#i love you mortal i love you i love you i love you

[sparklingblu]

Eroverse

Pt.6 - Resistance

ft. Karina

Family reunions can be awkward.

But none can rival this one.

Eros looks like he's going to throw up any moment - his face white as a sheet of paper. His eyes dart from Karina's face to yours. Then to the scattered naked bodies of the hunters and back to Karina's face.

“Answer me. What is this madness?”

Karina asks, the anger evident in her voice - brewing and crackling like a storm right there in the room. Her normally perfect features are twisted to a scowl that could melt any mortal into a puddle. If looks could kill, Eros would’ve been a goner five times over.

But you are now experienced enough to realize that the idol before you is indeed not an idol at all. You are not a mythology nerd but you have a vague picture of what Karina actually is.

The tingly feeling on your skin: check.

Looking like an idol: check.

Anger issues: check.

Yes. Definitely a goddess (both literally and metaphorically in this case).

“Uh….”

Eros, the literal god of love, who can make an army swoon with a wink, looks like a kid caught stealing candy. His face is pale, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. For a second, you wonder if you should step in and help, but then you remember: this is Eros’s mess. You have just narrowly escaped being slaughtered by a goddess. You are not gonna try to relive the experience.

“Mom…I…” he finally croaks, his voice cracking like a teenage boy’s.

Karina’s expression darkens. “Don’t you ‘Mom’ me, Eros,” she snaps. “Do you have any idea what you have done?”

Eros glances at you and Kazuha for backup. You give him a look that says Oh, no way, buddy. You are on your own. Kazuha seems to share your opinion but her eyes betray no emotion. You doubt even Eors’ most loyal angel is enthusiastic about dealing with an angry goddess. Especially not after what she has just gone through. Eros’s shoulders slump, realizing there’s no easy way out of this. He shuffles his feet, suddenly very interested in the floor.

“Look, it’s not that bad-” he starts.

Karina’s laugh cuts him off, sharp and humourless. “Not that bad? NOT THAT BAD? You don’t know what you are doing, Eros. You are tampering with powers you don’t understand. Stealing the helm of darkness? Doing…,” she eyes the naked spent body of Artemis aka Chaewon with disgust. “this to a daughter of Zeus? You are lucky you are not already in Tartarus”

“Mom, you don’t understand. I-”

But once again, Karina doesn’t give him a chance to speak. “And that mortal,” her gaze falls on you and you are suddenly made aware that being butt naked isn’t the best attire for a meeting with an angry goddess. In her elegant white dress, Karina may be otherworldly beautiful but the fury in her eyes is absolutely terrifying, like she can burn you to ash right on the spot. And there’s no promise that wouldn’t be the case. “has the mark of Asmodeus. The mark, Eros. Do you understand how dangerous it is? Or do you think this is another of your funny little party tricks?”

“Hey!” you protest. “I’m literally right here”

Karina shot you a look so sharp you instantly regret speaking. “Quiet, mortal. We will deal with you later”

You swallow hard and try to disappear into a wall. No such luck.

Eros raises his hands in surrender, backing up like a guy caught sneaking past curfew. “Okay, okay, I messed up! I get it, alright? But I have a plan”

Karina looks like she’s going to blow up, any moment. Her eyes, full of fury before, now seem to hold flames within. If it’s Eros’s nonchalance that sets her off or something else, you can’t be sure.

Perhaps sensing that things are going to get out of hand, Kazuha finally breaks her silence. “Your grace, ma’am Aphrodite, if I may-”

“Hold your tongue too, angel!” Karina snaps back and Kazuha gaze falls to the floor, silenced.

Lucky for you, though, because you no longer need to ask Kazuha which goddess it is again (that is, if she’s even in the mood to answer). Aphrodite, of course. It’s an easy guess,really. Who else is there aside from the goddess of beauty to take on the form of one of the top visuals of 4th gen? Even you, whose knowledge on mythology is pitiful, know that much.

Karina - no, Aphrodite - continues. “A plan?” She takes a slow, measured step towards Eros. The whole room suddenly feels hotter and you swear you are not imagining the goosebumps on your skin. She’s mad mad. “You mean the kind of plan that could unravel the balance of the cosmos, Eros? That kind of plan?”

Eros holds her gaze for a moment, then shrugs, forcing his usual smirk back onto his face. “When you put it like that, it sounds really bad ”

Karina doesn’t blink. “Because it’s really bad”

You stand off to the side, feeling like an unwanted extra in a godly family drama. It’s not everyday you see a goddess scolding her son like he’d forgotten to take out the trash - except, in this case, the trash might be something on a cosmic scale.

“So, give me a good reason Eros,” Aphrodite stops, exhaling sharply through her nose. “Or I will hand you to Zeus with my own hands”

For the first time since this whole thing started, Ero’s jolly persona is nowhere to be found. He seems to be contemplating, brows furrowed and lips stretched tight. The god of love has never looked this serious.

Finally, Eros lifts his eyes back upon Karina’s face. “Because we deserve better’” he says, and his voice, though quiet, is steady. “You deserve better”

Aphrodite’s expression froze, like she has not been expecting that.

Eros takes a step closer, his tone shifting - softer now, almost coaxing. You wonder if the ability comes with being a love god. “You were the first, mom. The first Olympian. The oldest. You were there before any of those old nutjobs were born”

The sky crackles with thunder at that, as if Zeus himself has heard Eros. And you are suddenly aware that the scenery beyond the glass has shifted - now displaying ancient Greek in its full glory, with its marble temples and bronze sculptures. The place looks eerily beautiful, deprived of people.

But Eros doesn’t seem to give two fucks about what the king of gods think, because he continues. “And yet, look where you stand now - beneath him. Beneath all of them,” his voice drips with venom. “Is that fair?”

Aphrodite is silent for a moment, then she lets out a weak chuckle. “This is crazy. You are crazy”

Nonetheless, Eros presses on. “What I’m doing….what I’ve set in motion…it’s not just for me. It’s for you. For us”

So that’s it, you think. Everything you have done so far, every near death experience you have survived; it’s all just for Eros to gain his mom’s approval. A desperate attempt of a wayward son for recognition. And you have gladly gone along with it.

You feel really stupid. But it’s too late to back out now. Because the power…..it’s addicting.

Aphrodite doesn’t speak. But she’s no longer furious, now. She’s interested. She’s listening.

Eros tilts his head towards you. “And he is the key”

You have a sudden horrible feeling that you are standing on the edge of something massive, something you weren't supposed to understand.

If Eros plans to dethrone the gods with your abilities, you doubt the outcome would be pretty. Sure, you can make goddesses and angels become your cocksleeves with your magical dick, but even that isn’t without a fight. You will literally have no chance against all the Olympians. And the mere thought of using your powers on any male god makes you shudder. Even your perverted mind has its limits.

Karina studies you as if she has read your thoughts, before turning back to Eros. “You are not the first to try” she begins slowly. “And you won’t be the first to fail. Lust can be a powerful weapon if you wield it correctly, but this? This is madness”

Eros doesn’t respond. For once, he doesn’t have a clever remark or a lazy smirk.

Aphrodite lets out a sigh. “Clean up this mess,” she gestures to the naked, spent bodies of the hunters and Artemis. “If anyone asks, I’ve never been here, got it? I’ll be watching, Eros”

And with a swish of her dress, she heads to the doorway she has come from. In an instant, the room erupts in a blinding light once more. Unfortunately, you make the mistake of staring too long and the luminous rays scorch your eyes before you shut them tight.

It takes a while for you to blink out the white spots dancing across your vision. But when you finally regain perfect sight, Aphrodite is gone.

Everything is still for a moment, before it’s broken by Eros’s voice.

“Well,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “That could’ve gone worse”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Because now, the exhaustion is hitting you all at once. The battle in Artemis’s verse, the fatigue that follows the mark’s activation, the sheer weight of what you’ve been thrown into - it crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your body feels like lead, every muscle burning, every bone aching.

The world tilts.

You sway on your feet, gripping your side as your vision blurs. Someone - Kazuha? - says your name, but it’s distant, muffled, like a sound travelling through water. Your knees buckle, and the last thing you hear before the darkness takes you is Eros’s voice, sounding oddly far away.

“Guess we push him a little too hard”

And then – nothing.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

After seeing skeletons and three headed beasts in your dreams for weeks in a row, you already know what to expect when you are beyond your consciousness. Or maybe, something far worse.

But this time, it’s different.

The material beneath you is soft, a stark contrast to the cold, hard ground you remember collapsing on. Blinking against the golden light filtering from above, you push yourself up slowly, your muscles still aching from…everything.

The room around you is massive, circular, its marble walls pristine and smooth, interrupted only by tall pillars that stretch towards a domed ceiling. It reminds you of Persephone’s chamber in the underworld, the only difference being its cold, dreadful atmosphere replaced by a cheerful one.

The air smells of salt and roses, an odd combination that somehow makes sense. Sunlight streams in through openings between the pillars, casting shifting patterns across the polished floor.

You look at yourself. Your body is still bare, but it’s not misty and see through like back in your visit to the underworld. So, you are not dead yet. That’s a relief.

But you have learnt that if something looks remotely safe or welcoming in this world, it mostly isn’t. So you try to be cautious. As cautious as someone who’s butt naked and defenseless can be.

You are starting to contemplate whether you should just go back to sleep when you see her.

Karina, leaning against one of the pillars, dresses in a different outfit now - a white tank top, perfectly fitted jeans, and sneakers that look too clean to have ever touched mortal ground. It’s nothing godly but her beauty never fails to shine through, betraying her divinity.

“You’re awake,” she notes, her voice smooth, unimpressed.

You sit up stiffly, wincing at the stiffness in your limbs. “Am I dreaming?”

“Sorta” She tilts her head slightly, regarding you like an interesting specimen. “I borrow your soul for a while”

You don’t really understand what she means but decide not to raise questions. Not out of fear but rather, the curiosity of why she has brought her here in the first place.

“I have come to offer you a gift,” Karina says, answering your thoughts.

You blink, unsure you have heard her right. “A gift?”

She hums in confirmation, but doesn’t elaborate.

You hesitate, sensing a trap somewhere in her offer. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer straight away. Instead, she studies you, her gaze sharp and knowing. And then, with the faintest of smirks, she says, “Because I feel like it”

No way you are buying that.

Your mind races back to her confrontation with Eros, how she has despised his plan to dethrone the gods. “I thought you don’t agree with Eros’s plan” you say, watching her carefully.

Her smile doesn’t falter, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She shrugs. “I didn’t say that”

That throws you off. “So you agree?”

Another shrug. “I didn’t say that either”

You stare at her, frustration creeping in. “That’s not an answer”

Aphrodite sighs, folding her arms. “No, it’s not”

She steps closer, stopping just at the edge of the bed. From this distance, you can see the way the lights catch in her dark eyes, how they shimmer like a vortex of jewels. She looks casual, relaxed even, but you can sense it’s all a mask to hide something deeper.

“You think the power you have now is impressive?” she asks. “That little trick you pulled on Artemis? That’s nothing”

You frown. “Nothing?”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “A fraction. A sliver. The barest hint of what you are capable of” Her assessing gaze hovers over you, like she’s imagining what you have become. “Right now, you are a candle in the dark. But given time….you could be a wildfire”

More power. That’s exactly what you are afraid of. If you have already developed the thirst for the mark, you wonder what will become of you if its power grows. Will you even be human?

You swallow hard. “And, you’re just telling me this out of the kindness of your heart, aren’t you?”

She smirks. “Oh, sweetheart. I don’t do anything out of kindness”

You don’t doubt that.

She steps back slightly, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “This gift I have planned to give you. It’s a taste of what to come”

You tense. “What kind of gift?”

She smiles, slow and deliberate. “A new ability. One you will unlock eventually. But I’m feeling generous today”

You don’t know if ‘generous’ is the right word. Whatever she’s offering, it’s not just for you. There’s something in it for her, too. There always is.

“What ability?” you ask carefully.

Karina’s smile deepens. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

And before you can react, she reaches out, pressing two fingers against your forehead.

The world tilts-

And everything explodes.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

When everything stops spinning, the marble room is gone.

You blink. The soft glow of divine architecture is replaced by dim fluorescents of a….classroom. You find yourself seated in a chair of a location too familiar.

It’s the kind of room you have seen a thousand times before - rows of wooden desks, a blackboard at the front, a few motivational posters peeling off the walls. The faint scent of chalk and old textbook lingers in the air. Outside the window, the world is…nothing. Just an endless, swirling void.

You barely have time to process the shift before you hear the click of heels against the floor.

When you turn, your brain nearly short-circuits.

Karina is leaning against the teacher’s desk, arms folded, one leg crossed over the others. Only now, she’s not in her usual jeans and tank top. Instead, she’s dressed like every high school fantasy rolled into one - a tight white blouse, unbuttoned just enough to reveal her ample cleavage, a red plaid skirt that barely reaches mid-thigh, thigh-high stockings, and glossy black heels. She’s twirling a piece of hair around one finger, watching you with amusement.

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

She smirks. “Welcome to my verse”

Your brain is still buffering. “Your verse is a classroom?”

“For you,” she says, hopping up onto the desk and crossing her legs. “Unlike the others you have visited, mine is unique. Do you know why?” She leans forward slightly, her tits on the brink of spilling out from the fragile fabric. “It shifts and bends…according to the visitor’s deepest kink”

You stiffen. “That - that’s not true”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Then why do I look like this?”

You have no answer.

Karina chuckles, tapping a finger against her temple. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. The Verse doesn’t lie”

You swallow hard. “You - this - you are messing with me”

“Am I?” Her lips curve into something wicked. “Or are you just embarrassed that this is what your subconscious really wants?”

You are hard. So hard that it hurts. Your cock is rigid and springing up to its full length. With the lack of clothes, you have no way to hide your arousal. But you shove it down, trying to focus. “Why bring me here? What’s the point?”

Karina hums, swinging her legs idly. “I told you - I’m giving you a gift. But power is best awakened when you are completely in sync with your own desires” She tilts her head, watching your reaction carefully. “And nothing lays a person bare quite like this”

You want to deny her, try to compose yourself. But the truth is - she’s absolutely right. She’s pushing all the right buttons, using every buried fantasy of yours to her advantage. You know what’s coming next is inevitable, even with your lust hazed brain.

Karina slides off the desk with the grace of a predator, each step deliberate, heels clicking across the floor. Her eyes lock onto yours, and you find yourself rooted in place, unable to move.

She circles around you, like she’s sizing you up. Her fingers trail across your shoulder, down your arm, sending a shiver through your body. Her touch is light, teasing, but it feels like she’s peeling off layers you didn’t even know you had.

“You’re tense.” she whispers into your ear, her breath tickling your ear. Her hands rest on your shoulders, massaging gently, but there’s a weight to her touch that makes you weak. “You shouldn’t be”

You try to keep your breathing steady but it’s a losing battle. Her presence is overwhelming, seeping into your brain, clouding your thoughts.

“What are you doing?” you manage to ask, though your voice comes out shaky.

She chuckles softly, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I’m just showing you what you are capable of.” Her hands slide down your chest, pressing lightly, and you can feel your resolve wavering, crumbling under her touch. “You have so much potential, so much power. But it’s locked away because you’re afraid”

“I’m not-” you start, but she cuts you off, spinning you around to face her. Your eyes instinctively fall on her plentiful tits, which are now on full display from this new angle.

“Eyes up here, honey,” she cups your face, forcing you to meet her eyes. “You’re afraid of the power inside you. Afraid of what you could become. Afraid of losing control” Her thumbs brush over your cheek, her touch light yet commanding. “But power is only dangerous if you don’t understand it”

Everything she’s telling you could be a lie. But you no longer care. Because all you crave now is more of this, more of her touch, her breath, her warmth. Her hand slides down , resting against your chest, and you feel your heart pounding beneath her fingertips.

“What do you want, really?” she asks, her voice a soft purr. “To be free of this? To understand it? Or maybe…” Her lips curve into a knowing smile. “To embrace it?”

Your mind is spinning, her words digging deep, unraveling desires you didn’t know were there. She rests a hand on your thigh, tracing idle patterns on your skin. Yet, her eyes never leave you, holding you captive.

“Stop fighting it,” she breathes, her voice a soft command. “Let go”

You feel the last shed of your resistance crumbles to dust. It’s intoxicating, the way she breaks down your walls, knocking them over like mere toys. And you finally relent, letting go of the fear, the doubt.

“Good boy” she praises.

And that’s when she crushes your lips with hers.

It’s not love. Far from it. It’s not affection either. But it’s equally addicting, something you want more the moment you have its taste, like an oasis in the desert. And Karina doesn’t keep you thirsty. She keeps on kissing you, letting you busk in the feeling of her silky lips, moist and soft each time they make contact with yours. Her tongue slips out to seek yours and you happily let yourself be found, intertwining it with yours, tasting her.

Her hand on your thigh isn't still either, slithering its way upwards until it finally reaches the hardness between your legs, gripping the base. You let out a moan against her lips, as her grip tightens. She can feel you throbbing. You are sure of it. She can feel how desperately you need her.

