcony.

With the sound of the wind, Athena revealed herself. She appeared next to (Y/N), her expression unreadable.

"Why are you here?." (Y/N) asked, barely looking at her.

"Why else? To check on you," Athena replied, her tone neutral. "You seem distressed, more so than usual when I'm around."

"Gee, I wonder why..." (Y/N) looks at her at the side of her eye.

"Cousin."

"Still bitter at me?" Athena remarked. "It's been years, (Y/N). You can't hold a grudge forever."

"How can I not? When you punished my Mother for being defiled by Poseidon in your temple, which she didn't asked for it...she begged for your help...she was your Priestess...but you cursed her." (Y/N) mutters with a tight frown.

Athena's expression hardened at (Y/N) words, her tone turning cold.

"Your mother was a priestess, a devoted servant to me. Yet, she let herself be defiled in my holy temple. She brought shame upon herself and her station, and I could not just let that go unpunished."

"Then why are you here? To tell me what you did was right?" (Y/N) asked, her temper being tested.

Athena's eyes narrowed at (Y/N) tone, but she remained composed.

"No, I am not here to defend my actions, young one. What's done is done." Athena leans over the balcony.

"Your Father knows you're here."

Egeria's eyes widened, stiffening before looking at the ground where the celebration is taking place, seeing happy faces, seeing Telemachus being able to get to know his father, after so long of waiting, she bit her lip.

"What does he want?"

"He wants to see you, to have a word with you." Athena replies, her expression giving nothing away.

"I highly doubt that." (Y/N) quickly answers with a bite.

"For the past 20 years, he didn't bother to see me, when I was Hera's Student, he didn't even spare me much of a glance, he wants something else." (Y/N) points out, looking at Athena seriously.

Athena nodded, a solemn expression on her face. "You're right, Poseidon is a complicated god."

"But you are just as stubborn as your father," the goddess continued. "And you seem to have developed quite the attachment to Odysseus's son."

"Does Telemachus know of your heritage? That you are Poseidon's daughter?" Athena inquired, her eyes watching.

"That's something he doesn't need to know." (Y/N) answers, glaring at Athena

"And why not?" Athena countered, her tone challenging. "He deserves to know the truth about who you are and where you come from."

"Where I come from? From a God who made sure his Father couldn't come home for 10 years after the war? Or from your Priestess who you, His Mentor, turned into a Gorgon." (Y/N) asked, turning her head towards Athena.

"A child of a God and a Cursed human, face it, Cousin, He'll see me as a monster, and he'll...." (Y/N) trials off, looking at Telemachus's smiling face celebrating with Odysseus like he's the only one keeping her sane.

"He'll leave me, force me out of Ithaca..."

Athena's expression softened, her eyes filled with some sort of pity.

"You're letting your insecurities and fears consume you," Athena said gently. "Telemachus loves you, that much is clear. Do you really think he would leave you simply because you are Poseidon's daughter?"

"Not just Poseidon, My Mother, Medusa." (Y/N) points out, looking out at the sea, where Gibraltar is.

"I don't know what I'll do without him...I'll simply die..."

Athena sighed, looking at (Y/N) with sympathy.

"You need to have more faith in yourself, Cousin," Athena said. "You are stronger than you think. And Telemachus is a good man, he will accept you for who you are, despite your heritage."

"Just out with it with your news." (Y/N) walks into Telemachus's bed, laying down on it, not wanting to hear any encouragement from her perceived tormentor.

Athena rolled her eyes at (Y/N)'s childish behavior, but didn't call her out on it. "Very well," she said, clearing her throat.

"Poseidon has learned of Telemachus and your...dalliances. And he's not exactly pleased with this turn of events."

"Be cautious. Poseidon has not forgotten his hatred for Odysseus. And he will use any means to get back at him, even if it means harming those around him."

Athena continued on. "And you, (Y/N), you carry the blood of Poseidon in your veins. Poseidon may seek to use you as a pawn in his twisted games. You must watch your steps carefully."

"...Just leave..." (Y/N) mutters, her back towards her, hugging herself tightly.

Athena sighed, realizing her words had little effect.

"Very well. But remember, (Y/N), the fates are unpredictable." With that, the goddess of wisdom disappeared, leaving (Y/N) alone with her thoughts.

(Y/N) lays and the bed, before curling in on herself, crying, sobbing heavily, as the festivities goes on just outside the palace.

(A/N: I'm bored, ask me anything you want to know about River Maiden! (Y/N))

[jazjelspen]

leaving on wild charted waters [pt.3]

(what if our mc just got tired of Night Raven College and it's inhabitants?)

(how would some of our NRC students react to this?...)

(includes each house leader +ace and deuce! as requested!<3)

(also includes lots of angst!/mention of blood but not a lot/ angst angst angst angst angst--/not proofread/may be ooc and inconsistent in some places(in both the second part and this part) my apologies!! T-T/mention of book7 overblot/did I mention angst?)

it's been over two weeks now, two weeks in RSA.

so far you've met the headmaster of the school, Ambrose LXIII, with the guidance of Rielle. the headmaster understood your circumstances and talked to you about how he'll try his best to find a way back home for you, and to ease up any of your doubts and concerns he even said he'll promptly ask a student to hand you a report from him of any progress he's made to ensure a safe passage back home for you!

even without having to be an official student or enroll they let you stay in the same dorm as Rielle with your own dorm room as a temporary stay here... and your dorm room was actually nice and well set up! like a hotel room... you were relieved you didn't have to worry about the ceiling cracking and falling on your face for the rest of your nights here.

and to your amazement the headmaster kept his word, unlike Crowley. any report of progress was mostly driven by research but he did mention a lot of Twisted Wonderland's history to connect to any potential gateways back to your world... and this felt way better than whatever Crowley was doing so it was like a breath of fresh air.

finally for the first time ever you've been able to feel like you’re several steps closer to seeing your friends and family back home!... every time you'd think about it you'd get goosebumps of excitement.

during these past few days you've met an enormous amount of friends! most of them being Rielle's while others were outside of the inner social circle but still all of them were friendly or just got along in some way or form, it seemed almost magical. aside from Rielle one of your other closest friends was this boy of green eyes and long, and I mean long blonde hair that usually either dragged behind him or was in a huge braid, he was actually the one who healed your broken arm and wounds with his magical healing powers from his hair! and now you're able to be more active again!