She gives you a single stroke, her fist around your length pumping a single time. And that’s enough to set you off.

Your veins flood with power. Your whole body is enveloped in gold. The upside down pentagon on your pelvis glows brighter than ever. And your cock, looks like it can destroy armies (literally).

Karina pulls back, though your lips still connect with a string of saliva. The scene turns you on so much that if it’s not been the mark, you feel like your cock would go numb from throbbing.

“And we are back,” she muses, studying your cock like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “Look at this beautiful thing”

“You are not affected by the mark?” you ask, surprised. Persephone and Artemis have become slaves to the mark’s power as soon as it activates. But Aphrodite doesn’t seem fazed. In fact, she looks mesmerized.

“The mark only punishes those who try to fight it” she says, now stroking your shaft in an agonizingly slow pace. “I embrace it”

She’s still admiring your cock with sparkling eyes. You are used to people cowering before the mark with fear or sometimes even disgust that someone worshipping it is such a strange sight. On the other hand, perhaps, you are content that someone finally acknowledges its power instead of treating it like a curse.

“Only a fool would reject something this…divine,” she mutters dreamily, her digits tightening around your shaft. “This hard. This….big”

She places a single kiss on your tip and you swear you can see stars. You can feel her breath on your skin, the phantom warmth that precedes what comes next.

“May I suck your cock, sir?” she asks, voice dripping with feigned innocence.

She’s fueling your fantasy. If the settings and the outfit aren’t enough, she has decided to roleplay too. A roleplay that’s too accurate to be a roleplay.

“You may,” you reply. You don’t know if you are in the position to give orders, but if she’s really getting into this slutty schoolgirl act, you decide you’d better too. Afterall, it takes two to tango.

“Thanks, sir” And with that, her lips part around your tip, swallowing you inch by inch until half of your shaft has disappeared into her wet warmth. Her tongue swipes at your slit and the moans spill from you before you can control yourself.

Karina pulls back, a glint of something like victory in her eyes. “You need me that bad, sir? Need that big cock in my pretty mouth?”

You can’t voice an answer. Your brain is too jumbled to string coherent words. So you give her a single nod.

“I thought so,” she says as if it isn’t obvious before she welcomes your shaft back into her mouth again.

You throw your head back in mind-numbing pleasure. Everything feels so….surreal. Her lips gliding along your veiny shaft, her tongue that darts out so often to taste your leaking slit, the loud slurping sounds she’s probably making intentionally to rile you up.

It's a mess. It’s filthy. It’s everything you want.

The goddess of love herself is blowing your shaft. Or rather, Karina, the dream woman of million fans, herself has your cock in her mouth. You doubt both are luxuries that just anyone gets to experience.

Maybe Karina is just doing this for her benefit. It would be downright idiotic to think that a goddess would blow your cock for free. But right now, your mind is blank, focused on the single blissful feeling of Karina’s mouth working your length.

A loud gurgle escapes her lips when she swallows your whole shaft, nose pressed against your pelvis. The sudden, constricting warmth of her throat is unexpected. But when a goddess deepthroats you, you don’t complain.

She locks her gaze with yours as she holds your cock captive in her throat. Seconds pass but she shows no sign of backing out, still as determined as ever to keep you trapped in her tight warmth.

As for you, each second passed is another step to utopia, wishing this euphoric feeling never ends. Let her keep your cock warm forever.

But your hope quickly crumbles when she finally releases your cock, leaving it drenched in her drool. A waterfall of saliva stains her blouse, rendering it transparent to the point you can see the slightest hint of her rosy nipples.

“Oh, look like I’ve made a mess,” she says casually, like getting drool on your clothes is a normal occurrence. “I’d better clean up, hmm?”

You don’t understand what she’s talking about until she starts unbuttoning her shirt. Each loose button reveals more of her milky, round globes, peaking around the white fabric. She gets the job done quickly but it’s not like there’s much button left to begin with. Soon, her blouse lays a crumple heap on the floor.

“Like what you see?” she asks, like that’s even a question.

You are mesmerized. You can die happily now, you think. She may not be the real Karina but she’s still….well, Karina. And a full view of her glorious tits, which have their own fandom, is a privilege.

“Yeah…..” your voice comes out a shallow whisper, unable to think of anything except tits, tits and tits.

“Thought so,” she says, standing up and for a moment, you have a horrible thought that she’s gonna leave you like this - wanton and desperate. It’s exactly the kind of thing Aphrodite would do.

Luckily, she’s not feeling cruel today because she gets right back into her schoolgirl persona. “Say, sir. What do you think about stretching me out with that big cock?”

“You don’t even need to ask”

At your reply, Karina settles on your lap, facing you as she slowly guides your throbbing shaft inside her short skirt, her hands coming to rest on the nape of your neck. You watch your cock disappear into her red clothing, until you feel a wetness connect with your tip.

“Fill me up” And just like that, she sinks herself onto your shaft. You both let out a moan in unison. Her, from being utterly stretched out and you, from the way her walls squeeze your length.

Neither of you move for a second, adapting to this new position of depravity. But it doesn’t last long as Karina starts to roll her hips slowly. Your hands instinctively rest on her waist, guiding her movements.

“Fuck, you are so big. Even bigger than Ares…” she groans. You have no idea who she’s talking about but hey, a compliment’s still a compliment.

“Come on. You want those tits, don’t you?” she urges, pushing those busty globes into your face. And you gladly oblige, latching your lips onto one of her stiff nipples.

“Mhmm fuck” she groans as you swipe your tongue at her rosy bud before moving on to the other and doing the same thing. You decide not to be too greedy for now, devoting yourself to tasting one of her milkers, sucking and licking.

She writhes and trembles at the attention you are giving her tits, but her hip action doesn’t waver. She’s still riding you steadily, letting you enjoy her goddess pussy each time your shaft splits it open.

“God, your cock feels so good. So fucking big. Nghh…” She starts to pick up the pace, literally bouncing on your cock now as you turn your attention towards her unattended nipple, enjoying it the same way you did to its predecessor.

This double pleasure, that comes from both her tits and her pussy, can’t be described with words. It’s something beyond human comprehension that you doubt any other mortal could have gone through this and survive.

Her walls squeeze you just right, as if it has memorized every vulnerable spot, tackling with a precision that leaves your mind swimming.

Each time her ass crashes down onto your cock, she lets out a guttural moan. Her huge tits are jiggling so much now that it’s now impossible to put your mouth anywhere near. So you stop trying and enjoy the view.

You feel your body tingling with power, like a nuclear reactor on the verge of exploding. The glow on your pelvis grows brighter until it bathes the classroom in gold. Nevertheless, Karina is relentless - fucking herself on your throbbing cock like a bitch in heat. Who knows goddesses can be so beautiful yet so filthy?

But even the chosen one has his limits as you feel yourself spiralling to the inevitable end of this insatiable lust. The faint tingly feeling on your cock grows stronger until it’s overwhelming and soon, you unravel.

For a moment, all you can see is white as you unload spurt after spurt of your vile seed into Karina. It just keeps coming, everything stored in your balls, spilling into Karina’s cunt as she shudders from her own release. A few grunts follow as Karina rides you until she’s sure she has squeezed out the last drop of your load.

It takes a while to gather your thoughts.

When your senses finally return, Karina has returned to her earlier position on the desk, with the same cross-legged posture. The only difference being her tits out on display and the steady droplets of your cum dripping from under her skirt.

“Well,” she begins, not a hint of exhaustion in her voice, though sweat beads her temple and her hair has become a crumpled mess. “There’s your gift”

You blink. Karina has promised you a new ability but you don’t feel any different.

Then you realize.

You don’t feel any different.

Usually, extreme exhaustion, like you have run a marathon, follows after the mark’s power subsides. But this time, you don’t feel any of the fatigue, the weariness. Then you look down and find the answer.

The mark is still there. It has not disappeared like before. It’s not alight with power but it still glows a faint gold. Does it mean you can control it now?

“The mark….” you mutter.

“Indeed, the mark,” Karina agrees, amused at your realization. “Pretty handy, isn’t it? You don’t need to keep passing out every time you use it”

She is, no doubt, correct. Not only that you haven’t passed out but a fresh surge of energy has started travelling through your body. Your breath catches in your throat as another wave of arousal overwhelms you, and your cock springs up instantly from its limp form.

Karina smirks at the sight. “Easy there, tiger. Or we might stay in this verse forever”

This power. It’s pure and absolute. There’s no more doubt. No more fear. You have embraced what you are.

You are not a god. No. You are something far better. Something a thousand times more perfect. In no time, those who call themselves the divines will cower at your feet. In fact, they already are.

You are snapped out of your triumphant thoughts by the rattling sound of the desk as Karina slides down. She approaches you in slow and measured steps, like you are a bomb which can go off anytime.

“I’m sure we will meet again, Michael,” Karina says, inches away from you now. “For now, farewell”

Once again, she presses two fingers to your forehead.

And you spiral into an endless void.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

As abruptly as it has started, you find yourself back in your room at Eros’s place. The dim glow of city light filters through the rain-streaked windows, casting shifting patterns on the walls. Outside, New York sprawls endlessly, neon signs flickering, car horns blaring faintly in the distance. The scenery has shifted again.

The storm hasn’t let up either. Rain drums steadily against the glass, its rhythm oddly soothing. You half expect to feel the ache and exhaustion after you have landed face first on the floor but instead, your body hums with a quiet, unfamiliar energy.

You feel better than you have been in days. Better than you should.

Pushing yourself up from the bed, you flex your fingers, testing the sensation. No soreness, no aches. If anything, you feel sharper, like a blade freshly honed.

Suddenly, a chime pulls you from your thoughts.

You glance to the nightstand, where your phone screen glows softly in the dim room. A single notification sits at the top: a dark heart icon from the app you are too familiar with - the Ero app.

New ability acquired.

You snort, but the amusement fades the second you swipe open the screen and catch sight of the new wallpaper.

A bright, obnoxious Hello Kitty background stares back at you.

You sigh “Eros, you motherfuck-”

Shaking your head, you open the app - the same one that dragged you into this whole mess - and freeze.

It’s different.

Before, the Ero app was nothing more than a sleek, minimalistic portal. No menus, no settings - except for some occasional forewords about your quests. But now, the interface has shifted.

At the center of the screen is you. Or at least, a stylized version of you, shirtless, standing with an aura of gold swirling around you. Below it, your Profile is displayed, listing your Abilities in neat, glowing text.

Lust Epidemic. That must be the one which got the hunters acting like bitches in heat.

Domination. You are puzzled for a moment, then remember the mark you have imprinted upon Chaewon, turning her into your obedient slave.

And last but not least.

Endless Ardor. The one Aphrodite has granted.

And then, farther down-

You narrow your eyes.

A section labeled “Goddesses Conquered”.

The figures of Shuhua(Persephone), Chaewon(Artemis) and Karina(Aphrodite) are there, fitted in borders of golden hue. But the rest? Locked Silhouettes, dark and shadowed, their names blurred.

This looks like something out of an rpg game except that everything is real.

At the bottom, something else catches your eyes. A meter labeled Perfection.

It’s at 10%.

You stare at it, a strange unease creeping in. Perfection? What is that supposed to mean? And why does it feel like the app is tracking something you don’t fully understand yet?

Before you can think further, the door swings open.

Eros strides in, smelling like he has drowned in every perfume known to man, dressed in fresh clothes - ripped jeans and a loose button-down that hangs open just enough to be obnoxious. He grins like he owns the place. Which, considering this is his place, might not be far from the truth.

“Morning sunshine,” he drawls. “I come bearing a gift”

You raise an eyebrow. “A gift?”

Eros steps aside and the angel enters.

Kazuha walks in, looking clean and fresh. The wounds on her body are nowhere to be seen. She’s dressed like some kind of agent - fitted tank top, dark jeans and combat boots. Though you have to admit she looks insanely hot, that’s not what catches your attention. It’s what she’s holding.

A leash.

Connected to a collar.

Wrapped around Chaewon’s neck.

You are speechless. The once proud goddess of the hunt, stands on all fours, no different from a dog. There’s not a piece of clothing on her except for the collar around her neck. She stares at you with curiosity, but the fire in her eyes is gone, replaced by utter and complete obedience. Somehow, you get a feeling she’s awaiting an order.

Your order.

Eros chuckles, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Congratulations, buddy. You have officially tamed a goddess”

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

This one takes quite a while because I have been procrastinating. Thankfully, I get into the mood for some mythological action again. Enjoy.

[pellucid-constellations]

Azriel finds you in the cold.

Azriel x Reader (780 words, based on a request!, warnings: hypothermia, angst)

Masterlist here

~~

You were used to the cold. You grew up in its unforgiving teeth and clawed past winters when the bite felt almost too strong. There were methods to survive it, tactics to overcome the painful numbness that crept along your skin, but there didn’t seem to be a pattern to this cold. You were alone and this chill was with you. 

You should have listened to Azriel. 

It’s not a normal snow, he had warned, you should wait for me. But everyone seemed to forget that you were new to being fae, and when you were new, you felt invincible. You could live through the winters of your mortal years without a second thought. You couldn’t die from snow or ice or sleet. 

Or, so you thought. 

You huddled against the tree trunk, your fingers stinging and burning—but that didn’t make sense because the only substance that surrounded you was the blizzard. You could feel your body begin to slow, movements becoming labored when they shouldn’t. You hadn’t felt this kind of weakness since before becoming fae. 

Azriel was going to kill you; he’d be so furious to find your body here, surrounded by nothing on the outskirts of the winter court. Each soft whisper he’d pressed to your skin was loaded with adoration and praise for you being his mate above all else. He’d waited for you, he would tell you, and now you were going to die a meaningless death. 

Your grip on your cloak was concrete and rigid, but it was pointless. The snow had already seeped into the material and chilled you to the bone. 

You were tired. 

Closing your eyes seemed like the right decision. Sleep would help you gain the strength to sift through the white haze and find the border to these lands. 

Your lashes brushed your cheek and darkness felt warm. 

Until the incessant tug at your ribs became unbearable. Until a voice was calling you home and the concept of home ticked your heart rate up a beat. 

“Open your eyes. Please,” the voice stressed. Your body was numb and nothing was coherent over the whistling wind. 

There was pressure on your face and the air felt more stagnant, but everything else remained unchanged. 

Going against every muscle and desire in your being, you fought the weight of your eyelids and were met with the image of Azriel in the blistering cold. He was wrapped up to his neck as you were, but he was taking all of it off. 

“No,” you mumbled, the word barely a sound in the wind. 

Azriel’s gaze snapped up to you, his hands still clutching the scarf he was prying from his shoulders. His hands, with no gloves to cover his skin, cupped your cheeks. You couldn’t feel the heat of his skin, but you could feel the quivering of his fingers. 

“Good,” he seemed to mumble to himself. “Good, you’re awake. Okay, okay…” 

It was nonsensical and your brain was far too muddled to make sense of it. You only raised the dead weight of your arm to wrap stiff fingers around the material of his cloak. 

“Keep… it on,” you whispered. 

A spark of something shot across Azriel’s face. His lips parted as snow settled on his brow. “I need to take it off. I need to get you warm.” 

You let out a shuddering breath. Azriel, with his brows painfully furrowed, watched you for only a second more before he continued his motion to get you pressed to more of his skin and wrap the remaining area of his winter wear around you. 

“I love you, do you hear me?” Azriel spoke by your ear, the tone of his voice unwavering despite how his body shook. As if he wanted the strength to seep into your bones and warm you. As if that would work. 

He stood with you in his arms, your body now jarred by the change in temperature. He was moving quickly but not flying. Through a bleary blink, you saw the ice forming on the juncture of his wings.

“Answer me, y/n,” Azriel demanded.

“I’m tired,” you replied. 

“I know. I need to get past the border and then we’ll be home. You can sleep then, but not before.” 

You hummed a response. 

Azriel seemed to tense beneath you. “I love you,” he repeated. “Please don’t do this.” 

You wanted to tell him that you weren’t doing anything—that it was too cold for him to be here. But in the comfort of his arms, you let the darkness of his shadows lull you to sleep. In your dreams, you heard your name, over and over. 

[ladsheadcanoncorner]

oooh a new headcanon blog Im excited to see what you do with it ill start with a spicy ask what are the boys like in bed?

starting the spice right off of the bat i love it! thanks for the first ask, dear <3

rating: nsfw, 18+, minors dni cw: smut ✉︎♡: ask box open, tumblr users + anons

✦♡-✦♡-✦♡-✦♡-✦♡-✦♡-✦♡-✦♡-✦♡-✦♡-✦

Xavier:

We already know from so many of his cards that this man changes the name of the game to love and freakspace

The best way to get what you want from this man is, ironically, denying him whatever he wants

Tease him about his jealousy. Make an offhand comment about Charlie or, god forbid, Lumiere

Xavier is on you in seconds

He likes to push you up against different surfaces and take you from behind to start

Makes the dirtiest comments whispered in the sweetest sounding voice. “I can’t wait to see how well you take me.” “You’re already so wet and we haven’t even started.” “I’m going to show you how much you’re mine.”

Will only move to the bed once you are begging for him to be inside of you

So grabby. Your hair, your chin, your cheeks, your hips, anywhere he can reach to get a better angle inside of you

Loudest moaner punctuated with broken gasps, and he is doing all of it in your ear or with his lips flush against your skin

He likes finishing on the small of your back, watching the way it pools and covers the entirety of your backside

Never beating the sleepy boy allegations, but he will trace comforting circles on your back before falling asleep with you wrapped in his arms

Zayne:

Another contender for renaming the game to love and freakspace

Loves taking you on different surfaces. His office desk, the couch, up against the ladder in his library, in the shower

Has the most desperate sounding moan in the back of his throat whenever you go down on him

He likes positions where your legs can be up on his shoulders so that he can kiss your calves and your thighs. Loves watching you get goosebumps and shiver with pleasure underneath him

Usually steady surgeon hands get shaky when he is close, god you’ll be his undoing every time

One distinct groan and this man is definitely finishing all over your stomach. As a doctor, he’s heard all of the horror stories about accidental pregnancies, but if you get him in the right mood and you're both using protection, he can also be convinced to finish inside of you

If you weren’t doing it in the shower already, Zayne will carry you into the shower to clean up together afterwards

Sometimes this leads to round two, sometimes it ends with him lathering your skin with a touch so gentle you could cry

He’ll kiss every spot he touched to make sure that, even if he was a little rough before, you only feel how much he loves you after

Rafayel:

This man works himself up just thinking about you

Sends you a frenzy of texts that make you think he must be in some sort of mortal danger

When you get to his place, he acts all innocent like you were the one overreacting, but you can see that familiar hunger in his eyes

It doesn’t take long before he is all over you. Hands in your hair and up your shirt, kissing you so deeply that you'd think you were his first drink after days of dehydration

Likes hickeys, giving and receiving

You will be leaving with multiple marks on your neck, your chest, and anywhere else he can reach

He likes positions where the two of you have equal power. He starts on top, then you, then back to him. He’s happy to let you do the work but has no problem taking charge either

Whines and moans when he is close to finishing, he is incredibly vocal

Facial king. Bonus points if it drips down your chin and onto your chest

Most likely to post about taking your girl out to eat after absolutely railing her, but you’re so hungry and happy that you don’t really care

Sylus:

There is a TikTok where a girl is advocating for bringing back dry humping, and the president of this initiative is Sylus 

Nothing drives him crazier than seeing the way you are absolutely losing yourself by just rolling your hips over his. He likes to buck up against you so that you can feel even more pressure too

Also president of the munch club

Does everything so slowly and deliberately because he loves hearing the broken, desperate way his name is coming out of your mouth

In terms of positions, I can see him being down to do whatever you want, but if he had his preference he’d prefer more of the classic ones where he can see your face - each nuance of your expression another clue to how he can pleasure you even better

Has insane stamina and can go all night if you want, but will also call it quits the second you say you want to stop

Breathy sounds and grunts are how you know he is close to finishing

His favorite place to finish is deep inside you (he likes seeing his massive dick twitching all the way up your abdomen), but he’s also a pearl necklace enjoyer

Has a towel warmer by the bed specifically so that he can clean you up with a warm washcloth afterwards

Will never admit it but he loves pillow talk afterwards. The two of you snuggled up in his bed, you laying on his chest while you talk about your day or your plan for tomorrow or the next outfit you want to buy for Mephie. He could listen to you talk for hours, and especially loves the way your kiss-swollen lips look after

Caleb:

He loves nothing more than just seeing you in his space when he comes home from work. The thought of you in his home, all alone, waiting for him makes him rock hard before he even walks through the door

Dominant af (as if his cards/story weren’t enough of a giveaway). Doesn’t waste any time and closes the gap between you with such speed and efficiency you almost don’t realize it until he is kissing you hungrily

You: “Not even a ‘hello?’” Caleb: “I thought I’d show you how much I missed you instead.”

He is a giver, and he prefers pleasuring you in his bed (he’s a big guy, he likes the space)

Will quite literally fuck you into the sheets if you let him. He is gripping the headboard, the bedframe groaning under the sheer strength of his thrusts, and you are helpless to do anything except beg him for more

Lots of “you like that, baby?” and “you’re doing so good for me”

When he gets close, he is the whimpering king. Biting his lip, ragged thrusts, your name and a string of profanities punctuating each whimper

Another guy who I think would absolutely love seeing his dick stretched all the way inside of you when he finishes. Nothing says you’re his more than his come leaking out of you after you’ve been thoroughly fucked

Will cook you your favorite dinner after you’re done, not letting you lift a finger because you were such a good girl for him. The rest of the night you’ll be pampered to your heart’s content

[theballadofharkness]

Agatha Harkness VS Salem: the kittening

Pairing: Agatha Harkness X fem!reader

Summary: When you brings home a stray kitten Agatha can’t say no to those big pleading eyes and putting lips. What she doesn’t know is that she has met her new mortal enemy, transforming her house in a battleground in which she is fighting for your attention.

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: I may have already almost finished a part 2 to this already… this may be my favourite thing I’ve ever wrote

The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows along the walls as Agatha sat at the head of the table, fingers drumming against the polished surface. Your fellow witches exchanged glances, some amused, others bracing for the inevitable storm.

“She’s taking too long,” Agatha muttered, narrowing her eyes at the door as if sheer will alone would bring you home.

Billy smirked but wisely kept his mouth shut. Lilia, however, leaned forward, arching a brow. “She just went to get food, Agatha. You do remember she’s an adult, yes?”

Agatha’s sharp glare snapped to her, but Lilia didn’t flinch. She was used to Agatha’s theatrics by now.

“I do remember,” Agatha said, tone clipped, “but she should be back by now. Anything could’ve happened.”

Jen chuckled under her breath. “Oh yes, because the biggest, scariest threat to her is probably tripping over a squirrel.”

Alice grinned. “Or getting distracted by a particularly interesting tree.”

Agatha’s scowl deepened, but her fingers stilled. It was true- you were soft, gentle, prone to stopping to feed birds or magically fixing a bumblebees wing. It was why she loved you. It was why she worried.

Lilia sighed, resting her chin on her palm. “If you panic every time she goes out alone, she’ll think you don’t trust her to be independent.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched. “I trust her. I just don’t trust other people.”

Billy snorted. “Sure Agatha.”

Before Agatha could snap at him, the front door creaked open. The tension in her shoulders snapped like a thread, and in an instant, she was on her feet, sweeping toward you.

There you were, glowing with warmth, eyes bright as you kicked off your shoes. But she saw it- the hesitation, the way you bit your lip. Her stomach dropped.

“You worried mommy,” she purred, brushing a hand along your cheek, thumb tracing your lower lip. “You took too long. What’s wrong, darling?”

You swallowed, shifting your weight, cradling something in your arms.

“Aggie… please don’t be mad.”

Agatha’s eyes darkened. “Why would I be mad?”

You hesitated, then slowly, gently, lifted a tiny, black-furred bundle into view. A kitten. Small, fragile, with wide, gleaming eyes. It mewed softly.

Agatha’s nostrils flared. “Oh, absolutely not.”

The room went silent. The coven, who had seen Agatha deal with all manner of supernatural threats, were now witnessing something far more dangerous: a battle of wills between the all-powerful Agatha Harkness and her painfully sweet, unfairly adorable wife.

Agatha crossed her arms, leveling you with a firm stare. “No.”

You blinked up at her, cradling the tiny kitten against your chest. “No?”

She lifted her chin. “No.”

Billy, sitting on the couch, leaned toward Jen and whispered, *“She’s already lost.”*

Agatha shot him a look, but her attention snapped back to you when you let out a soft, sad sigh. You rubbed a gentle finger over the kitten’s tiny ear, your lower lip jutting out just slightly. Not enough to be dramatic, just enough to devastate her.

“Aggie, please,” you murmured, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes. “I love him. He needs us.”

Agatha steeled herself. “Baby, come on, we have a rabbit already.”

You perked up. “But they can be best friends!”

“They will not be best friends-”

“We can raise him,” you continued, stepping closer, voice soft, persuasive, sweet as honey. “Please, Aggie. I love you. And I love him. Please?”

A muscle in Agatha’s jaw twitched. Her fingers flexed like she was physically holding herself back.

Alice, watching from across the room, snorted. “Oh my god, just let her keep the damn cat.”

“She’s gonna say yes,” Jen stage-whispered.

Billy propped his chin on his hand. “She’s just stretching it out for dramatic effect now.”

“I am not,” Agatha snapped, then turned back to you, who was still looking at her like she hung the moon and stars in the sky. Damn you and your sweetness.

She let out a long, suffering sigh, dragging a hand down her face. Then, after a moment, she dropped her hand, pinched the bridge of her nose, and muttered, “fine.”

You gasped, eyes lighting up as you clutched the kitten closer. “Really?”

Agatha groaned. “Yes, really. But I swear to the gods, if he scratches up my books, or if he pisses on the rug, he’s your problem.”

You grinned, bouncing up and down in glee. “Okay! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise you’ll love him!”

Agatha grumbled something under her breath but didn’t resist when you threw your arms around her. Her hands settled on your waist, grip firm but familiar, and she sighed against your hair.

Billy snickered. “Well, that was pathetic.”

Agatha shot him a glare over your shoulder. “I will turn you into a toad.”

But even as she threatened Billy, her arms curled tighter around you, and she let you tuck the kitten between you both. He let out a tiny, content purr.

“I told you mommy would let you stay didn’t I S…” you cooed, stopping and blushing as you almost revealed your new sons name.

Agatha groaned. “Oh, for the love of- you’ve already named him, haven’t you?”

You smiled guiltily and nodded “his name is Salem”

Lilia cackled. “Oh, now that’s just poetic.”

~

Agatha woke with a slow, satisfied stretch, a lazy smirk curling on her lips as she reached across the bed, expecting to find you- warm, soft, pliant against her.

But the sheets were cold.

Her smirk faded. She frowned, eyes cracking open, hand still patting the empty space beside her. “Baby?”

Silence.

Her frown deepened.

She sat up, fingers raking through her hair, listening carefully. Then…

A giggle.

Agatha’s head snapped toward the bedroom door. You were giggling? Without her? Another soft peal of laughter, followed by a quiet meow. Agatha’s nostrils flared.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she grabbed her robe, slipping it on as she stalked toward the door. Her morning had already been ruined by the lack of you curled against her, but now she was hearing giggles- the kind that were usually reserved for her alone- and she wasn’t involved?

Completely unacceptable.

Barefoot and silent, she padded down the hall, pushing open the living room doors to find…

You. Laying on your stomach on the rug, elbow propped under your chin, face alight with pure, radiant joy as you dragged a ribbon back and forth. Salem, the tiny black-furred usurper, pounced and tumbled after it, little tail flicking in excitement.

Agatha scowled.

She was being ignored.

By you.

For a cat.

Her presence went unnoticed as she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, glaring down at the scene with unmasked displeasure.

“Oh, you’re such a clever boy,” you cooed, wiggling the ribbon. Salem pounced again, missing completely and landing in an adorable, flailing heap. You laughed, reaching out to scratch behind his ears. “Such a little hunter, aren’t you? Yes, you are! So fierce!”

Agatha rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw another dimension.

Fierce? That tiny thing was not fierce. She was fierce.

And yet, here you were, lavishing all your attention- attention that should have been spent in bed, between her thighs or seated on her face- on this ridiculous furball.

Enough.

She cleared her throat. Loudly.

You gasped, looking up with wide, startled eyes. “Oh! Aggie, good morning!”

Agatha arched a brow, gaze flicking between you and the kitten still sprawled on the rug. “Is it?”

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, blinking at her. “What’s wrong?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “You tell me, darling. I woke up alone. And when I came looking for you, I find you here, on the floor, giggling and fawning over-” she gestured vaguely at Salem, “that.”

Salem, utterly unbothered by her disdain, flopped onto his back and stretched out his tiny paws.

Your expression softened immediately. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry! He woke up early and was being all cute, so I thought I’d play with him for a little bit.”

Agatha’s eye twitched. “You left our bed for a cat.”

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. “Are you jealous?”

Her jaw clenched. “Of a kitten? No.”

You giggled again, pushing up onto your knees and crawling toward her. “Mmm, I think you are.”

Agatha huffed, tilting her chin up. “Absolutely not.”

But then you reached for her, standing up with hands slipping under her robe, fingers grazing over the bare skin of her waist as you pressed a soft kiss to her collarbone. “Poor mommy,” you murmured, lips trailing up her neck. “You just want my attention, don’t you?”

Agatha shivered, but held her ground. “I deserve your attention.”

You hummed, pressing a final kiss just under her jaw. “Well, then maybe you should play nice with Salem, so you don’t have to share it.”

Agatha’s glare snapped back to the kitten, who was currently grooming his tiny paw, wholly unbothered. Smug little thing.

She exhaled sharply. “Fine. But if he touches my spellbooks, he’s gone.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Deal.”

Salem meowed.

Agatha scowled.

This was war.

~

Agatha took a slow breath, rolling back her shoulders as she watched Billy attempt the spell she had just demonstrated.

“Focus,” she instructed, arms crossed. “Channel your energy through the rune, don’t just throw power at it.”

Billy muttered something under his breath but obeyed, adjusting his stance and trying again. The rune shimmered in the air before them, pulsing faintly with his magic. It was… adequate.

Agatha nodded once. “Better.”

She turned slightly, expecting to see you sitting up, watching like you always did when she mentored Billy. You were always so attentive- so soft and doting, looking at her like she had hung the stars just by showing a simple spell. But when she glanced toward the sofa her blood ran cold.

There you were, but not watching her. Not waiting to drape yourself over her the second she was done. No, you were napping, curled up on the couch, and draped across your chest, smug as anything, was Salem.

Agatha’s nostrils flared. Unbelievable.

She clenched her fists, fighting the petty urge to hex the little thing right off you. It was enough that you fawned over him every waking moment, but now? Now, even in sleep, Salem had claimed his place as the ruler of this household.

Billy, following her gaze, immediately perked up. “Oh my god, look at him.”

Agatha’s stomach dropped as Billy abandoned the lesson entirely and rushed to your side.

“Look at this little guy,” he cooed, crouching beside the couch, reaching out to scratch under Salem’s tiny chin.

You stirred at the movement, blinking sleepily, eyes soft and warm as you woke to Billy petting the cat.

“Oh,” you yawned, smiling as you stretched. “Morning, Billy.”

“Morning, Salem,” Billy smiled down at the kitten on your chest, still cooing over the kitten.

You giggled, rubbing your cheek against Salem’s tiny head. “He’s the sleepiest boy today, huh?”

“Right?” Billy agreed, reaching to stroke along Salem’s tiny back. “Look at him. He’s just a baby.”

Agatha, still standing stiffly across the room, gawking at the scene in front of her. You never looked at her with that same soft, sleepy adoration after a nap.

And now the two of you were sitting there, utterly obsessed with that ridiculous creature, treating him like he was the most precious thing in the world, while Agatha stood there, forgotten.

The realisation was horrifying. She had been dethroned. Salem, tiny and innocent-looking, had become the true ruler of this household. He had you. He had the coven. And now he had Billy.

She was losing.

Agatha narrowed her eyes. No. She refused to be bested by a kitten.

Billy glanced up at her and grinned. “Agatha, come look at him! Isn’t he just-”

“No.”

Billy blinked. “What?”

Agatha lifted her chin, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. “I don’t fawn over creatures that contribute nothing to the household.”

You pouted, looking up at her through sleepy eyes. “But, Aggie, look at his little toes—”

Agatha looked away. She wouldn’t be tricked.

Billy rolled his eyes. “You’re just mad because Salem has completely stolen your wife.”

Agatha scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Billy smirked. “Then come pet him.”

Agatha froze.

Billy’s smirk widened. “Go on.”

You looked up at her, hopeful, and patted the space next to you. “Come on, baby.”

Agatha hesitated.

Her instincts told her it was a trap.

But then you pouted, soft and irresistible, looking at her with those big, pleading eyes… And just like that, she was moving. Slowly. Cautiously.Like Salem was some ancient being waiting to strike.

She perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, glancing down at the tiny ball of fluff stretched across your chest. He blinked up at her, slow and lazy, like he was daring her to do something.

Agatha exhaled sharply through her nose. Then, after a long moment she reached out, one single finger extended…The second her fingertip brushed against Salem’s fur, the kitten let out a mighty stretch and promptly rolled deeper into your embrace, turning his back on her.

Agatha gasped.

Billy lost it.

“Oh my god, you’ve been rejected.” He wheezed.

Agatha’s eye twitched. “I have not.”

Billy cackled, clutching his stomach. “No, no, this is humiliating. He knows. He knows you don’t like him, and he’s snubbing you.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to Salem’s tiny head. “Oh, baby, don’t be mad. He just doesn’t trust you yet.”

Agatha bristled. “I don’t need a cat’s trust.”

Billy wheezed. “Oh, you so do.”

Agatha glared at Salem, and to her horror, the kitten simply let out a tiny yawn and promptly fell back asleep. Utterly unbothered. Agatha had never hated anything more in her life.

This was war.

And Agatha Harkness never lost.