Raps is his name, and he was usually always called upon and under strict supervision by his father whom was a professor there... but you weren't sure if they are related by blood or not since the professor had dark black curls and grey eyes rather than the yellow haired boy's more bright features, but you never really bothered to ask or wonder much. in the end you two got along well and actually had a bit in common! mostly due to the fact that you both can relate to the feeling of being trapped, restrained.

in the end you absolutely loved your temporary stay here so far, you hoped no overblots would ruin your experience... so you never really let your guard down but nonetheless it was relaxing.

we wouldn't be able to say the same for Night Raven College and everyone you left behind though!

Meanwhile in Night Raven College....

it was after classes ended on this cold and grey day when five particular freshmen and a student robot of NRC have been grouping up after school for the past week for one particular reason only...

"where could they be?? we've searched everywhere! the halls, the classrooms, the garden, forest, the shore... it's like they disappeared from thin air!" exclaimed the ace, Ace Trappola to be exact.

"we've looked everywhere Ace, what also irks me is that even Vil has been harsher on the entire dorm since they disappeared." the apple of the group, Epel Felmier, sighed in frustration on the brink of snapping.

"...but could they have been taken, kidnapped?... I'm sure Grim would've heard of any struggle but we haven't even heard from the cat." spoke the wolf of the group, Jack Howl.

"no.. Grim has been avoiding us like the plague and even managed to sneak away from us several times. not sure where he could be hiding now aside from the old ramshackle dorm but-- even yet he always manages to slip through our hands!..." the spade spoke worryingly, Deuce Spade was deeply concerned for your safety and confused over Grim's actions.

"that human!! they've been driving the young master mad! all he's been talking about is where they could be and if they are alright!!... and every time I come back to him it's like the sky and his excellence himself just keeps getting worse and worse!.." the loudest knight of Malleus Draconia, Sebek Zigvolt, exclaimed loudly with worry for both the prefect and his young master... but more worried about the young master's train of thought with how worse the clouds have been getting with the most terrible rain and thunder when each day goes by.

"my big brother hasn't been sleeping at all.. way worse than when he has his game marathons. he's constantly looking for any digital footprint they could've left or even trying to hack into their location but it always overrides somehow... it always says that the device is dead or nonexistent." the younger of the shroud brothers, Ortho Shroud, is seen stressing over you and his big brother, Idia Shroud. "with the amount of information my big brother has been trying to look through it could possibly even make me short circuit."

the entire group was at a frustrating dead end for any clue of your disappearance aside from all your everyday items being left behind and your last known scent to be in the ramshackle dorm and at the very edge of the sea. other than that no one has much of a clue.

well they have been hearing from students that a ship appeared as quickly as it disappeared in the night/very early morning before anyone was up, and that one rumor caused other different kinds of rumors to spread like wildfire. some say you were abducted by pirates, stolen by mischievous pixies, suddenly teleported back into your world without warning, or even... that you have finally left on your own. everyone acknowledged the rumors but they didn't want to think about the reality, the cold hard truth, that you really could've left.

if only they knew how terrible their house leaders took it too.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(requested characters)

Ace: the ace, one of the first people you've met. he's always been a funny and childish friend, sometimes he made you laugh and cry of joy from his terrible yet funny jokes and antics while other times said antics would get you in trouble. he didn't want to accept that he could be part of the reason why you're gone, which is why he tried to convince himself and everyone else around that you were taken instead of leaving voluntarily... he wouldn't be able to handle the guilt and heartbreak to accept that you truly left. he loved you, he truly cared for you and your well-being-- he knew he had a hard time to express these feelings but you were his best friend! of course he cared for your health! but... he couldn't handle the fact that maybe just maybe... he wasn't there for you enough to stay with them a little longer.

he could still remember the first day that you were gone, you weren't in any of your classes-- the teachers didn't even call your name when taking attendance anymore. it was utterly bizarre. Grim was still in his classes yet he sat far away from any students that knew you and disappeared after every class ended.. it was as if he was hiding something. and he was, but Ace and Deuce had no idea what it could be aside that they knew it was about you.

in the end, Ace is left heartbroken knowing that he didn't make sure to do enough to help you even when you asked for it from them. he knew that all he and deuce gave you was pure and utter trouble.

and he couldn't accept the fact, so now here he is having his friends look for you when he knew that you were long gone without even saying goodbye.

Deuce: the spade, one of the first people you've met alongside the ace, a passionate yet slow boy with a heart of gold. as much as he cared for you too the way Ace did he knew that even he wasn't helping either. he knew they should've done more or at least what you asked of them. but now you're gone, and just like Ace it seems as if he too is in denial about their part in your disappearance. he truly wants to believe that you didn't leave on your own even if all evidence was starting to slowly point to that possibility.

unlike Ace though, he seemed to be accepting it faster than him. he still followed along with the story that you were taken but he knew that after all the trouble, all the overblots, all your injuries-- he knew you just couldn't handle it anymore. after all it was clearly written on your face the day when you awoke from losing consciousness in the last overblot that you were ready to move on and make proper progress to get home.

he just...truly wishes that at least wherever you are that you are at least taking care of yourself with more helpful and reliable friends by your side, something he knew that he and Ace weren't able to do.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(your dorm leaders)

Riddle

inside of the dorm with pampered red roses adorning every corner was the queen of hearts of the Heartslabyul dorm completely and utterly tearing his dorm room into shreds in pure red rage. 

Riddle Rosehearts was fuming, heartbroken, and betrayed on so many levels that he hasn't felt in a good while. hearing from Cater and Trey about your disappearance and then hearing from other of his dorm students about the ship that sailed here as quickly as it left in the late hours of the night/very early hours of the morning.

he immediately assumed that you were kidnapped and in danger! he even marched to the headmaster's office to report your disappearance with other dorm leaders!... well actually-- surprisingly they all came at the same time without planning. but in the end when approaching Crowley with this question of 'where is the prefect?', the headmaster was calm, horrifyingly calm, and said a phrase that shook him on many levels with his fellow dorm leaders beside him.

"they parted ways with us to find other opportunities at finding their home! they felt too bad to tell you all so they just left."

"but they will be coming back to say goodbye before they go back home-- if they find a way back home... right?" spoke the leader of Ignihyde, for the first time out of his room.

"unlikely!" exclaimed the headmaster with a smile.

that one first phrase that headmaster Crowley told them was all that he needed to hear, in the moment of processing what he's heard everything was basically fading away as he also slowly but quickly ran back to his dorm room, in tears.

he was so angry, so furious, so emotional, so... he felt as if his own heart had been grabbed and thrown out of his chest. 'why couldn't you at least say goodbye??' he'd think.

he has never thrown so many books, ripped up so many letters he's written for you from himself that he never dared to send or give, and cut up then stepped on so many bouquets of roses in his room with your name on the tags.

wait...

oh, those roses. 

he stopped dead in his tracks with tears streaming down his face as he pathetically dropped down to his knees at the sight of all the five sad 'bouquets' of fresh red roses he planned to give you, now all had their petals and stems broken, torn, shredded, and crushed.

he then realized he didn't have his gloves on anymore... his palms had small yet prominent holes that were dripping red, red as the roses he destroyed. seems like the roses had thorns. 

ahh..he remembers now... 

those roses were meant just for you. 

Leona:

"what do you mean you still haven't found the herbivore yet?..." spoke the ruthless Kingscholar lion of Savannaclaw in a low yet snarly tone "I doubt they could've swam themselves out of here with waters like the ones this place has anyway. you all are likely not even looking right." he huffed as he closed his eyes with his body on the ground of the botanical garden facing away from the hyena gasping for air due to all the running that he had to do to bring the news to Leona.

Ruggie took a few deep breathes and quick pants before speaking "...we've already got twelve other students including the Ignihyde dorm leader's younger brother and the vice-dorm leader of Pomefiore, a robot and a hunter, looking around and no one's found them! Howl already tried to sniff them out and all we came up with was nothing much but just a faint smell of them from the shore." he huffed and panted in exhaustion.

Leona just scoffed "as I mentioned before, you're all still probably not looking in the right places."

Ruggie tried to intercept but knew that even if he did it'd be fruitless and gain nothing from trying to correct Leona, yet he was frustrated too and wanted to know where you could be as well.

but unlike the freshmen at least Ruggie has been starting to accept the possibility that you really have left, forever. Ruggie was about to turn and leave to continue the search and try to sniff out any information from other students until---

"Bucchi." Leona broke the short silence with a throaty command for his attention which he certainly achieved with both of Ruggie's ears poking up to hear his next set of words.

"keep participating in the search for the prefect. If all continues to come up dry, then I'll just have to take this into my own hands."

and this time without trying to speak a single word back he nodded with a quick and stern 'mhm' before scurrying off to help the rest of the students. once the hyena was gone Leona then had his eyes look up through one of the many windows in the garden that are presenting the sky's ever growing storm. oh how much he was longing for you.

he could still remember as if it was yesterday, when Crowley told all of the house leaders the news after they all abruptly showed up at the same time.

"they parted ways with us to find other opportunities at finding their home!"

that phrase.. he remembered how taken aback he was.

Leona slammed his fists on the headmaster's table "parted. ways?? as in they left NRC?!" a low growl came from inside his throat as Headmaster Crowley contained his eerily calm smile on his face.

"Sir Kingscholar I must insist you to control your temper." he spoke in his usual annoying and irritating voice "It's what they decided and were set on, end of story."

Leona couldn't remember much else after that blow out since all he did right after that was back away and stayed stuck in his thoughts until finally he just left the room suddenly. He didn't listen to any conversations that happened after that since all he could think was 'why not at least say goodbye?'

he finished recounting the moment before he mumbled to himself "I still have too much to say to you.",

but really he hoped that somehow somewhere you could still hear him. even if you probably left them for good.

Azul:

The sea witch of the Octavinelle dorm was pacing back and forth in every corner across his office in the Mostro Lounge. He's tried his best to squeeze out any information out of any of his dorm students or employees about the prefect with the help of his left and right hand eels ,Jade and Floyd Leech, with Floyd being the most productive yet not catching much information aside from the students he's squeezed the air out of exclaiming about some ship that has left in the midst of the night way pass midnight but too early to be morning. It intrigued all three yet it made our octopus pop a few nerves with how panicky he's been.

when he first heard this rumor it made him run to the headmaster's office with the immense fear that you could've been taken. he could remember his glasses slipping off at every bounce he made with each step of his run. he could remember the moment he opened the door to the headmaster's office along with the sudden appearance of all of his fellow house leaders in the same room..(excluding Malleus as usual) he could still feel the sweat dripping down his face, the crazy and misplaced strands of hair from his usual look, his glasses lopsided, and the scarf of his uniform threatening to fall off his shoulder-- of course he attempted to fix every one of these details on the spot to look somewhat presentable.

yet the answer he got from the headmaster was nothing short of soul-crushing for him. he asked a continuous amounts of questions as to why and how but all were dodged by the headmaster and answered with a short,

"it's just what they decided."

now he's just back into his office now diving head first into his work and school. much to his dismay it only kept him distracted for a temporary amount of time and in the dark of night under his covers all he could think about is you, just you.

he truly wished he could've been a part of your world.