~

The room was dimly lit, the air thick with warmth and want. Agatha had you exactly where she wanted- beneath her, lips kiss-swollen, breath coming in soft little pants as she trailed possessive hands down your body.

She smirked, brushing her lips against your ear. “Mine.”

You whimpered, arching into her touch. “Yours.”

A pleased hum rumbled in her throat. “Say it again, baby.”

You shivered, fingers tangling in hair as she kissed down your neck. “All yours, Mommy.”

Agatha’s grip tightened. Finally, after an entire day of being ignored in favor of that creature, she had you back- where you belonged- focused entirely on her.

She dragged her lips back up to yours, capturing them in a deep, claiming kiss.

And then—

A thump.

A chirping meow.

And before Agatha could even process what was happening… A tiny black ball of menace leapt onto the bed.

Your eyes flew open. “Oh my gods!”

Agatha froze.

You gasped, delighted, and immediately sat up, reaching for the little intruder. “My smart boy!”

Agatha’s mouth fell open.

You pushed her away.

For the cat.

Salem, looking entirely too smug, hopped into your lap and headbutted your chin, purring loudly.

You melted. “Oh, you clever little thing,” you cooed, scratching behind his ears. “You figured out the door! Mommy shut you out, didn’t she? But you got in anyway, huh?”

Agatha, still reeling, barely managed to rasp out, “I shut the door.”

You beamed at her. “He’s a genius!”

Agatha scowled. “He’s a problem.”

You weren’t even listening. You were too busy giggling as Salem flopped dramatically onto his back, rolling in your lap, fully aware that he owned you.

Agatha clenched her jaw.

No.

No, she would not allow this to happen.

She reached for you again, slipping a hand under your chin, tilting your face back toward hers. “Come on, baby,” she murmured, voice low and sultry, lips barely brushing yours. “Focus on mommy”.

But just as your lids fluttered, just as you exhaled that soft little sigh that always made her crazy-

Salem chirped and nudged your hand.

And, horrifyingly, your attention snapped back to him, “Ohhh, I know, I know,” you cooed, cradling his tiny face. “You need some loving too, huh?”

Agatha flung herself onto her back, staring at the ceiling like she was being personally victimized by the universe.

“What about my loving?” she demanded, throwing a hand over her forehead like some tragic heroine.

You giggled. “Aggie-”

Salem, with perfect timing, rolled onto his side, stretching just enough to rest a tiny paw against your cheek.

Your heart melted. “Aw, Agatha, look-”

“No.” Agatha sat up, glaring at the kitten. “I refuse to be a secondary character in my own bed.”

You laughed, utterly charmed. “He just loves me, baby.”

Agatha crossed her arms. “I love you.”

You gave her an affectionate smile. “I know you do.”

“Then act like it.”

You giggled again, pressing a kiss to Salem’s little head.

Agatha bristled. “I swear,” she muttered, throwing herself back against the pillows again. “This is witchcraft. He’s bewitched you all.”

You rolled your eyes. “Agatha, he’s just a cat.”

Agatha sat up so fast you startled.

“No,” she said darkly, eyes narrowing at the tiny ball of fluff curled in your lap. “He’s a threat.”

~

The setting sun shone through your windows, casting golden light over the coven as they sat in a circle, discussing plans for the upcoming Summer Solstice ritual.

Agatha, seated in her usual high-backed chair, had you curled in her lap, arms wrapped possessively around your waist. For the first time in days, she finally had you all to herself, without a certain feline dictator demanding your attention.

Because this time, she had planned ahead. The door to the room was magically sealed with the strongest wards she could weave into it. No amount of scratching, meowing, or pathetic manipulation would let that tiny tyrant inside.

She smirked to herself, pleased. Finally.

“So,” Lilia said, gesturing at the books in front of them, “I was thinking we could incorporate more moonstone this year. It should help amplify the energy-”

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Agatha ignored it. You, however, perked up instantly, shifting in her lap. “Aw, Salem-”

Agatha’s grip tightened. “No.”

Lilia continued, unfazed. “- and I read somewhere that incorporating fresh lavender in the-”

A tiny, pitiful whimper sounded from the other side of the door. Alice gasped, clutching her chest. “Oh no, the baby!”

You pouted, starting to push yourself up. “Agatha, let me-”

“No,” Agatha repeated, wrapping her arms more securely around you. “Let him cry.”

Billy’s eyes widened in horror. “Agatha, what the hell?!”

You turned, brows furrowing. “Baby, he’s sad.”

“He needs to learn,” Agatha insisted. “We are not interrupting an official coven meeting just because he doesn’t like being excluded.”

Scratch. Scratch.

A heart-wrenching mewl followed.

Billy was already half-standing. “That’s it, I’m getting the little prince-”

Agatha glared, flicking her fingers in Billy’s direction. Billy was immediately shoved back into his seat with an annoyed huff.

“Sit down,” Agatha ordered. “He is not royalty.”

Billy crossed her arms. “He is to me.”

“Yeah,” Jen agreed, flipping a page in her book. “Kinda sounds like you’re being a bad mom.”

Agatha’s eye twitched. “I am not his mother.”

The scratching continued.

You squirmed again. “Aggie, please-”

Agatha huffed in exasperation. “No! You are wrapped around his tiny little paw, and if we keep giving in, he’ll just keep winning.”

Jen raised a brow. “Winning what? He’s a kitten.”

Agatha gestured at you dramatically. “He stole her from me!”

The room went silent.

Then Lilia sighed, rubbing her temples. “Oh my gods”.

Billy cackled. “You *are* losing to a kitten.”

Agatha shot him a look. “I am not losing-”

At that exact moment, Salem let out the most pitiful, heartbroken little cry any of them had ever heard.

Your eyes widened in distress. “Aggie-”

“Oh, for the love of- fine.” With a dramatic wave of her hand, Agatha finally released the spell.

The door flew open.

And in strutted Salem, tail high, eyes smug, like he knew he had just won.

Agatha gawked. “You manipulative little-”

Before she could even finish, you had already scooped Salem up into your arms, cradling him against your chest like a precious treasure.

“Ohhh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you murmured, pressing kisses to his tiny head. “Mommy was so mean to you, huh?”

Agatha’s mouth fell open.

Alice glared at her. “I can’t believe you locked him out.”

Jen snorted. “I can.”

Billy shook his head in disappointment. “Shameful behavior from our fearless leader.”

Agatha scowled as Salem gave her a very deliberate slow blink, curling up in your arms like he owned the place.

Which, apparently, he did.

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. “This is witchcraft.”

Jen snorted. “He’s just a cat, Agatha.”

Agatha shot her a dark look. “He’s a threat.”

Billy immediately fell off his chair laughing.

[nightingale-prompts]

(If you won't make it Clockturn I will!)

Clockwork watched as his son slept soundly in his crib. He was about to reach one of the many milestones a young halfa goes through. He would finally eat his first wisp. It wasn't unlike when a human baby eats solid food for the first time. But Daniel would likely not be able to under the care of mortals.

The ancient couldn't let this go on. Watching from afar as his son grew up where he does not belong. With people who cannot truly understand him or give him what he needs.

Danny slowly opened his eyes and began whining. His eyes and nose wrinkled as tried to retreat back to sleep. Unfortunately, dreams eluded the boy as he was pulled into the waking world. The toddler cried until someone came to check on him. The youngest of Waynes came and pulled him from the bed.

"Daniel, there is no need to cry." He said seriously, holding the toddler at arm's length before carrying him to the dining room for something to eat.

The soft sound of fluttering wings entered the space.

"He's awake already. I don't think I can take another day of this my Everlasting! He never likes waking up because he knows that I have to leave him. It's suffering!" Nocturne dramatically wailed.

Nocturne had done what he could but sadly he was still contained by his title of ancient. They were deemed too important to leave the realms without intervention from mortals. Still, Nocturne had his influence in the realm of dreams and in those fleeting moments he could hold Danny close in a curtain of space.

Nocturne joined his husband beside the monitor. His eyes wandered to the space that was Danny's nursery. The nursery had been built by both of them. Nocturne wanted the crib to be round like a nest and made from nebula clouds. He wanted stuffed animals with starlight embedded into them and a mobile real constellations hanging above Danny's head. Clockwork was more pragmatic and focused on making sure the crib was safe. He made an area for Danny to learn to crawl in, making the floor soft with blankets and rugs. Clockwork was focused on making sure Danny was developing on time.

It was what they were. Their nature.

"Somnus, please don't complain. You can at least be close to him. Besides he still sleeps most of the day." Clockwork took a heavy breath and focused on the ticking of his mechanical heart.

"Forgive me, my Everafter. I know you are in pain. We will retrieve him. I sent a squad to find him. Fright knight will surely convince them to hand over our prince." Nocturne whispered wrapping Clockwork in his swooping embrace.

"Yes, my fantasy. I pray you are right. Because if I have to take this into my own hands I fear I will rip that dimension apart." Clockwork held Nocturne's hand as he said this.

Nocturne felt a blush as he saw his love's heated glare.

(I imagined Nocturne feeding Danny a wisp like how an owl feeds their owletts dead mice. Ripping it apart for the fledgling to eat.)

Why would Clockwork de-age Danny and then just leave him in Gotham for Batman to steal? No, he'd raise that boy himself. Fuck letting others get their grubby mitts on his new son. He wants to make sure he doesn't turn evil like Dan and this is the only way he knows it will work 100%.

That is until someone summons the ancient of time and gets a baby because the portal was a little to the left.

Now Clockwork is sending ghosts to go retrieve the boy since he can't leave the realms.

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

How the first week of Damian staying at the manor went:

Damian: Isn't it ironic how the gods put one thing your mother hates and one thing she loves together?

You: I suppose.

Damian: do you understand what I'm referring to?

You: Yes. The gods put me and fire as one and my mother hates fire.

Damian: Wrong. The gods put you and the color purple together as one.

You: But my mother loves purple?

Damian: Exactly.

You: Oh.

___________________________________________

(Because your fires purple your aura is basically purple.) This is before mortal kombat reader left.

Thanks for reading!! Lowkey this made more sense in my head. ✋😭💀

Maybe this should've stayed in the drafts.....

New chapter drops tonight! 🙏

Taglist: @dhanyasri , @kore-of-the-underworld , @i-adorehannah , @plsfckmedxddy , @phoenixgurl030 @bunbunboysworld @bat1212 @skepvids @sirenetheblogger @Nervousalpacalady @118gremlin @darktrashpoetry @bitternsweet @kksmush @awawage @coffeemin @feral-childs-word @cens0r3d @sweetprincesscomputer @exactlynumberonekryptonite @rosy-myhouse34 @hebaoffside @sheep-from-rad @time-shardz @vanessa-boo @jellyedkazoo @chinxinsomnia @sillysealsies @nervousalpacalady @gwyneveire @simpingpandas @crazycaoticsimp @nickey-diano @welpthisisboring @jsprien213

[heliosunny]

Hi! An idea I'd love to see - Fae!Phainon with a Reader that used to play with him where they were a child and visited the little village they grandma lived in. It's too bad they made a little promise to him long time ago without thinking through the consequences and now that they are back...

Yandere!Fae Phainon x Reader

You were only a child when you first met him, lost in the dense, whispering woods beyond your grandmother’s village. The elders always warned you about the Fae, about the creatures that watched from the shadows, their laughter mingling with the rustling leaves.

They said the Fae despised humans. That they could see through human nature, through the greed and the lies, and that no bond between mortal and fae could ever be genuine.

But you were young. You didn’t understand hatred. Not yet.

You found Phainon sitting in the roots of an old, gnarled tree, silver hair tangled and matted, his strange, sharp blue eyes narrowed in pain. Bruises marred his skin, dark against his pale complexion. His fine, delicate clothes were torn, though even in their ruined state, they were more elegant than anything you had ever seen.

It was clear that he was not human. He glared at you, his small hands curling into fists as you stepped closer.

“Go away!” His voice was sharp, like the cold bite of winter. “I don’t need your pity.”

You hesitated.

“I just want to help” you said.

Phainon bared his teeth at you, his pointed canines flashing in the dim light. “Help? Like a human could ever help me.”

Even at that young age, his hatred for humans ran deep. You should have listened. You should have left. But instead, you did something foolish. You took him back to your grandmother’s house.

It was not easy. He resisted at first, lashing out like a wounded animal, but he was too weak to fight you properly. The moment your grandmother saw him, her face paled, and she immediately started whispering old protection charms under her breath. But she did not turn him away.

“Fae or not, a child is a child” she murmured as she tended to his wounds.

Phainon never forgot that.

For days, he was silent. You would sit near him, chattering about the village, about the flowers that bloomed in spring, about how you wished you could fly like the birds. You never expected him to respond. Until one evening, when the fire crackled low, he finally spoke. “I hate humans” he whispered, staring into the flames. “They’re cruel. Selfish. Liars.” You were quiet for a moment. Then, you asked, “Do you hate me?” Phainon turned his head, and for the first time, he truly looked at you. “…I don’t know yet.”

Time passed, and Phainon became your only fae friend.

He showed you the hidden places in the woods where the fae danced under the moonlight. You brought him food from the village, and in return, he whispered the names of things humans had forgotten, the true names of the wind and the rivers, the secret paths that bent reality itself.

But the fae did not forget. Phainon was warned, again and again, that no good would come from caring for a human. And yet, he stayed.

When the time came for you to leave your grandmother’s village, you saw something you never expected in his eyes. Desperation.

“You’ll come back” he said.

You smiled. “Of course, I will. And when I do, we’ll be together. Forever.”

It was just a childhood promise. A silly thing. You meant it in the way children always do fleeting, thoughtless, without weight.

But words have power. And the fae never forget.

Years passed. The world changed. Fate pulled you back to that village, back to where Phainon waited, where your long-forgotten promise had never been forgotten at all.

Phainon had changed.

Once a wary, quiet fae, he had risen through the ranks, becoming one of the most revered among his kind. Where once his presence had been dismissed, now fae spoke of him in hushed admiration, their words laced with awe and devotion. He was no longer just Phainon, he was an elite, his power undeniable, his beauty otherworldly.

When you returned to your grandmother’s house, the air felt different. She was no longer there.

The fae had not forgotten you, nor had they forgiven. The moment you stepped into the village, whispers slithered through the wind, voices filled with contempt.

“The human has returned.”

“They dare come back after abandoning him?”

“Phainon will visit them. Let’s see if they still holds that promise.”

You barely had time to react before you felt it, an undeniable presence looming nearby. And then, from the shadows, he stepped forward.

Phainon stood before you, taller, sharper, his gaze piercing through you with unreadable intensity.

“You came back!” One evening, while wandering near the village, you stumbled upon a scene that made you pause. A beautiful fae woman, adorned in glistening silks and with eyes full of admiration, stood before Phainon, her voice carrying through the air.

“Phainon, you have become someone great. Would you consider taking me as your bonded one?”

A silence stretched between them before he replied, his tone cold and dismissive. “No.”

The fae woman's face twisted in disbelief. “Why? Is it because of the human?” Her gaze flickered in your direction before she turned on her heel and vanished into the night.

Later, you found Phainon sitting beneath the same ancient oak you used to share. Smirking, you teased “So, rejecting admirers now? You must be quite popular.”

He sighed, but the corner of his lips quirked slightly. “Their affections are meaningless.”

You nudged him playfully. “I dunno, she seemed quite taken with you.”

Phainon only looked at you, his gaze unreadable.

However, what you didn’t see was the seething anger lingering in the eyes of the rejected fae. She had seen the way Phainon looked at you, the way he reserved his softer moments for you alone. Her heart burned with jealousy, and she would not accept being cast aside so easily.

That night, something was slipped into your drink. A strange, shimmering liquid that clouded your vision and made your limbs feel weightless. Panic gripped you as the world spun, and before you could cry for help, only one name slipped from your lips.

“Phainon…”

He was there in an instant, catching you as you collapsed. His grip tightened as he caught the scent of foul magic laced within you.

“Who did this?” His voice was deathly quiet, but rage simmered beneath his words.

You barely managed to whisper “I... don't know.”

His expression turned lethal. Whoever dared to harm you would pay.

A flush spread across your cheeks, and your fingers instinctively gripped his cloak. "Phainon... I feel strange."

Realizing something was terribly wrong, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you inside your room as you buried your face against his chest, your breath ragged.

Laying you down on your bed, his fingers brushed your damp hair back, his gaze flickering with a mixture of worry and something deeper. "Focus on me." he whispered.

A strange, intoxicating need curled in your gut, making you shift restlessly. Your hand trailed up his arm, seeking warmth, grounding. He exhaled sharply, his resolve flickering. "Damn it" he muttered, reaching into his pouch with one hand while the other took out a dagger. He brought a bundle of crushed herbs to your lips. He used the dagger to cut his wrist, leaving blood flows upon your lips "Chew on this. Careful."

You obeyed, the bitterness jolting your senses. The fog clouding your mind slowly lifted, though your body still trembled with residual heat. Phainon's thumb brushed against your bottom lip as he ensured you swallowed the antidote, his eyes lingering on yours.

"Better?" His voice was quieter now, rough with restraint.