Kalim:

the generous sultan of the Scarabia dorm was sulking in his room with his friend Jamil sitting by his side. Kalim was heartbroken over your disappearance and he remembers how worried sick he was at first. he like many assumed you were kidnapped and he was even waiting for some kind of ransom note to appear and he would've paid full price and more... but when he and other dorm leaders came to talk their concerns all they got was the news that you left voluntarily.

he was one of very few that felt that in their hearts you'd come back. one way or another Kalim felt in his broken heart that you'd appear as suddenly as you disappeared and unlike other dorm leaders he wouldn't put it against you to the slightest. he wouldn't hold grudges or be mad at you if you ever came back, in fact he understood why you'd leave and he was all up for making everything ten times better than before just so you'd never leave him again.

"you have to be realistic here, Kalim. for all we know maybe they found a way home faster than they did here, or they found a place where they don't have to worry about the next overblot or what their next meal will be." Jamil tried to be straightforward and blunt with Kalim, he didn't want him to have hope that you'd come back and then actually never coming back. "we don't know and may never know unless some kind of obvious sign shows that they will actually come back... but just don't keep your hopes up. for your sake." Jamil stood up from the edge of the bed to walk towards the exit of the room "I'll be back, I have to make dinner so you won't go to sleep starving."

With Jamil leaving Kalim then jumped out of his bed to open his window, the sky still not clear of the grey clouds and still not dark enough for the second star of the right to show up but still hoped that his message would still be received by the wishing star.

the platinum blonde boy held his hands together under his lips "please please please please.. please.." Kalim mumbled, wishing with all his heart.

"please, may _____ be safe, sound, and happy... wherever they are.."

Vil:

in the dorm of the fairest queen was the dorm leader watching from up above behind the tallest window of his room. clenching both of the red velvet curtains in his hands as he watched a group of freshman and a robot, including one of his own, group up and talk hectically and stressfully to each other. Vil Schoenheit knew very well why this particular group of students were talking in such an exaggerating manner, after all... with what Rook has told him and what he's heard from various students around the school it was most definitely about you.

as collected and uncaring as he tried to seem right now he could definitely feel worry and a kind of anger bubble up inside him. 

'could you really have left?' he thinks.

remembering what the headmaster said and all the bits of evidence he and Rook have picked up it seemed that it was certainly the case.

"they parted ways with us to find other opportunities at finding their home! they felt too bad to tell you all so they just left." spoke the headmaster.

you really did leave without saying goodbye.

he couldn't completely blame you, as silent and busy as he was he obviously knew that his and the rest of the overblots and people that surrounded you were bringing you down. it's why he invited you at times for make-overs, spa days, and everything in between to at least brighten up your spirits whenever he could.

"I suppose all of that wasn't enough for you." Vil mumbled to himself as he aggressively thrashed both curtains he held in each hand inward to close off the view of the storm clouds from the sky, to stop those clouds from taunting him any longer.

that and because he couldn't let anyone from out his window see the mascara dripping down his face.

"Roi de Poison?..." his hunter spoke in a calm and hesitant voice, noting that this isn't exactly the time to try to make conversation.

and he was right "Rook!--" Vil seemed to have jumped, immediately yet carefully wiping his mascara-filled tears with a handkerchief on him. "what is so important that you had to come in without knocking??" he exclaimed as he has yet to face his hunter.

"Roi de Posion... there is something your eyes must see to believe." he seemed to take out his phone with an image on his screen.

"Well get on with it then!" Vil exclaimed before he finally turned to face Rook in dramatic motion, eyes still a bit bloodshot even from the few tears he had.

Rook carefully approached Vil, phone in hand, once he took one last look on the screen to make sure it showed what he wanted to show the hunter then finally faced the screen towards his dorm leader with hesitance.

it was a Magicam account, someone's most recent post...from yesterday..

it was Neige.

but.. wait... that person by his side.. it couldn't be--

why were you in Neige's Magicam post?

Idia:

dorm leader of the underworld Ignihyde, has not been sleeping as much as he should be. of course he's never slept well in the first place but it's just been getting worse since the ramshackle prefect has left.

currently Idia Shroud was looking for any digital footprints he could find, trying to track your location, trying to figure out where you could be. in the end it was all for naught since for the past week or two he's found nothing and basically has given up at this point.

he leaned back against his gaming chair and with a sigh of disappointment, he didn't want to accept what Crowley told all of the house leaders in his office. he knew that there's some kind of trace of you out there somewhere, he felt like it was up to him to find the person who bothered to give him the time of day and attention that he'd never thought he'd get.

the light from his screens were causing his eyes to become dry and almost bloodshot, each blink hurting his mind and his focus. that was until a notification came from his phone.

that's strange.. no one ever sends him messages unless it's in game.

he grabbed his phone beside his keyboard to read the message. how odd, it was from the noob Rook Hunt. what would the vice-dorm leader of Pomefiore want anything with him? nonetheless Idia was slightly intrigued yet annoyed, he pressed on the notification to lead him straight to the new chat with the hunter, it said:

"Roi de Ta Chambre, I do hope this finds you well. A little bird told me that you too have been wondering about the safety and whereabouts of our beloved missing prefect. I may have the answer to your worries here."

below the message was a link to a Magicam post under the name of Neige Leblanc. he's heard of the name but was never interested in the petty and do-gooder lives of any of the RSA students. he cautiously pressed on the link to show a photo, a photo of said Neige Leblanc posing with a familiar face... a familiar face that he now wished he didn't see.

it was you, you were with an RSA student...

"tch..." Idia grumbled as he threw his phone back on his desk before he stepped back out of his chair and walked over to his bed "why did i even bother."

he fell face first into his bed and hugged one of his long yet soft pillows tightly, tears quietly falling down on their own slowly, he didn't dare make a sound in case Ortho would come barging in. he continued to cry quietly now acknowleging that you truly did leave without a goodbye, and left with RSA students no less, and with how you treated him before you left-- he dreamed that he might've had a chance with you.

but he should've known, dreams are for rookies.

Malleus:

the dragon prince of Diasomnia was a strange case, unlike every one of his fellow dorm leaders he actually knew that you left by ship. where to though he had no clue.

he remembers that he came to visit you at late hours of the night at the ramshackle dorm like he usually does except he saw you sneak out with nothing but Grim on your back. he followed you walking down to the shore to see a large ship awaiting for a passenger and what shook him a bit more was that the headmaster was there beside the ship, expecting... you. Malleus watched in confusion as you gave your beloved fiery feline a huge and long hug and some shared words with the headmaster. he was about to teleport himself right in front of you when he saw you walk up the gangplank of the ship to hop aboard but he stopped himself when he remembered about your cast.

ahh yes, how could he forget. he gave you the broken arm, the cuts and wounds, he gave them all to you when he overblotted. he knew that you said you had a chance of going back home but he didn't think it'd have you to go by ship.. and without saying goodbye.

in the end he just watched you and the ship disappear, watched Grim slowly walk back to ramshackle, and watched the headmaster disappear on the spot.

for the next few days that passed he's been mourning the loss of your presence, he's almost casted spells to take himself to you-- to retrieve you and hide you in a tower with nothing but him to protect you... to right all the wrongs he's made. he'd bring you fresh flowers every day and make sure to keep you healthy and happy, he'd do anything to have you back.

but he should've held back, every other person who's overblot you had to deal with should've held back. the headmaster should've done his job. then maybe just maybe you would've been able to be in his arms that night when you left.

in the end he was the only one who didn't ever visit the headmaster for any information about you. he had no reason after all he saw you leave.

after he gets a grip on himself though, he will confront Headmaster Crowley for any information as to 'why' he let you leave.

right now all he could ask is why... why why??.. the more he felt stuck in his thoughts the more the storm outside worsened. at this point everyone could see how he's feeling, his entourage of three tried their best to comfort him but it was no use. the prince of thorns was stuck sulking, and he didn't know how else to stop unless you were back into his arms.

he's also been taking way too many naps now, strange to his three knights yet he knew he did this because every time in every one of his dreams he had you in his arms and walked beside you. he had you all to himself in his dreams.

he saw that this was a better solution than being awake.

(THIS IS SUPER LONG and I might've messed up here and there T-T hope it broke a few hearts tho! I tried my very best in each one of their reactions!<3)

[hisui-dreamer]

such lengths

Pairing: Floyd Leech x f!reader

Synopsis: if your fiancé is the one to kill you in an arranged marriage you can't refuse, then why not seduce said fiancé so he won't kill you?

Tags: fluff, cliché isekai plots, reincarnation, female reader, historical setting, arranged marriages

Word count: 1.7k+

Notes: how did i write more for floyd than malleus💀

anywaysss early birthday prize for everyone's second favourite eel!!

✧Jade's Villainess✧ ✧Malleus' Villainess✧

Masterlist

The tale of this noblewoman is nothing short of a pitiful one.

Though born into a lineage of high prestige, her family's former glory had withered away, drained dry by the toils of generations past. Yet, the count and countess, bound by love and tenderness, still showered their daughter with affection, sparing no effort to ensure her well-being.

The noblewoman yearned for this fleeting happiness to linger, but destiny rarely extends its benevolent hand for long. On her eleventh birthday, her mother, weary from the ceaseless burdens of the household, succumbed to a devastating illness and became bedridden. In a desperate gambit to procure funds for the cure to his wife's illness, the count embarked on treacherous voyages to distant shores, seeking business opportunities in the coastal realms.

But alas, the wheel of misfortune turned relentlessly. On her fourteenth birthday, while returning home with promises of a prosperous business deal, the count met his untimely end in a harrowing carriage accident.

As the sole heir to the county, she was burdened with the weight of the title, a mantle too heavy for an adolescent to bear. She undertook the grim task of orchestrating her father's funeral. During the somber ceremony, a peculiar party of visitors arrived, their countenance unsettling, teeth like razors and stature unnaturally tall. She soon learned these were the Leech family, the very traders her father had forged deals with.

They dangled an irresistible proposition before her, one she could not refuse; in exchange for becoming the betrothed of the eldest Leech son, her mother's well-being would be safeguarded, and the finest remedies would be at her disposal.

Thus, the noblewoman, too foolish and naive, chose to secure her mother's future. Their union was sealed when she reached the age of eighteen. Yet, not even a year passed before a sinister illness overcame her, her constitution ravaged by a poison slowly administered by her own husband.

The Leech family, though incredibly wealthy and influential, had always hungered for the societal standing that had long eluded them. The noblewoman, unknowingly, was their golden ladder to ascend into aristocracy, for deceiving the aristocratic circles into believing she was sickly, much like her mother, proved a simple task.