You nodded slowly, the frantic beating of your heart beginning to settle. "Phainon... thank you."

His fingers traced your cheek before he pulled away, visibly struggling with his emotions. "They won’t get away with this" he vowed. But the fae were relentless. The whispers started first, mocking murmurs whenever you walked through the village. "Pathetic human" one sneered. "Thinking you belong here just because Phainon protects you."

Another laughed cruelly. "He only pities you. Do you really think he’d ever choose a weak creature like you over his own kind?"

Shoves in the marketplace, stolen goods, malicious pranks that left bruises and cuts, each incident only added to the growing tension. When you confronted Phainon about it, he merely stared at you, his eyes unreadable. Then came the worst of it. You had been walking near the cliffs, taking in the salty air, when you felt an unnatural shove against your back. The world blurred as you teetered dangerously close to the edge. A voice whispered "Oops, did you slip?"

A shriek tore from your throat as you struggled to regain balance, the abyss below calling to you. Just as you began to fall, strong arms wrapped around you, yanking you back with inhuman speed. Phainon.

He turned to your attacker, his expression deathly cold. "You dare lay a hand on Y/n?" His voice was low, laced with a promise of suffering. The air crackled with an ominous energy, the fae responsible shrinking back in fear.

You clung to him. "Phainon, don't waste your energy on such matter."

But the damage was done. When you returned to the house, you made a firm decision. "I should leave" you said firmly. "If they keep coming after me, it’ll only put you at risk too."

"But... You promised me that we will be together forever." he whispered, brushing his fingers along your wrist, where your pulse trembled. "You said we'd never part. That no force in this world or the next could take you from me."

You didn't remember making such a promise. Forever? That word felt too large, too binding. Yet Phainon gazed at you with the certainty of someone who never forgot. His ethereal blue eyes shimmered in the dim light, holding you captive in their depths.

You tried to deny it, but a distant memory stirred, laughter echoing beneath the silver moon, hands clasped tight. Oh the naivety of youth. You hadn't thought it serious. But Phainon had.

"And now..." He raised your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against your fingertips before turning your palm upward. A faint, sharp sting followed, his nail slicing just enough to draw a drop of crimson.

Your protest died on your lips when he did the same to himself, allowing a single droplet of his shimmering fae blood to meet yours. The moment they touched, the world shifted.

A searing warmth crawled through your veins, more intoxicating than fire, more binding than chains. Your breath hitched as unseen threads wove around your soul, pulling tight. You swayed, gripping Phainon's arm for balance, and he only smiled, his touch gentle, his eyes alight with triumph.

"It's done. I've been planning this for so long." He licked on your fresh wound, it healed almost immediately. His voice held no malice, only devotion "You are mine, as I am yours."

"Do you remember the night you drink my blood along with those herbs. I didn't expect them to act so careless. But lucky me, you didn't even doubt a thing. With this bond, you can never leave."

A chill ran through you, even as your senses sharpened. You could hear the whisper of leaves outside, feel the heartbeat of the forest in time with your own. You had changed.

The following days brought a drastic shift. Barriers of ancient magic wove around your grandmother’s house, binding you in an invisible cage. Phainon's voice carried over the wind "No matter what happens, you’re staying here. With me. Forever"

[lobo-inu]

Cervynus, my Hircine demiprince. he's become the source of Rorikstead's most well known folklore, patrolling the outskirts of town as a deer that just looks a little too off. but nobody ever dares to get close enough to truly understand just what they're looking at.

his human form, which he only really takes on for more personal affairs, is meant to be very uncanny and animal-like. despite resembling a bosmer, there's just something about him even then that strikes others as extremely foreign.

in human form, he has massive pupils - something something giving the “doe eye” effect to deceive mortals before he'd show his actual form. they go from uncomfortably large with an ever-consuming gaze, to uncomfortably beady, focused and frenzied.

i love this fucking freak, you guys :,)

[littlefankingdom]

I love that Damian is named Damian. Let me explain why.

The name Damian comes from the Greek, δαμάζω (damazo), which means "to tame, to conquer, to vanquish, to master, to overcome, to dominate", but can also mean "the untamable". Already, this is great. Damian is the heir of the League of Assassins and the Bat, he is meant to conquer all, to master everything, to dominate above all. He is meant to be untamable.

But also, the word "damazo" comes from Damia, one of the names of the goddess Cybele, a goddess that is associated with wild nature or viewed as Mother Nature. And the Al Ghul are all about nature.

Finally, "Damian", and its other forms, is a name that has become associated with the word "demon". I think this is probably why he was named this, because he is the grandson of the Demon's Head, and Damian = demon. Well, about the word "demon": it comes from the Greek δαίμων, daímôn, which is a term associated with some divinities. These divinities aren't evils, they are mostly (from the ones I have encountered being called demons) associated with the afterlife or darkness, but they aren't evil. The Furies, goddesses of vengeance and justice that go after guilty folks to punish them before their death, are called "demons" sometimes. Thanatos, god of death, is called "demon" sometimes. The negative connotation comes from the Abrahamic faiths who villainized aspects of the polytheist beliefs, so their believers would drop them (in polytheist practices, every god exists, others just use a different name or view them a different way, which is fine because they are gods, and you cannot as a mortal define. Which means that polytheist cultures don't villainize other gods they don't know or don't pray to, you can join in the celebrations without renouncing to the gods you honor. Monotheism cannot have you do that.) Hell is the example of that. Hell was simply the realm of the dead, but the Abrahamic faiths (Christianity is the guilty one here) painted it as the "bad realm of the dead" (the division of the afterlife was done centuries after Christianity was created and so the Church could hold more controls over its believers). Another one is Lilith, who was a Mesopotamian goddess also referred to as a demon, so what did the Abrahamic faiths did? They made her a creature of evil. All of this talk because Ra's Al Ghul, when he named himself that, did so to criticize religions. It was all about how demons, evil spirits and creatures are something created by religious authorities so they can target and harm people they don't like, and could harm their power. So, to finish, it makes little to no sense in my opinion for Damian to be displeased with being named or associated with demons. Because the ideology that demons are evil is associated with Abrahamic faiths, and that's not what the Al Ghul believe, they cannot have taught him that. What I'm saying is that when you write any of the Al Ghul associating demons with evil, you are looking at their family from the pov of a culture who depends heavily on an Abrahamic faith, and not from their own culture and ideologies, which are that all this religion stuff is bs. They take pride in being associated with demons, not because demons are evil entities harming humankind, but because demons are something that the authority in place hates.

Anyway, Talia cooked when she named her son Damian.

[hitlikehammers]

strongly worded letter 💌

or: Eddie Munson’s long, weird road out of (the) hell(-side down) ☠️ and into love💗

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-S4, steve’s one-man search-and-rescue for eddie’s not-dead body, falling in love, fluff in surprising places, eddie’s chaotic internal monologue, alphabet magnets🧲 for the win ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day four: "I had not intended to love him. [...] He made me love him without looking at me." —Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte

To the external, uninitiated observer, Eddie is well aware his take on all of this will 100% appear both unhinged and as least vaguely self-destructive, bordering on suicidal.

But here’s the thing: if Eddie had been truly suicidal, the million times he could have just stood and let the mobs take him—bigots or mutant bats or a lichy-ballsac that made people float—he wouldn’t have even bothered fighting. Maybe he was questionably attached to self-preservation, but actively wanting to pack it in? Even the thought of sparing his poor uncle his bullshit—finally—hadn’t been a sweet enough deal. Nope: Eddie is selfishly attached to the whole living thing.

Which is why he is begging for it to be understood, in no uncertain terms:

He’d rather know for sure that he was dead in the endless, silent grey hellscape he’s been left in, than wandering in this half-formless, half-collapsing nothing-burger version of the town he grudgingly called home, unsure where he stands on the mortality-scale either way.

—

Here’s the deal.

Vents? Foolishly overlooked.

Epic concert? Rocked, no notes.

Bat-chow? Do no recommend.

Henderson sobbing? Recommend even less.

Being tagged as a corpse? Perfectly fine if that’s what you are; dead weight in an apocalypse simply cannot be justified.

The issue is when you’re tagged as a corpse, and you…aren’t one.

So you’re left behind.

Which brings Eddie to:

Meeting what they’ve been calling a demogorgon this whole time but that resembles no such thing, those goddamn lying liars: not fucking cool.

Having…enough demobat saliva or venom or poison or whatever, probably, where the misleading-as-fuck demogorgon sniffs at you like a dog with her puppies instead of eating you with those fucking petal teeth?

Neutral. Probably wouldn’t order it again.

Getting licked all over by said Petal Teeth, all lioness-grooming-its-young style? Disgusting.

Disgusting.

Figuring out demogorgon saliva has some kinda magical mystical healing properties and you’re basically just covered in fairly-smooth scar tissue now that looks months old rather than hours, and plus you got a bath out of it so most of the dried blood’s gone too?

Fine, okay, he’d leave a tip for service.

But now Eddie is as alive as he can think to test being—and he’s been running all the monster-category tests and he doesn’t pass for vampire, zombie, or any various other undead creatures, he’s hungry but mostly for like, Chicken McNuggets, and—

Stuck. He’s stuck here.

And he thinks they must have won, the Party that is, because nothing’s really happening except…things are falling apart, like rotting in slow motion.

Which is a concern. But. Cool, if it means they did in fact make the motherfucker pay.

But that also means nobody has any reason to be strolling back in to fight demons anymore, and come across his not-so-dead ass. Plus also, the place is probably going to keep crumbling—if a master of a realm is axed, the realm doesn’t typically survive. Mordor fell apparent when Barad-dûr came down. And he…

He did agree to go into Mordor.

Well, fuck him.

—

He mostly wanders around and pokes at random shit, collects some books, ignores the fact that the reality he’s looting is on borrowed time.

He doesn’t know if it’s healthier to deal with that part head on or keep pretending it’s not there, but he honestly could not give a fuck.

Because it’s just him. Save the demogorgon who gave him a tongue bath, he’s seen nothing living. Sometimes there’s a stray screech but it’s too distant to even guess where he’d find whatever made it, stumble upon whatever caused it. There’s not even a breeze to move the decaying trees.

There is nothing.

And it’s starting to drive him fucking insane. He might lose it before the reality caves in on him, actually, just for the sheer…void of it all.

He’s on the edge of that—losing it entirely—when he hears it, sees it.

Who the fuck took that magazine, it’s like three years old, only kept it for the tips on…

And then an echo, like a projection in the air, and it’s fleeting and its faint but where that voice what pretty unmistakable already, the coif of chestnut and the peek of a polo collar, and the seizing in Eddie pulse for both together—it’s almost more undeniable.

That’s fucking Harrington.

—

The vision is, seconds. At most.

But it shifts Eddie’s priorities entirely.

He starts the day—he’s guessing it’s the start of the day, it’s always fucking grey here but he’s just going off of when he’s hungry so—but he looks for cereal in one of these decrepit houses and eats it out of the box as he tries to get his bearings.

Tries also to remember all the weird shit the kids used to say before Eddie knew they were making any of it up.

Context clues give him that this is Hawkins. 1983 or thereabouts—makes sense for the magazine.

But what makes more sense, and is more helpful: Steve had bitched the magazine was moved.

And Eddie’s definitely the one who had it in his hand when he heard said bitching.

So there’s still some connection. Hope’s not totally lost.

Mostly, maybe. But not totally.

—

He decides to go back to Harrington’s and just wait until he goes there to sleep so he can tail him, have some sense of how he can try and make contact from his own side, let someone know he’s still here.

It takes forever; Eddie wonders just how different time runs, here, save that when he finally hears something, the vision is clearer in the air, ghostly but more complete.

And Steve looks fucking wrecked.

Like he hasn’t slept in days, like he’s about to fucking cry, like he—

He’s still the most beautiful guy Eddie’s seen in person, if this counts as in-person, but like—that was never not-true.

“Rob, I don’t know! I just, I just feel like—“

“I will handcuff you to your bed.”

Eddie tries to feel excited that whatever’s happening is strong enough that two voices come through, that Robin’s here, she’s safe too—

But he’s more invested in what’s causing the shouting.

”I know how to pick a fucking lock, Jesus,” and Eddie doesn’t not think about the lock he’s worn more than once around Steve at his belt, nope, he does not—

”The gates are closed, Steve. It’s over.”

Well. Fuck.

There goes the hope thing.

”Not all of them. Not totally.”

Or maybe not.

”Steve, I will hunt you down, I will dog your steps, I will follow you every single moment if you think I am leaving big you even consider going back to—”

“I love you, Robs, but you still can’t drive. Think you’ll beat me on your Schwinn?”

“I will slash your tires.”

“Sorry, birdie, got AAA to save me.”

And that’s all Eddie gets, but…

It almost feels like he’s got one single snowball’s chance in hell, here. Still. Just one, true, but.

If he’s learned anything the last few days, it’s that Steve Harrington’s maybe the most reliable snowball he could ask for.

His chest is all tingly about it, even—fucking traitor.

—

Eddie doesn’t even really have to follow where Steve goes next. In that he knows exactly where it is, just not why the fuck Steve wants to be there.

Especially since even the lack of evidence in ‘83’s version of the trailer still makes him look up at the ceiling and feel like he’s gonna puke.

”Oh sure Mister Munson sir, I just want to borrow your dead nephew’s cassettes, that are definitely in the trailer the fed have locked down to be sent to Area 51 or wherever, just in case he’s not entirelydead in another dimension, and he can hear me because I’m definitely not losing my fucking mind, and definitely not because being called ‘Big Boy’ didn’t fuck with my head more than mutant bats ever did…”

Steve’s frankly endearing muttering, and that last bit especially, distract Eddie enough from the fact that Steve is actively rummaging through his room.

Through his room, Jesus, Eddie moves because he even clocks that lunging at Steve here won’t do shit there to stop the questionable literature Steve’s already sifting through.

At least Steve can’t see him blush across planes of existence. Hopefully.

“Oh,” and Steve sounds shocked, but then looks…gutted?

”One more for the ‘you suck’ column,” and Eddie decides right then that he fucking does not approve of that tone, at all; ”not like I had a chance, definitely not his type…”

“But my type’s the paladin who protects everyone and needs a faithful bard to tend his wound and keep his bed!” Eddie blurts out into the nothing on his side of the divide.

“My type’s been you since fucking junior year!”

Because Junior-Eddie was admittedly much more lust-driven. Let that be said.

Now-Eddie’s equally if not more invested in the heart of a man.

And Steve Harrington, even remotely thinking that he isn’t Eddie’s type?

Maybe Eddie really is dead. And this is hell.

—

”Why do I need them?”

Eddie’s got a new box of cereal—Kix, could definitely be better—and has now trailed Steve to what looks like…the edge of town, which, who lives there…

”Nah, kid, nothing bad. Just want to see something. Promise.”

One of the kids. Maybe this is where the Byerses are, now, if they were right and they’d been on their way back? Because Eddie knows where the rest of them live, and this ain’t it.

Theresa are footsteps in one direction, and Steve wanders in the other, where Eddie sees a girl with a buzz cut he doesn’t know, but who stares Steve down in a way that…Eddie can kinda guess.

They’d all alluded to the super powered kiddo more than once.

”Can you look? Like, just to see if he’s—”

Eddie’s neck turns fast when he turns back in to the conversation, less for the words and more for how timid, how cowed Steve sounds and he…

Eddie just wants, more than anything really, to be able to reach out and touch. To comfort. To do…

Something.

”…would not feel him even if he was there. The connection is gone. The Upside Down is dead.”

And Steve deflates, and Eddie…Eddie remembers the lights didn’t they have to be emotionally unstable, kinda, to make the lights flicker, to let someone know they’re there, and Eddie’s definitely there because—

Not fucking all of it, not yet, Eddie wants to scream; or maybe yes all of it but I’m still fucking here.

Also: that man is 100% my type and I want a fucking shot, I want my snowball’s chance in hell, I want to bite him and call him sweetheart like I mean it and I want, I want, I want—

Also that.

Steve leaves with some…fucking magnets.

And the lights didn’t do jack shit.

—

Eddie spends most of that night playing with magnets.

Well, not at first.

First, he tries yelling, sobbing, focusing like a Force-user, really anything he could think of to get Steve’s lights to flicker. No such luck.

So then Eddie makes a side quest, after having dutifully made certain not to leave Steve’s side for…however many days.

He pops to Melvald’s because of anyone’s got kiddie alphabet magnets, it’s gotta be them.

And score. Definitely not the worst thing Eddie’s stolen. Plus this place is on the way out. Not really relevant, here, if he cared.

Which he fervently does not.

And proves by grabbing two fifths of tequila on the way out. Hah.

He finds Steve passed out on top of his comforter, plaid monstrosity that it is, and he tries very hard to brush his hair back—nothing.

And then Eddie…somehow that’s the straw that breaks the pack-mule’s back. Something in him just fucking snaps.

Because he distinctly remembers this whole fiasco being tied to the labs owned by the fucking Department of Energy, right?

And they can’t even keep the electrical connection between dimensions working?

That’s…that’s unacceptable.