And so, the noblewoman passed away pitifully, her title passed into the hands of her husband, and her mother soon followed her beloved daughter.

of all the characters you could've have reincarnated as, you had the worst luck of all when you woke up as Floyd's late wife

heck, Floyd wasn't even the main character of the novel, it was some businessman that grew up to be greedy and cruel, but had to learn how to love again after meeting the heroine

his late wife was just briefly mentioned for a paragraph about how the leech family, basically the mafia from "fathoms below", started gaining more influence and helped the businessman with his schemes

though Floyd and his twin brother jade did gain a large fanbase, they were a pretty striking duo and when did red flags ever stop fans from simping

you yourself were a huge fan of the twins, but even you didn't instantly recognize you became Floyd's late wife

it was only when you were grieving with your mother about the passing of your caring father and the leech family showed up at the funeral

the striking teal hair, mismatched eyes, and carefree grin stood out almost immediately

Mr. Leech, an formidable figure, cast a shadow of authority as he shattered the oppressive silence that had draped itself over the elegant garden. His voice, deep and resonant, possessed a commanding quality as he addressed you. "My condolences for your loss, my dear. Your father and I were business partners... He spoke very highly of you."

With a sense of poised grace, you offered a nod at his words. "Thank you, Mr. Leech. It is an honor to have made the acquaintance of your family, even under these less-than-fortunate circumstances."

Jade, his sharp and composed eyes keenly focused on you, joined the conversation. "I'm very sorry for your loss. I'm Jade," he offered his hand in greeting.

You shook his hand, your voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Jade."

In stark contrast, Floyd, exuding an aura of indifference. Mr. Leech took it upon himself to introduce him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "And this is Floyd, my eldest son."

You extended a polite greeting to Floyd, your tone warm and inviting as you curtseyed. "Hello, Floyd. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Floyd, maintaining his stoic demeanor, made a "hmph" sound before turning away, his demeanor aloof.

Sensing the tension and his apparent disinterest, you scrambled for a way to interest him. "Oh uhm, you must be tired from your journey. Would you care for some refreshments? We have some pastries prepared, if you'd like."

He turns back to you, a glint of interest flickering in his curious eyes. "Hmmm... Alright, why don'tcha show me what you've got prepared, Shrimpy?" He responds, the edges of his lips curling upward.

thankfully, the funeral came to a close peacefully, and Floyd seemingly got along with you

from then you awaited the offer letter from Mr Leech to arrive

you remembered that Floyd, though easily bored, could be really dedicated to something if he wanted to

so what better way to survive, than to make Floyd like you?? only then will your mom get the medicine she needs, and you'll survive without struggling in poverty

worse case scenario, he gets bored of you when you're older and you'll just divorce

and if he's the one asking for the divorce, he can't really make you pay compensation for the past medical fees

so, you decided to accept the proposal nonetheless

but not without precautions!! you started studying intensely on all sorts of poisons and antidotes, just in case Floyd randomly gets bored and tries to unalive you

though if he wanted to end your life with brute force, you knew you wouldn't stand a chance against him

as fiancés, there's not much improvement in your relationship

sometimes he's bored and finds hanging out with you a chore, other times he's following you around like a curious puppy, and there are also moments where he pranks you to see your reactions

you've tried becoming closer to him by getting him cool shoes and playing instruments, but he's far too aloof for you to know if he likes you or not

but thankfully, your mother's complection has improved a lot, and it does look like she's recovering

and once you're both officially adults and married, you start attending public events with floyd to establish your connections

or more accurately, for the leech family to establish connections with aristocracy

this time, it was a tea party held by some business competitors of the leech family

The elegant garden was a tranquil haven for the tea party, the soft murmur of leaves rustling in the gentle breeze providing a soothing background to the clink of fine china and hushed conversations. You, Floyd, and the other aristocratic adolescents settled around a beautifully adorned table, the porcelain teacups and dainty pastries tempting you all.

Floyd lifted the delicate teacup to his lips as he rolled his eyes, having grown weary of the incessant chatter and polite pleasantries that surrounded him. Just as he was about to take a sip, you noticed a faint, unusual scent wafting from his cup, a scent that sent a chilling realization down your spine.

With lightning-quick reflexes, you reached out and pressed your hand against Floyd's, preventing him from taking that fateful sip. "Wait, Floyd, don't," you whispered urgently.

Startled, Floyd's gaze darted to your eyes, confusion etched across his face. "What's wrong, Shrimpy?" he asked, taken aback by your trembling hands.

You carefully take out the silver hairpin gifted to you by Mr Leech from your hair, murmuring, "Please explain this to father-in-law later..." Carefully, you submerged the hairpin into Floyd's cup, and both of you watched in horror as the pearly hairpin rapidly transformed into a sinister shade of black.

His eyes widened as he looked down at the poisoned tea, realizing the danger he had been unknowingly on the brink of. Anger simmered beneath the surface, his emotions stirred by the audacity of someone attempting harm. Swiftly, he plucked the hairpin from the cup, using his handkerchief to conceal the incriminating evidence before the guests could catch on.

"I'm bored," His voice carried throughout the venue, capturing the attention of the other guests. "Let's get out of here." He said as he pulled you up from your seat with a firm yet gentle gesture, placing an arm around your shoulder as he guided you away from the tea party.

Once you were far from prying eyes, he pulled you close, wrapping you in a protective embrace. His large hand moved soothingly over your back, attempting to calm your trembling form.

"Thanks, Shrimpy. I owe ya one" he whispered into your hair. After a brief moment, he pulled back slightly, his intense gaze fixed on your eyes. "But how'd ya know my tea was messed with?"

Anxiety seized your body at the question, the weight of your response holding immense consequences. If you answered wrongly, Floyd might suspect your intentions. In a panic, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I wanted to protect you!"

Floyd blinked. "Protect... me?"

"Yes!" You affirmed. "I thought maybe there would be attempts on your life since your family's incredibly influential, and I wanted to be able to protect you..." You murmured the last bit, praying that you were making sense.

With an expression of genuine astonishment, Floyd stared at you, unblinking. It was clear that your explanation had taken him by surprise, the notion of your dedication leaving him momentarily speechless.

"You... you went through such lengths... to protect me?" Floyd finally managed to utter, a hint of incredulity in his voice. A glimmer of warmth crept into his eyes as he studied your face, taking in the sincerity in your actions.

Before you could conjure up an answer, his grip on your shoulder tightened, drawing you closer to him. "You're really something else, Shrimpy," he murmured, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Hahaha! I wouldn't mind having you around!"

needless to say, floyd started following you around even more now

it seems this event really helped you gain his trust and affection

soon after the party, he gifted you a new hairpin, with "pearls he found himself" he says

he starts getting jealous when you spend more time studying poisons with jade but if you say you're doing it because you want to protect him he melts again

looks like you're not losing your life anytime soon, but i also don't think that eel is letting go of you ever

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[cremedensada]

something in my drafts that i actually got the energy and motivation to finish. it's not really my best work but i *did* try so!! also 600+ of yall?? (⁠(⁠(⁠;⁠ꏿ⁠_⁠ꏿ⁠;⁠)⁠)⁠)

Yandere Ocean Spirit who the local sailors and fishermen tell tales of. Some say he takes the form of a charming young man talking with the grandmothers, letting himself be entertained by their tales of when they were younger.

Some say she takes the form of a beautiful young lady walking down the shore as the sun sets down the horizon, colorful gold and orange painting the sky with awe - a vision of beauty and elegance.

Some say they take the form of an individual whose beauty goes beyond genders and labels, taking a dip in the ocean - glowing moonlight behind them. Locals who saw a glimpse of them would often murmur about their long cascading hair as dark as the ocean's waves in midnight; no one truly knows where the tips of their hair ends and the ocean begins.

Yandere Ocean Spirit who, despite his contentment with life at the seaside, finds himself curious with you - a new face, a visitor, in his home.

You were staying at the seaside for the summer, spending time with your relatives per your parents' decisions. You're not all too happy with being plucked out of your comfort zone, but you suppose you might as well make it work - a chance to destress before you'll have to come back and face the reality of life's hustle and bustle, like the unforgiving ocean waves crashing against the shore, hah.

The ocean waves are inviting today - not too huge and overwhelming, but neither too placid and calm. You spend a huge chunk of your afternoon watching the waves - something so routinely was so pleasing to you.

The beautiful stranger approaches you in one of your ocean-watching ventures, a sweet smile adorning her beautiful face - asking permission to accompany you. And who are you to deny her? Not when she looks at you looking like the most breathtaking woman you've ever met in your life and you are just a human being with a huge appreciation for beauty.

"I like the ocean," she says, after a moment of silence, eyes trained on the waves, "everything in life can change - things come and go, but you can always count the ocean to be there."

You chuckle. "Even the ocean can be unforgiving, you know. Especially during storms."

"Ah," she laughs, "that, I'll have to agree... we're all victims to the whims of the weather."

You smile in agreement, and the silence that follows is pleasant and welcome - like the ocean breeze gently blowing against your skin.

The next few days you busy yourself with familiarizing around town. While running an errand for your aunt, you come across a huddle of fishermen - gazes grim.

"Looks like it's about to rain," one of them says, "can't go fishing at this weather."

You hear another fisherman let out a grunt, just as you near their huddle.

"We can't always hope for a fair weather all the time. The ocean spirit can only do so much for us common folk."

An ocean spirit? You halt in your steps unconsciously, curiosity urging you to listen more. One of the men seems to notice, and lets out a hearty laugh.

You feel yourself flush in embarrassment at being caught listening.

"Curious, eh?" he says as the others turn to you as well, wearing matching amused smiles - at the very least, they didn't look like they were mocking you. "Never heard of an ocean spirit before?"

"Spirits aren't... exactly common in the city," you find yourself responding.

They nod in understanding. "Too urbanized," one of them says - a man sporting a huge scar underneath his left cheek, "they're more powerful and stronger when they're in their natural habitats."

It's your first time hearing of the existence of such spirits. "What does the spirit look like?"

They share amused glances, like you've just asked them of an inside joke you didn't know they had. "Well it depends on how the spirit wants to look like. But you've already met her, if that's what you're asking."

Their words echo in your mind until the next day as you watch the waves once more. It crashes against the sand and washes towards your feet - you watch it retreat.

A smell of the ocean breeze creeps up on you, and you feel a presence beside you.

"Mind if I join?"

His voice is deeper this time, different from her softer lilt - the one that reminds of you of early morning rays, the calm rippling of the ocean accompanied by the glittering sunlight. His voice feels like the warm ocean water soaking you to your thighs, gently swayed by the waves moving to and fro.

You turn to meet his gaze.

"You never told me you were an ocean spirit."

Unfazed, he smiles. "You never asked... plus, I didn't intend to hide it in the first place."

You entertain him with your company - his eyes gazing at you with keen interest as you share about your life in the city.

"—and what brings you to this peaceful little town?"

"Just... vacation," you shrugged, "I'm heading back to the city after a few weeks."

He frowns, but quickly covers it up with a serene smile. "That's a shame. Can't you stay a little bit longer?"

"I'm not meant for the seaside life," you respond; and it's true. You were not born with the ocean breeze to greet you in the morning, and the sound of birds singing the days away, nor the sound of waves lapping against the shore. You were born with the hustle and bustle, the sound of heavy traffic and hurrying men and women getting to one designation to another, and the smell of smoke permeating in the air.

It can be said, yes, that you can get used to a simplistic life at the beach but could you really? Not when your subconscious mind tells you that there's more to do at home, things to finish, projects to oversee, friends to keep up with, a life that you cannot afford to upend because your comfort has already rooted in the city, and it would be foolish to uproot it in an environment that it has to get used to after it has already matured.