He’s gonna…he’s gonna file a fucking complaint. He’s gonna show up at a picket line. He’s gonna write a strongly worded letter. He’s…

Actually, he’s got all night if the way Steve’s sprawled says anything for how long he’s gonna stay conked out. And he’s also got these handy alphabet magnets.

Letter it is.

—

”What the fuck?”

d3ar 3nergy d3pt he4d i ju5+ wan+ed to te11 th15 guy i w4n+ t0 b1+3 him but n00 y0u c4nt e73n d0 +h4t i h8 u

Eddie trips over some empty bottles, the answer of how they got there pounding in his head real quick—oh, hey, hangovers do transcend dimensions, seems suspicious—but yeah, okay, he does remember getting creative with the abundance of math magnets in the poorly-labeled alphabet pack last night, misleading to lead on letters by default on the packaging. He does recall being very convinced a sideways ‘7’ was a passable ‘V’. But.

He’s not looking at his side of things. He’s looking at Steve’s.

And so is Steve.

And then Steve—who Eddie wants to bite but also kiss and maybe just hold in his arms chest to chest to feel his warmth because when his control broke last night it conveniently knocked him upside the head with the clear realization of that fact that Steve Harrington?

Is doing all this shit for him. On the hope of a maybe.

And Steve Harrington had been disappointed not to have found his lookalike in Eddie’s porn rags.

And Eddie wrote a letter to the fucking DoE in magnets about it, and Steve can see it, stuck to his fridge in 1986 as clear as Eddie slapped it there in 1983.

”…Eddie?”

Steve’s voice is so small and so fearful to be wrong. His chest is heaving, he’s scared.

Eddie scrambles for the magnets left on the floor and smacks them violently to the refrigerator door in record time, prays to everything he doesn’t believe in that Steve can feel his relief spelled out in the bulky primary colors:

h3y 61g b0y v3

And goddamnit, when Steve falls to the floor with his jaw dropped loose, Eddie is 100% sold:

A ‘V’ turned on its side absolutely makes the bottom half of a heart for the three to butt-up to.

—

“Got these to play so if you were there, and couldhear me, you could find your way, if,” and Steve, Steve has been talking to Eddie since they both woke up and found those magnets, even if they haven’t been able to replicate anything, not the letter nor the faulty lighting trick Eddie’d complains about on the fridge in the first place: it could just be a fluke. Steve has no reason to believe Eddie’s alive, that Eddie did that, that Steve didn’t sleepwalk into sleep-spelling, that Eddie even alive in some form would be following his every move.

Of course he is, but. Steve can’t know.

It’s all on faith. For Eddie.

And fuck is Eddie’s heart doesn’t go playing ping pong with his ribs for how much it hits him, how wide and warm it swells in his chest like hope, only second to affection, to want, to—

“Vecna’s not gone, but he’s like, one step from it. I don’t know he can get you but,” Steve taps to the Walkman, to the headphone he gets on just one ear so he can hear and also so someone else—so Eddie—can hear Megadeath as Steve bustles around his house, packing a duffle that reminds Eddie of when they were peeping to storm the castle—

That’s what Steve’s doing. That, that’s what Steve is doing right now.

“I just,” Steve heaves a deep breath, hands on his hips before one pinches between his eyes; “I felt like you were still there, I can’t explain it,” and Eddie’s shaken to his core right now in the best possible way so when he blurts out in a croon:

“Power of loooove, Stevie!”

He can’t be blamed for that. He can’t. He’s…

This man is going down into hell, has not grantee of what Eddie knows in it being largely innocuous, now, save…undead Vecna lurking somewhere, so weak he’s not even noticed.

“But we know music works though, so.”

Steve’s still narrating his plan; Eddie is just staring. Wants to…wants so fucking bad to touch.

“We have to wait for night, for me to get down there. They’re shitty with security on the graveyard shift.” Then Steve’s smirking, and fuck, he’s so pretty.

”Plus Robin sleeps like the dead, she won’t have a chance to notice what I’m doing even on the off chance word got out.”

And the fact that Steve is willing to defy his own platonic soulmate for Eddie—barely knows him in terms of days and hours but at least, if it’s the same as Eddie’s realising more and more that he feels, and unshakable too: it’s like his soul knows Steve, and that cannot care a lick for how time runs, it’s bigger than that.

There’s too much of a sense of potential, a crackling possibility just being in his proximity, even with the distance of other goddamn dimensions—there’s too much swirling in Eddie already for it to mean nothing.

Plus, like: flip the script. Steve is risking everything on a whim, for him.

It cannot be nothing.

“I’m hoping you’re where we left you, which,” and Steve’s voice catches, he pauses, looks around like he’s hoping Eddie might pop into the visible spectrum, so he can see and know, but then he just looks up at the ceiling like—oh, fuck, like it’ll make sure no tears fall out and:

“I can’t fucking tell you how sorry—“ Steve starts to say be Eddie can’t bear watching like this, strides over in an instant and grabs Steve’s hand.

And Steve stills.

And Eddie can feel his pulse in his wrist.

“Is that you?” Steve barely breathes, stares now at his arm where…Eddie can only see the kind of glimmering overlap that means two things are happening in the same place on different planes, he’s grown used to that. But.

If Steve can feel him, if there are moments here that are probably limited where Eddie can prove some little tiny bit that he’s here and he’s listen and he’s with Steve—

He pulls Steve’s hand and drags him into the kind of full body hug he’s been aching for for…fuck.

Too fucking long.

“Eddie,” Steve sighs out, and Eddie can’t help himself. He runs hands through Steve’s hair, and holy fuck: Steve leans in.

Steve feels it enough to lean in.

“It feels like I’ve been falling for a ghost, man.”

Steve says it on a whisper, like he’s still not sold entirely, or else maybe afraid to break a spell. Eddie gets that second part.

“But I guess it kinda started before that, so maybe it’s not as fucking crazy,” Steve laughs a little wet with it and…Eddie has to, because what if he never gets another chance, and hell—if he does, how can he deprive them both the chance to know whatever the sensation will be, like this?

Eddie’s not up to risk never knowing what a cross-dimensional lip lock feels like, okay?

So he doesn’t.

“Please don’t be a ghost,” Steve breathes out and fuck, Eddie can’t taste it but he can feel the way the air moves and it’s, it is; ”I think if you are, I’ll live the rest of my life trying to make it work anyway, I,” and Steve doesn’t get to finish because Eddie pushes in again, and Steve’s as good as his reputation and then some, on wholly separate planes of being.

Eddie cannot fucking wait to feel it flesh to flesh.

“I fall fast, man, but this is kinda insane,” Steve pants, arms out awkward with any indication where to hold. He’s adorable.

He’s delectable.

“But you did say you wanted to bite me, assuming you were talking about me,” Steve smirks but then his eyes go wide:

“Oh, shit, are you a vampire?”

And Eddie has no idea how long he’s been down here alone, surrounding by the silence and the darkness and just the projection level overlay of Steve when he’s lucky, but Jesus H. Christ—

“Is that you laughing?” Steve chokes on his own kinda-giggle as he braces against an unseen and unseeable force barrelling into him: of course it’s Eddie.

Of course he’s fucking cackling.

Because however long it’s been, he definitely hasn’t laughed at any point at all in that span of time—and fuck if he didn’t need it.

—

Steve slips down the last burbling gate not without effort, not without lava-hot road rash no doubt fucking with his already not-yet-healed stomach.

When he’s tackled, thrown straight to the ground, weight pinning him to the ground that’s more dry, more deadened than Steve remembers from just days ago: when his back hits the ground—none of it matters.

“It was me laughing.”

And then Eddie’s mouth is on his—it’s the echo he was afraid he’d imagined that morning, just like the hand on his wrist, just like the laughter wrapped around him.

“You’re an even better kisser in person, holy shit, even your fucking glowing reputation shortchanged you.”

And Steve’s kinda breathless, not just for getting smooshed to the dirt; but then Eddie’s kissing him again, and breathing seems really kind low on Steve’s list of giving a shit.

“You are so my type it’s not even funny,” Eddie says, before diving back into kiss with a bruising kind of force, an unmistakable kind of intent; “I think my type has fully migrated to include kinda just you.”

And Steve’s heartbeat kinda stutters at that because…that’s new.

No one’s ever…well.

It’s just new.

“You weren’t wrong to leave me behind, you don’t ever have to apologize,” and then he’s kissing along Steve’s jaw, and it’s Steve’s laughter now, the tickle of dirty curls dragging at his stubble; “you got out, you’re safe, you’re here,” and Eddie sounds almost overcome with feeling, with relief, and then in the end, bubbling with joy. And somehow Steve can tell it’s not because Steve’s here to save him, bring him home.

It’s just because Steve’s here and that, that is—

Steve’s heartbeat’s just gonna do that tripping thing for the foreseeable future he thinks, at this point. Probably.

“I was trying to convince myself otherwise, because I didn’t think there could ever be a shot in hell but I was falling before it all fell apart, too,” Eddie says in a rush, leaning again to kiss the corners of Steve’s lips, like talking is just an inconvenient interruption to better ways of using his mouth and given how goddamn much Eddie Munson’s always talked, that fucking says something:

“And ever since, it’s felt like I was falling in love through a movie screen,” and he cups Steve’s face to angle it just so as he breathes, those eyes endless and glistening; “could see but never reach, until,” and then he’s kissing him straight on the lips again, a full-frontal assault, tongue seeking teeth, looking for the depths of his goddamn soul of something.

Steve isn’t even embarrassed for how he arches up, how he fucking moans. No one could ever feel this and do anything less.

Like: fucking impossible.

“I liked your letter to the editor,” Steve gasps when Eddie breaks apart and concedes to needing air, presses kisses up and down Steve’s throat while he regroups.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie’s face pops back up—dirt smears and ruddy and in need of a shower but on the whole in way better shape than Steve last remembers having to walk away from, and fuck, fuck—he’s never walking away from it again; “can we send that to the Post? No edits, I want my numbers intact, let them try to figure it out like Zodiac.”

Steve snorts, because god he really is half in love with this nerd, and he’s not a ghost, he’s sold and his chest is heaving into Steve’s and he’s grinning wills and he’s here and they’re here and this is realand—

He yells when the sting clamps through his much-less-extensive uniform of his Members Only jacket despite the weather—it’s freezing, but like, the gates were just cracks, he had to move like a ninja!

Just not a bite-proof ninja, apparently.

“You know, I should have expected that,” Steve deadpans, but his smile gives him away as Eddie pulls his mouth back from the stretch of Steve’s neck that runs to his shoulder, where honestly Steve thinks Eddie punctured the coat in the process. Fucking feral gremlin.

Steve really wants to keep him. Like, indefinitely.

“You really, really should have,” Eddie agrees, beaming like the sun when there’s only dark around them, making it all feel so warm in the chill.

“Honestly should have expect nothing less,” Eddie’s smile curls a little dangerous as he leans in again, apparently satisfied with having caught his breath enough as he mouths wet against Steve’s lips:

“Big boy.”

And then, again: he pounces.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

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[amitiel-truth]

River Maiden Pt. 10

(A/N: I call this one, The Crash-out Saga)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,

(Y/N)'s sobs echo through the damp, watery cell in Poseidon's Golden Palace under the Agean Sea, her anguish palpable. She has never felt so alone and hopeless before, trapped in this watery prison where she can barely breathe without feeling suffocated.

She's desperate to be with Telemachus, to feel his embrace and hear his comforting words.

"Why... why can't I be with him?" her voice choked with despair and sorrow.

Poseidon's booming voice interrupts her thoughts, echoing throughout the palace. "Because, my dear," he says mockingly, "you're my leverage. As long as you're here, that pesky mortal won't dare to go against me."

He appears outside her cell, a sinister smile on his face. "And I, oh, am going to enjoy this."

(Y/N) takes a deep breath, steeling herself.

"What do you want now?" (Y/N) asked, glaring at her 'Father'.

Poseidon chuckles, his voice dripping with mockery. "What do I want? Oh, nothing much. Just a little entertainment." He leans against the bars, his gaze fixed on (Y/N). "You see, I quite enjoy watching you suffer. It's oh so satisfying to see you, a daughter of mine, so hopeless and desperate."

His eyes gleam with malice as he continues, "And I love even more how that silly mortal believes he can save you. It's hopelessly romantic, really."

"Haven't I suffered enough?" (Y/N) stood up, walking up to the cell, continuing her glare at him.

"I was born from your sins, forced to grow up in darkness, and watch the only parent I know deteriorate because of you, do you know no mercy? Do you even rest? Do all you think of is implementing suffering for others!?" (Y/N) yells, tired of him.

"Mercy? Rest? Those are foreign concepts to a god like me." Poseidon sneers, undeterred by (Y/N)'s outburst.

"You think I care about your suffering?" he asks with a cruel chuckle. "I am the god of the seas, and I do as I please. Your pain only fuels my power, my dear. It amuses me to see you struggle and despair, knowing that you can do nothing to change your fate."

"You're wrong" (Y/N) challenges.

Poseidon quirks an eyebrow, intrigued by (Y/N) defiance. "Oh really now? And how exactly do you intend to prove me wrong, my darling daughter? You're trapped here, completely at my mercy."

"Because Odysseus once defied you...and won." (Y/N) taunted, a smug grin on her lips.

Poseidon's expression darkened at the mention of Odysseus's name.

"Yes, well, that blasted mortal was lucky," Poseidon grumbles begrudgingly. "But there's no chance Telemachus could pull off the same feat."

"You underestimate him." (Y/N) points out, looking at him blankly.

"Underestimating a mortal?" Poseidon scoffs, his arrogance evident. "I am a god. I am infallible. No mere mortal can stand against me."

"You underestimates a mortal once...do I even need to repeat what happened?" (Y/N) taunted, tilting her head.

Poseidon bristles at (Y/N)'s words, his pride wounded. "Enough!" he bellows, his voice echoing off the cell walls. "You forget your place, girl. I am the god of the seas, and I will not be mocked!"

"I am also a product of you, a vile, selfish man, who knows nothing but take, take and take!! " (Y/N) points out, glaring at him.

Poseidon's gaze hardens as (Y/N) continues to defy him. He hates hearing the truth spoken out loud, especially by his own daughter.

"Watch your tongue, insolent child," he growls, trying to hide the growing frustration in his voice. "You speak of taking? Do you know the power and responsibility that comes with being a god?"

"All I see is your selfishness and brazenness, a brute with no mind." (Y/N) glared at him, insulting him once more.

"How dare you!? I am not a brute," Poseidon seethed, his fury mounting. "I am a god, and I rule the seas. You, on the other hand, are just a mere girl, a mortal with delusions of grandeur!"

"Then forget about me as I forget about you!" (Y/N) screamed, holding onto the bars.

"You cannot forget about me," Poseidon thundered, his voice shaking the entire palace. "You're my daughter, my blood, and I will not let you go so easily!"

(Y/N) heart pounds in her chest as Poseidon's words wash over her, but she refuses to back down. She meets his gaze with a mixture of fear and defiance.

"Then why keep me imprisoned like this?" she asks, her voice cracking slightly.

"Because you are valuable to me, dear one," Poseidon replies, his voice soft and chilling. "You're the key to my revenge on Odysseus. As long as I have you here, that insolent mortal will do whatever I want."

He steps closer to the bars, his eyes narrowed. "And I plan on milking this opportunity for all it's worth."

Commanding the water around him, he made the watery cage around (Y/N) in the likeness of a giant bird cage, rising her up above the open field.

(Y/N)'s heart sinks as she's lifted from the ground, trapped in a water cage that perfectly resembles a birdcage. She feels imprisoned and vulnerable as she's hoisted up into the open field, the weight of her captivity overwhelming.

"What are you doing?" she demands, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

Poseidon's smug smile widens with satisfaction. "Why, my dear, I'm simply making sure you're...comfortable."

He begins to walk away from her water cage, leaving her suspended in the open field.

"Oh, and do try to enjoy the view from up there," he calls over his shoulder, his tone dripping with mockery.

Poseidon gazes up at (Y/N) trapped in her watery birdcage, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Now, stay up there and wait for Your Prince." he sneers. "Let's see how long your precious hero will take to find you."

Hermes flies both Odysseus and Telemachus towards the massive golden palace of Poseidon, its opulent facade standing out against the backdrop of the sea.

"This is it, lads," Hermes says, nodding towards the palace. "Poseidon's lair is in there, told you it won't be that much of a journey, the Lady upstairs made sure if it. Are you ready?"

"Ready as we'll ever be," Odysseus replies, gripping the bag of Brutus Flowers tightly in his hand.

Telemachus simply nods, his expression stoic, mentally preparing himself for the confrontation with Poseidon.

"Then I should get going now, do try not to get yourself killed, she'll gut me for sure, Good luck~." Hermes bid farewell, before disappearing.

Odysseus and Telemachus watch as Hermes vanishes, leaving them standing before the imposing palace.

Odysseus takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "Alright, Telemachus," he says, a hint of determination in his voice. "Let's go get your girl back."

Telemachus nods, his gaze fixed on the palace. "Lead the way, father."

With that, they begin making their way towards the entrance of Poseidon's palace, their hearts pounding with anticipation and a sense of purpose.