"Oh."

He quietens after that. The waves are audibly more harsher as they crash against the shore, thrashing and lashing even beneath clear blue skies. The ocean spirit is not mad, but it rolls off of him in the waves.

And days turn to weeks — the waves only get harsher. Fishermen stand by the shore, scowling and frowning as the rough waters force them not to travel the nasty waves. What good is their livelihood if they do not live to return anyway?

The ocean spirit is nowhere to be seen, and there's no way to bargain or to ask what's wrong — like he has just disappeared down the depths.

The day of your departure comes, bags packed and a sense of anticipation to be back home thrums in your veins. As the car rumbles to life, thunder crackles in the air and lightning strikes — a flash flood comes surging towards the shore.

Cries of surprise and fear erupted from the villagers as the waves slammed against them, like claws tightening their hold on their prey. Was this the work of their ocean spirit? The gentle soul who would listen to the grandmothers' tales of their young love and misadventures like a child listen's to a fisherman's tale of braving the storms.

Or was the ocean spirit holding themselves back all along, now only deciding to let go of their restraints and let the humans feel the full blow of the ocean without their careful watch. Humans, who have since been uses to their less than concerning storms, unfit to respond to such a devastating occurrence — too panicked and fearful to flee away to higher ground.

You watch as the waves continue to drown more and more people, and a lone figure standing on an elevated rock formation. Has it been there all along?

Your feet moved before your mind can catch up to it, wading through the waters to reach the figure. They notice your presence and, serenely, smiles at you.

"Hello," they greet, like the storm all over them is not happening at all, "wanna watch the ocean with me?"

"You need to stop," you insist instead, ignoring their invitation. "The villagers are drowning."

They merely watch, and hum. "That's a shame, isn't it?" they murmur. How can they be so cruel? No — have they been this heartless all along? What of the person who the people sing praises of? "Perhaps they should start to learn to get used to it."

You hear the wail of a mother. You can only imagine what made her cry with such devastation.

"After you've given them protection?"

"Aren't we all victims to the whims of the weather?" They hum, "then perhaps, we're all also just victims to the whims of the ocean."

"And what would change the ocean's whim right now?"

As though waiting for that inevitable question to be asked, they smiled. "For you to stay."

Another harsh wave ravages the village, and they smiles at you with a calm smile — calm as the waves of the ocean should be — as more cries and sobs, pleas for help fills your ears.

"Well? Will you stay, or will you let everyone drown?"

[kinichval]

game's over, you exist now, to my doom.

level one.

"we'll get one breakfast clubhouse, two chicken fillets, one bacon croissant, one slice of chocolate cake, and four brewed coffee please." xilonen relays the group's order in which the waiter repeats for confirmation, exchanges of gratitude take place before all eyes shoot and fixate at you.

the presence of drowsiness still linger in your body, the slight rush of adrenaline from when you were dashing back and forth in your apartment while getting ready has already expired, now you're fighting for your life not to drop your head and doze off on the cloud nine-like chair.

"did studying for finals screw you up hard or were you playing minecraft the whole night?" lumine interrogates, her brow slightly raised, mualani and xilonen had a similar look plastered on their faces. their stares were heavy on your shoulder, a pressuring weight that wants to force an admission out of you.

"kind of, a couple of subjects are a pain in the ass to deal with." you reason out hoping that their girl instincts would allow this to slide, whatever happened last night was something you don't want to think about.

it's complicated — you convinced yourself it is when in truth; it shouldn't have been that deep. if anything, it was just measly school glue that binded the almost relationship you and kaito had. no commitment happened, just a confession, now empty promises, and a prayer that it'll be the greatest love story of all time.

finally taking the hints of your hesitation, mualani changes the subject to which lumine and xilonen politely listens to, laughing at the hilarious parts and sharing side comments in between.

this gives you an open door to shut out the world, a few seconds of breathing should be enough to get you back in shape even just for this moment, right? you didn't want them to worry about your mental being, moreover you didn't want to open up (and most likely breakdown) just yet.

you remain silent, defending your quiet behavior with the fact that you only have one mouth and it's occupied with eating that you'd rather not speak until you're done. this wasn't your typical self, but they collectively understood that pushing you to the edge will only ruin your composure.

still, they manage to make you feel included and in return, you respond and try your best to just be present.

time check, classes are about to start. after settling the bill and getting ready to face the wrath of uni; lumine and xilonen bid their goodbyes upon the realization that there's exactly five minutes before their afternoon classes. thankfully, there's still around thirty minutes to spare for you and mualani, so she stays beside you, a maternal expression of concern veils on her pretty face. "you alright?" she knows for sure you'll say yes, and you did.

mualani, known for her outgoing persona, stays still in this moment — like a calm beach shore. she has this aura that somehow feels like water washing over your toes and bringing in oddly but prettily shaped seashells along, so you take a deep breath.

"kaito—"

you were cut short when mualani tugs on your arm right after the door opens and the bell chimes as a new customer comes in. oh, maybe the grim reaper couldn't get his hands on you so he sends your ex-almost-boyfriend hand-in-hand with that girl to kill you the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

"let's get ice cream."

previous | home | level up

when yn's gaming hobby fluctuated after (stupidly) getting disappointed with a gamer she fell in love with, she's out there on valorant rage-gaming her heartbreak and ranting out to strangers who try to mock her d-level aiming skills; and kinich, who was just trying a newly released agent, got wired up in her incessant rambling and the unwanted responsibility to teach her how to play.

⚡︎ @animelover100 @fandomfan-102 @bvtterflyyy @viannasthings @mang0515 @aries-afk @xiaomainlmao @usagiarchive @marivaudages @lalalaloveallmydays @jiminscarmex @aetherialcrafter @yelleloww @rattyrattyratty (bold can not be tagged)