Suddenly, they heard cries in the halls of the palace, catching Odysseus and Telemachus's attention. They exchange a glance, both knowing who the crying is coming from.

"That sounds like her..." Telemachus notes, his heart filling with worry and anger.

They followed the sobs, reaching an open courtyard, they stopped in their tracks at the sight of (Y/N) standing next to Poseidon, her face streaked with tears. They watch as Poseidon continues to speak to (Y/), his back to them.

"(Y/N)..." Telemachus whispers, his heart filling with rage at the sight of her tears.

(Y/N) turns around, seeing Telemachus, a bright smile on her lips.

"Telemachus! Your finally here!" (Y/N) cried out with a large smile.

"See Father? I told you he loves me!" (Y/N) proclaims, looking at Poseidon with a smile, confusing Odysseus and Telemachus.

Poseidon hides his irritation at (Y/N)'s outburst, maintaining his composure. He turns to Telemachus with a smirk, playing along with (Y/N) claims.

"Ah, Telemachus," he greets him, feigning a friendly tone. "Welcome. I see you've come to claim your beloved back from me."

"Well, here she is, all yours, I've grown bored of her." Poseidon pushed her towards him, making the (Y/N) run up to him.

"Telemachus! Oh, How much I missed you!" (Y/N) proclaims, holding his hands.

Telemachus's heart leaped at the sight of (Y/N) rushing towards him, but something about the scene felt off. He glanced at Poseidon, who had a smirk on his face, and then back at (Y/N).

"(Y/N)...?" Telemachus asked, his voice filled with a mix of relief and caution as he feels her hands on his.

"What's wrong my love? Don't you miss me?" (Y/N) asked, tilting her head.

Telemachus forces a smile, playing along.

"Of course I missed you, my love," he responds, gripping her hands tighter. "I thought about you every moment we were apart."

As he holds her hands, Telemachus subtly notes the coolness of her skin, a deviation from the usual warmth he remembered.

"Oh, How I missed you, beloved." Y/N) smiled at him, hugging him tightly, too tight.

Telemachus hugged her back, his arms encircling her as she hugged him tight. The coolness of her skin seemed to linger, an unsettling contrast to the warmth he knew her to have.

"It's alright, my love," he murmured, his heart pounding with worry. "I'm here now. I won't let you go."

Suddenly, Telemachus stabbed her back with his dagger, His heart pounded in his chest as the illusion of (Y/N) dissolved into water, dissipating the moment the dagger pierced her body.

He looked up at Poseidon, who had a smirk on his face, clearly pleased with his little ploy. Telemachus clenched his jaw, his grip on his dagger tightening as he realized the extent of the god's trickery.

Odysseus watched with a mix of surprise and confusion. "What just happened?!" he exclaimed.

"It wasn't her, her hands are too cold, and my arms don't fit right around her." Telemachus sheated his dagger, before glaring at Poseidon

Poseidon chuckled darkly, amused by Telemachus's observation.

"Clever boy," he taunted, his gaze cold and calculating. "I see you caught onto my little trick."

Odysseus's eyes widened, his expression turning serious as he realized the implications of what had just occurred. "So, where is she...the real (Y/N)?" he asked.

With the snap of the God's finger, a birdcage made of water began to rise.

Telemachus's gaze followed the ascension of the birdcage, his heart lurching as he heard the sound of (Y/N)'s sobs. Anger welled up within him as he realized she was inside.

"(Y/N)!" he called out, his voice carrying across the courtyard.

(Y/N) looks out of her cage, her breath hitched.

"You came..."

Telemachus's heart ached at the sight of her, caged and helpless.

"Of course I did," he replied, his voice filled with determination. "I would travel to the ends of the earth for you."

Odysseus stepped forward, his gaze fixed on (Y/N) in her watery prison. "We'll get you out of there," he assured her.

"Ah, ah, ah," Poseidon interrupts smugly. "Not so fast, mortals. If you want your little damsel in distress back, you'll have to play by my rules."

Telemachus's knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, his anger flaring.

"Your rules?" he spat out, his voice filled with venom. "What rules? You're nothing but a coward, locking her away up there like some prized prisoner."

"Careful, boy," Poseidon warned, his eyes narrowing. "You might not like the consequences of your words."

Odysseus stepped forward, his voice firm but measured. "We're not here to play games, Poseidon. We came for (Y/N), and we won't leave without her."

"Oh, you won't, will you?" Poseidon chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what makes you think you have any leverage here? You're both just mortals, insignificant and fragile compared to me."

Telemachus gritted his teeth, his patience wearing thin. "We may be mortals, but we're not powerless," he shot back. "And we won't let you treat (Y/N) like some bargaining chip."

Poseidon's gaze shifted between Telemachus and Odysseus, his smirk faltering momentarily as he faced the two mortals.

"Is this supposed to intimidate me? A mortal with a spear and another with a bow?" he taunted, his tone tinged with amusement.

"Telemachus!" (Y/N) calls out, before throwing something for him to catch.

Telemachus caught a double-ended spear made of her tears, his eyes widening in surprise. He felt the power within the weapon, the will of the waters flowing within it.

"No way..." he whispered, gripping the spear tightly, a sense of determination coursing through him.

"We're not only mortals...we had a bit of help." Odysseus taunted, before using the Brutus Flowers, with its necter and pollen at the tip of his arrows.

With a flick of his wrist, Odysseus launches a Brutus flower-tipped arrow at Poseidon, the pollen swirling through the air towards him

Poseidon's eyes widen as he realizes what Odysseus has done. He tries to dodge, but the pollen envelops him, rendering him vulnerable

Telemachus charges forward, wielding (Y/N)'s double-ended spear. His movements are swift and precise, every strike aimed at exposing a weakness in Poseidon's defense. His heart beats in sync with the rhythm of battle, his focus solely on rescuing (Y/N) from her watery prison.

Despite being weakened by the effects of the Brutus Flower, Poseidon fights back with the full force of his trident. His movements may not be as quick and precise as before, but he compensates with sheer power and experience. Each swing of his trident sends the air rippling around him, creating small waves with every attack.

Telemachus, his heart racing in his chest, dances around each swing, dodging and parrying with his double-ended spear. The battle becomes an intricate dance of blades and tridents, with each strike echoing across the courtyard, the sound of their weapons mingling with their ragged breaths.

Telemachus, his heart racing in his chest, dances around each swing, dodging and parrying with his double-ended spear. The battle becomes an intricate dance of blades and tridents, with each strike echoing across the courtyard, the sound of their weapons mingling with their ragged breaths.

While Telemachus distracted Poseidon, Odysseus used it to free (Y/N), seizing the opportunity, grabs an arrow and expertly attaches a length of rope to it. He swiftly fires it with his bow, the arrow soaring towards the top of Egeria's cage and anchoring itself securely. With a steady grip on the rope, Odysseus begins his ascent.

(Y/N) looks at the rope before looking down, seeing Odysseus.

"Sir!." Egeria whisper yells in greeting

Odysseus glances up, his expression filled with determination as he climbs the rope. "Hang on, (Y/N)," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the battle below. "We're getting you out of here."

As Odysseus reached her, she managed to slip out of the cage with her power, as he helped her down the rope

(Y/N) clung tightly to Odysseus as they descended the rope, her heart pounding with a mix of relief and anticipation. Once they reached the ground, she turned to him with a mix of gratitude and worry.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice shaky. "But Telemachus..."

The strength of the Brutus Flowers began to wear off, and Poseidon's godly powers started to return. As his strength rejuvenated, Telemachus found himself growing tired and outfought. He tried to hold his ground, but Poseidon's power overwhelmed him, pushing him back.

With the lift of the God's trident, he sent a powerful gust of water down onto Telemachus, as he lays down onto the ground, injured.

"NO!!" (Y/N) and Odysseus yells, as they both ran towards Telemachus's side.

(Y/N) and Odysseus rushed to Telemachus's side, their hearts heavy with worry. Odysseus knelt down beside him, taking in his injuries with a grim expression.

"Telemachus," Odysseus calls out, his voice shaky in near tears. "Can you hear me?"

"No! Nonononononono!" (Y/N) panics, accessing his injuries... it's grave, his abdomen and chest feels soft, his ribs are broken.

"Telemachus, please stay with me, please!" (Y/N) begs, holding his hand, patting his cheek.

Telemachus grunts in pain, his body feeling battered and bruised from the relentless attack.

"I...I'm alright," he croaks, managing a small smile despite the pain. He looks up at (Y/N), the worry in her eyes making his heart ache.

"No, you're not! You're mortally wounded!" (Y/ screams, trying to keep him awake.

Odysseus clenched his jaw, his expression turning grave. The severity of Telemachus's injuries was clear, and time was running out.

"Telemachus, you have to stay with us," Odysseus urged, his voice firm but tinged with desperation. "We can't lose you now."

Telemachus sees the panic and desperation in (Y/N)'s eyes, and he reaches up to gently touch her cheek, trying to offer some reassurance in his fragile state.

"Don't...don't worry about me," he says, his breathing labored. "I...I'll be alright."

(Y/N) looks at him in distraught, he's the one mortally wounded and yet, he is still worried about her well being, making her clench bee teeth.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry I never told you who I truly am, I never told you because... because I thought you wouldn't accept me for who I am, the part of me that I hate, the part of me I rejected all my life." (Y/N) admits, crying heavily as she looks at Telemachus's critical state.

Telemachus gazes up at (Y/N), his eyes filled with love and understanding. He reaches up to wipe away her tears, his touch tender and gentle despite his fading strength.

"My sweet, beautiful (Y/N)," he whispers, his voice weak but steady. "You don't have to apologize. I don't care about who you are or where you come from. I love you for you."

He coughs weakly, pain flooding his body as he tries to speak.

"I...I would never reject you..." he gasps, struggling to speak with every word. "You... you're my world... my heart... my everything."

Tears stream down (Y/N)'s face, her heart breaking at the sight of Telemachus, the man she loves, lying so helpless and vulnerable, whispering his last words to her. She grips his hand tightly, holding onto it like a lifeline.

He slides his hand up to caress her face, his fingers brushing against her skin, wanting to feel her warmth for as long as he can.

"Please...please don't cry," he pleads, his voice growing weaker with each word. "I... I hate seeing you like this..."

Tears stream down (Y/N)'s face as she listens to Telemachus's words. She grasps his hand tightly onto her face, her heart breaking at the sight of him struggling to hold on.

"Please...please don't leave me," she pleads, her voice choked with emotion. "I can't lose you too. I love you so much."

Telemachus weakly continues to touch hee cheek, his hand trembling with effort. His touch is gentle, his fingers tracing the contours of her face, committing the feel of her skin to memory.

"I...I wish I could stay with you... forever," he whispers, his voice barely above a whisper now. "But... I'm so tired..."

(Y/N) sniffles, taking a deep breath, before finally accepting it, knowing that Telemachus will only suffer in pain from holding on for her, she raised one of her hands, stroking his hair.

"Rest now, my Love, I'll see you in the morning" (Y/N) says softly, kissing his lips.

Telemachus's breath hitches slightly, the taste of her kiss bittersweet. He looks into her eyes, his gaze filled with sadness and love.

"Will... will I dream of you?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

(Y/N) looks at him with a bitter sweet smile, trying to give him at least a smile he could remember of her despite her tears.

"Yes, you will, always." (Y/N) reassures, trying to keep it together.

Telemachus manages a weak smile, his body growing increasingly still. He weakly moves his hand, brushing back a strand of (Y/N)'s hair, his touch tender despite his fading strength.

"Good...that's good," he murmurs, his voice fading further.

Odysseus, witnessing the scene unfold before him, feels a mix of sadness and admiration, knowing that Telemachus will die in the arms of his beloved.

"Rest now, My love, I'll see you in the morning, I love you." (Y/N) presses her forehead against his with a smile, despite her tears falling onto his cheek

Telemachus's eyes flutter closed, and a weak smile plays at the corners of his lips as he feels (Y/N) warm touch on his forehead.

"I...I love you..." he whispers, his voice barely audible now.

His hand, still weakly holding onto (Y/N)'s, begins to go slack, his body finally succumbing to the damage and exhaustion.

The silence is heavy, broken only by the sound of (Y/N) stifled sobs and Odysseus' ragged breaths. Telemachus's hand, now slack in her grip, falls limp to his side, his chest no longer rising and falling with each labored breath.

Odysseus stands nearby, his expression a mix of grief and anger. The reality of Telemachus's death is almost too painful to bear, and he clenches his fists, fighting back the urge to shout in rage and frustration.

(Y/N) looks at Odysseus, her eyes so full of tears. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry." (Y/N) begs for forgiveness, as she gently placed Telemachus body onto Odysseus's arms as he sat on his other side.

Odysseus looked at (Y/N) with a mixture of sadness and understanding. He shook his head softly.

"It's...it's not your fault, my dear." Odysseus assures her. "Telemachus's death is a consequence of a battle we had to fight, and he fought bravely for you."

(Y/N) looks at the sight before her, Odysseus, holding his son's body, as she begin to break at the scene, kneeling onto the ground, and screaming in pain, tears endlessly flowing from her eyes.

Odysseus only looks at her, his heart breaking for her loss. He holds Telemachus gently in his arms, his own tears flowing freely grieves with her. The courtyard is filled with the sounds of their shared sorrow, with (Y/N)'s heart-wrenching screams echoing in the air.

Poseidon, now having regained his godly powers, let out a mocking laugh, relishing in the scene before him.

"Ha! Look at you all weeping over the fallen one," he says, his voice full of arrogance and cruelty. "The great Telemachus, defeated by a single blow. What a pity!"

"You really thought you could defeat a god with a mortal's strength?" Poseidon sneers, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. "You were all just playthings to me, nothing more than insects to be squashed under my heel."

He looks down at Telemachus's lifeless body in Odysseus's arms, his taunting tone growing more cruel.

"And now, look at the prize you've lost. How does it feel, hero?"

"Your tears. Your sorrow. They are nothing to me," Poseidon continues his mocking tirade, taking pleasure in Odysseus's grief. "You are all so weak, so powerless. You thought you could defeat me, a god, with your mortal struggles? How naive."

He looks over at (Y/N), now on the ground, her grief too overwhelming for her to hold back.

"And you, hybrid. Do you think your tears will bring him back? You are both pathetic."

Suddenly, the air stills, as (Y/N) sat up from her kneeling, shocking Odysseus at what's happening to her, but Poseidon couldn't see as her back was turned to her, the spear made out of her tears that Telemachus had dropped in his defeat, dissolved, and snaked it's way onto her, slithering on her back to her hair.

Droplets of water began floating around them, as (Y/N) stood up, her once (H/L) (H/C) turned into water in the shape of snakes, similar of that to a Gorgon, as she slowly turned her head towards him, her eyes glowing white, too bright, with endless amounts of tears flowing from her eyes, as the droplets began pelting Poseidon.

"What is this... what are you doing?" Poseidon demands, his voice taking on a hint of panic.

Each hit felt like a rock, completely surrounding him, as it ended (Y/N) was now in front of him, winding back her arm and sending a blast of water in the shape of snakes towards towards him, sending him flying across the courtyard.

Poseidon quickly regains his composure, looking up at (Y/N) with a snarl.

"How...how are you doing this?" he demands, clearly shaken by her newfound powers.

(Y/N) ignores his question, her gaze fixed on him as she continues her approach, each step sending tremors through the ground underneath her. The howling wind sounds like her screams, creating a chilling chorus of anguish and determination.

"What have you become?" Poseidon finally manages to say, his usually mocking tone now tinged with fear.

She couldn't even hear him, all she could hear was...Telemachus.

"I would never, ever let anyone take me away from you"

"You are more precious to me than any Princess or wealth could ever be."

"I'd have stayed in that river with you forever, if I could."

"No one else can have me. I'm all yours."

"My beautiful nymph."

"You're too good for me, love..."

"You are... intoxicating,"

"Please...please don't cry"

"You... you're my world... my heart... my everything."

"I...I would never reject you..."

"Will I see you again?"

"I...I wish I could stay with you... forever"

Imagine being so full of grief and rage, that you force your divine half to take over.

Amidst her anguish, a new title is bestowed onto her.

(Y/N), Mistress of the Waves.

Goddess of the Sea, Earthquakes, Storms and Snakes.

She continues to attack him, every form of water are in the shape of snakes, as if to remind him of his past mistakes, of her mother, Medusa.

Poseidon's fear and disbelief grow as (Y/N) continues her relentless attack, every bit of water shaped like a serpent, tormenting him with the memory of Medusa.

"No...no, this can't be happening," he mutters, struggling to maintain his composure.

Each attack lands with precision, causing Poseidon to stagger back, the pain and fear from his past haunting him once more. (Y/N), fueled by her grief and fury, is a force to be reckoned with, her power growing with each passing moment.

Odysseus struggles to maintain his balance as the wind intensifies, the gusts becoming stronger and more tumultuous. He holds Telemachus tightly in his arms, trying to shield his body from the elements, but the force of nature proves overwhelming.

"(Y/N)..." he calls out, his voice barely heard over the howling wind. "(Y/N), please, you have to stop!"

But (Y/N) didn't listen, or she simply couldn't hear him in her grief, as she continues to attack, in his fear, Poseidon even tried to hit her with his trident, as she caught it with her bare hand, snapping it in two and throwing it to him, making him stumble.

As she throws the broken weapon back at him, the reality of his situation becoming all too clear to him. Poseidon, the mighty god of the seas, is being bested by a woman consumed by grief and rage, her powers beyond anything he could have anticipated.

(Y/N) pants as she glares at him, as behind her she forms a giant snake made out of water, brandishing it's fangs towards him, threatening to attack, an imposing sight that only adds to her already fearsome presence. It glares malevolently at Poseidon, its fangs gleams in a threatening manner, as if ready to strike at a moment's notice.

Poseidon's face goes pale as he stares at the snake, realizing that he's facing a force he can't easily overcome. His fear is evident as he takes a step back.

(Y/N) raises a hand, preparing to send it down onto him, biting her lip so hard that it bled, as she was about to send it down, a familiar embrace stopped her, hugging her gently, with a hand on her cheek, snapping her out of her rage filled state, her pure white eyes returning back to normal, but her hair is still remained made out of water in the form of snakes, gasping as the giant snake made of water drops into nothingness, as she leans onto the familiar, comforting hug.

Hera, the goddess of marriage and queen of the gods, holds (Y/N) tightly in her arms, a mixture of concern and sympathy etched on her face.

"It's alright, child," she whispers gently, brushing a hand through (Y/N)'s hair, which is still in the form of water snakes. "You don't have to do this."

Hera looks over at Poseidon, who stands there, stunned by the sudden turn of events, a mix of fear and confusion visible on his face.

(Y/N) cried out, burying her face onto Hera's shoulder, as she held onto her purple peplus tightly, crying as she screams, and dropping to her knees, with Hera following suit, unable to form any sentence, filled with heartbreak

Hera holds (Y/N) tightly, her own eyes filled with sympathy and compassion. sitting on the ground and continuing to hold her close. The goddess gently strokes (Y/N) hair, her touch soothing and comforting.

"Shh, it's alright," Hera whispers, her voice soft and tender. "Let it all out, my dear."

(Y/N) is inconsolable, to the point Hera has to force her to stop biting her lips so much that it bleeds, as she continues her anguish cries.

(Y/N)'s sobs are heartbreaking, her grief overwhelming and unceasing. Hera, holding her tightly, tries to soothe her, gently chiding her to stop biting her lips.

"You need to stop, my dear," Hera says softly, wiping some of the tears from (Y/N) cheeks. "You're only hurting yourself more."

Despite her attempts, (Y/N)'s anguish only seems to deepen, drowning herself in her heartache and sorrow.

"I...I lost him!" She cried out, burying her face onto Hera's chest, barely being able to keep herself upright.

Her words, filled with despair and heartache, hit Hera hard. The pain in her voice is palpable.

"Shhh, I know, darling. I know it hurts," Hera whispers, holding her close.

Hera gently runs her fingers through (Y/N)'s hair once more, trying to soothe her, but the tears continue to flow, unstoppable in their intensity.

"Please, help me, I'd do anything to give him back to me" (Y/N) begged, gripping onto Hera's shawl

Her pleas pierces through the air, her desperation and pain palpable. Hera's heart aches as she holds her, feeling her anguish.

"My dear, I wish I could bring him back to you," Hera says, her voice trembling as she fights back her own tears. "But even I cannot reverse the hands of fate once death has claimed a soul."

She tightens her embrace, holding (Y/N) close, offering whatever solace she can.

"I'll do anything, please" She begs, holding her hand, unstable.

"I'll give you anything of mine, please, anything but this, anything but him! I can't lose him, I can't lose him like this" (Y/N) begged hysterically.

(Y/N)'s pleading is heart-wrenching, her desperation driving her to make any bargain, surrender anything to reverse the inevitable.

Hera, with tears in her own eyes, tries to console her. "My dear, your pain is understandable, but there are limits to what even I can do. I cannot bring someone back from the dead."

"Please, anything of mine, anything! Just take it! Anything but this, anything but him" (Y/N) begged, burying her face to her Aunt's shoulder.

Hera's heart heavy as she witnesses the extent of her grief. As (Y/N) begs for any solution, even offering any part of herself in exchange for Telemachus's life, a thought springs to mind.

Hera pulls back gently, looking deep into (Y/N)'s tear-filled eyes.

"(Y/N), my child, listen to me. There...there may be a way."

"Please, I'll do anything." (Y/N) begged, looking at her, pleading.

Hera took a deep breath, her expression a mix of hesitation and hope.

"I cannot promise anything," she warned, her voice almost a whisper. "But there is one possibility. You have both mortal and divine blood in you, a unique combination of both worlds."

Hera paused, her eyes never leaving (Y/N)'s face.

"You could...give up your divinity."

(Y/N) looks at her in shock, as Odysseus watches the exchange.

Odysseus stood watching the exchange, his thoughts swirling with worry and disbelief. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

He silently observed, torn between hope and caution. On one hand, he desperately wanted to see Telemachus alive again, to hold his son in his arms and bring him back to life. But the thought of (Y/N) giving up her divinity, her very nature, filled him with dread.

As he watched, his mind was a whirlwind of emotions, contemplating the implications and consequences of such a sacrifice.

"I will also offer you my protection, and being mortal, you will cut your ties with Olympus and Poseidon himself from being his daughter, do you accept the terms, my dear?" Hera asked, shocking Poseidon

As Hera made her proposal, a gasp escaped Poseidon's lips, his eyes widening in disbelief. The thought of (Y/N) renouncing her divine heritage and severing her connection to him was both unexpected and jarring.

"No...no, you can't do this!" Poseidon spluttered, stepping forward in protest. "You can't take her from me, she's my daughter!"

"Take it" (Y/N) quickly answers, making both the Gods look at her in disbelief

"I'd rather live a single mortal life with him than live an eternity without him, please, Auntie...." (Y/N) begs, looking up at her with tearful, pained eyes.

"Take it" (Y/N) begged with her broken voice.

Poseidon's protests go unheard as (Y/N) accepts the offer. He stands there, stunned, watching as his daughter willingly agrees to relinquish her divinity.

Hera glances at Poseidon, a look of determination in her eyes, before turning back to her. "Are you sure, child?" she asks gently, her voice carrying a heavy weight.

"Divinity is something many sought after, are you willing to trade it away for his life?"

"How could I ever continue living...without him who truly makes me feel divine?" (Y/N) asked with a broken smile.

(Y/N)'s words hang heavily in the air, her emotions on full display. Her pain is palpable, the love she holds for Telemachus consuming her very being.

Hera gently places a hand on her shoulder, her touch a mix of sympathy and understanding. "I know, my dear, but you must be certain. Once this deal is made, it cannot be undone."

Hera looks over at Telemachus's body, lying motionless on the ground, and a pained expression crosses her face.

"I understand, Auntie, I'm only saddened that I'll never get to see you again" (Y/N) admits with a frown.

(Y/N)'s words hit Hera like a dagger to the heart, her frown deepening. She looks down at student, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and pride.

"You are a remarkable young woman," Hera says softly, her voice heavy with emotion. "Your compassion and depth of love are admirable."

Hera gently cups (Y/N)'s cheek, her touch tender. "I shall miss you, dear one," she whispers, her voice thick with sorrow.

"Thank you...for everything." (Y/N) smiled at her, grateful for raising her.

Hera smiles sadly as tears fill her eyes. She's both proud of (Y/N)'s strength and saddened by the loss of her divine heritage.

"It was an honor to watch you grow, my dear," Hera whispers, fighting back her tears. "You are a gift to this world, and I shall always cherish our time together."

She holds (Y/N) close, her embrace filled with bittersweet emotions.

"You have a great heart," Hera adds "and it pains me to see it ache like this. But remember this, My Student, and don't forget."

Hera gently lifts (Y/N) chin, meeting her gaze with a mix of sternness and love. "Even as a mortal, you'll retain lessons learned and traits gained from your divinity. Hold onto your strength, your resilience, and above all, your capacity to love."

She brushes a strand of water hair away from her face, her touch gentle yet firm.

As Hera gazes at (Y/N), memories flood her mind. She sees the little girl she once raised, the one she took under her wing, and the woman she has become.

Hera's eyes well up with tears, and a bittersweet smile plays upon her lips. Her heart aches for the loss of their bond, but she is also filled with pride.

Hera takes a deep breath, steadying herself as she prepares to undertake the process of reviving Telemachus. She closes her eyes, her mind focused and resolute. A soft energy emanates from her fingertips, and her voice takes on a incantatory quality.

"Let the threads of life once more become unbroken. Let Telemachus's path be illuminated by the light of the living."

She holds her hands above Telemachus's corpse, channeling her divine power.

As the process ensues, (Y/N) can feel a subtle change within herself. It's as though the threads of her divinity are unraveling, loosening their hold on her being.

Meanwhile, Telemachus's lifeless body responds to Hera's intervention. Color slowly returns to his cheeks, and a faint pulse can be discerned. The process is gradual, but the resurrection is taking effect.

Odysseus, witnessing the scene, observes the changes taking place. He watches as color returns to Telemachus's cheeks and a pulse appears, a sign of life returning to his son's body.

At the same time, Odysseus's attention is drawn to (Y/N). He notices a subtle change in her demeanor, as if something within her is shifting.

(Y/N) noticed Telemachus's slow return, as she runs to him, desperate to see him alright.

"Telemachus! Please wake up!." She begs, as her hair is slowly going back to normal.

Telemachus's eyes slowly flutter open, his consciousness returning. He feels disoriented and weak, but the sound of (Y/N) voice and her touch ground him.

As his vision clears, Telemachus looks up and sees (Y/N)'s face, filled with worry and relief.

"(Y/N)..?" he whispers, his voice hoarse and frail.

As Telemachus gazes up at (Y/N), confusion and awe wash over him. Her hair, made of water in the form of snakes, dances around her head, a striking and unique sight. Yet, despite the Gorgon-like appearance, Telemachus can only focus on one thing - her captivating beauty.

"You...you look astonishing," Telemachus manages to utter, his voice soft and filled with admiration.

(Y/N) looks at him in shock, as Telemachus continues to describe her mesmerizing beauty.

Telemachus's gaze remains fixed on (Y/N), taking in every detail of her appearance. His eyes trace the curves of her face, the way her hair sways around her head like a crown of serpents.

"Your beauty... it's like nothing I've ever seen," he whispers. "The way your hair moves, like a living river... it's mesmerizing."

He reaches up, gently brushing a strand of her snake-like locks away from her face, his touch filled with reverent wonder.

Telemachus chuckles softly as the water snakes surrounding (Y/N) head react to his touch, nipping at his hand playfully. He watches in fascination as they seem to recognize him, their movements becoming more curious.

"They know me," he observes, a hint of amusement in his voice. "They're... they're quite spirited, aren't they?" Telemachus chuckles, looking at (Y/N) with a mix of amusement and fondness. "It's as if they enjoy my touch."

(Y/N) smiled at him as she shook her head, her hair going back to normal as her divinity completely leaves her, pulling him into a hug.

"Welcome back, my beloved." (Y/N) mutters with a large smile.

Telemachus was taken aback by the sudden change in (Y/N)'s hair, returning to its normal state, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it. As she pulls him into a tight embrace, he melts into her arms, relishing the touch he thought he had lost forever.

Hera watches the scene with a small, knowing smile on her face. She can see the tenderness and love between Telemachus and (Y/N), and she feels a sense of satisfaction for having facilitated this reunion.

She watches as Telemachus and (Y/N) embrace each other, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. It's clear that they were destined for each other, and that their bond is stronger than any divine power.

She steps forward, clearing her throat to draw the couple's attention back to her. She waits until Telemachus and (Y/N) breaks apart, their arms still around each other, before speaking.

"Telemachus," she says, her voice firm but gentle. "You have been given a second chance at life, thanks to (Y/N)'s sacrifice."

"What? What did you sacrifice?" Telemachus asked, checking her, counting her fingers and toes

"Telemachus, I gave up my divinity" Telemachus's mind struggles to process the gravity of her sacrifice, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions.

"You... gave up your divinity... for me?" he repeats, unable to believe it. He gazes at her, his eyes wide and teary, trying to understand the enormity of what she had done. "Why?"

"Because," (Y/N) raised a hand, caressing his cheek, "I would rather die, than grow old without you." She professes, pressing her forehead against his

"Because eternity without you...is torture."

Telemachus's heart melts as (Y/N) speaks, her words cutting deep. He can feel the sincerity and the depth of her love radiating from her every word.

He gently cups her face with his hand, his touch tender and full of longing.

"You're a fool, you know that?" he chuckles softly, his voice full of affection. "Risking everything for me..."

She chuckles, tearing up. "I guess, that makes us fools in love." (Y/N) smiled at him, tears streaming from her eyes.

Telemachus can't help but smile at her words. "Fools in love," he repeats, savoring the sound of it.

He gently wipes away the tears streaming from her eyes, his touch gentle and filled with tenderness.

"Well, if we're fools in love, then I'll be a fool with you," Telemachus murmurs, his voice soft and affectionate. "Until the end of time."

(Y/N) pulls him into a kiss through her tears, holding him tightly.

Telemachus melts into the kiss, his heart overflowing with emotion. He wraps his arms around (Y/N), pulling her close, as if trying to erase all the time they had lost.

Their kiss is filled with longing and desperation, a physical manifestation of the love they share. The world around them fades away, leaving only the two of them in a tight embrace, their mouths locked together as if they can't bear to part.

"Alright, break it up, you two, she's not the only one who was crying over you." Odysseus calls out as (Y/N) pulls away with a smile, letting Odysseus hug his son.

Telemachus breaks apart from (Y/N) with a gentle yet reluctant smile, turning to see his Father, Odysseus, standing nearby.

As Odysseus calls out to him, Telemachus feels a surge of emotions. He can see the relief and love in his Father's eyes, and he knows that his return has not gone unnoticed.

Telemachus rises to his feet, meeting Odysseus's embrace with equal force. They hug, tears streaming down both of their faces.

"Father... I'm... I'm sorry for worrying you," Telemachus whispers, his voice choked with emotion.

Odysseus holds Telemachus tightly, a mix of relief and joy on his face. He can feel the weight of his son's body in his arms, his heartbeat reassuring and real.

"You damned fool," Odysseus mutters affectionately, his voice thick with emotion. "You gave me quite a scare, you know that?"

He pulls away from Telemachus, still keeping a firm grip on his shoulders, and looks into his son's eyes.

Telemachus smiles sheepishly, a hint of guilt on his face. "Yeah, I guess I may have overdone it a bit."

Odysseus shakes his head, chuckling softly. "A bit? You were dead, Telemachus. Dead. Do you have any idea what that did to this old man's heart?"

Telemachus's smile falters a bit, realizing the true gravity of his actions. He looks down, shame coloring his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Father," Telemachus says quietly. "I didn't mean to cause you any pain. I was just... desperate, I suppose."

Odysseus regards Telemachus with a mix of empathy and understanding. He knows all too well what it's like to be driven by desperation and love.

"I understand," Odysseus replies, his grip on Telemachus's shoulders softening. "You were willing to do anything for (Y/N), even if it meant risking your life... I get it."

He paused, a nostalgic glint in his eyes.

"In fact, to be honest, I'd probably do the same for your Mother." Odysseus admits

Telemachus's expression softens, realizing that he and his Father are not so different after all. Despite their differences and their clashes, they share the same capacity to love selflessly, to risk it all for the people they hold dear.

"Maybe we're both fools in love then," Telemachus says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Odysseus sighs, a mixture of resignation and affection. "Maybe we are. But love has a strange way of making fools of us all."

He pats Telemachus on the back. "Just try not to do anything that stupid again, will you?"

(Y/N) watched with a smile as the father and son converse, and turns her head back to Hera with a large smile.

"Thank you, Auntie"

Hera looks at (Y/N) with fondness, her gaze lingering on the young woman who was like a daughter to her.

"You're welcome, dear one," Hera replies with a gentle smile.

She reaches out and places a hand on (Y/N) shoulder, their connection evident in the warmth of her touch.

"You know, I never expected to see you sacrifice your divinity for anyone," Hera chuckles light-heartedly

"I have no other use for it other than to see you." (Y/N) smiles at her, before frowning, looking at the Goddess sadly.

"Will I...see you again?" She asked with a hopeful smile.

Hera's expression softens as (Y/N)'s question hangs in the air. She gazes at her with a mixture of fondness and melancholy.

"I wish I could promise you that we'll meet again," Hera says, her voice heavy with a sense of finality. "But the truth is, I cannot. You no longer have divinity running through you, and that puts us on different planes. It means that our paths will diverge, and the chances of us ever meeting again are slim, if not impossible."

(Y/N)'s heart sinks at Hera's words, a sense of loss and sadness washing over her. She had hoped for more time, more moments with the Goddess who had once been like a mother to her.

"I see..." She mutters with a frown, looking down on the ground, before looking up at her again with a sad smile.

"I guess...in another lifetime will do, Auntie?" She asked sadly, tilting her head.

Hera's expression softens, her heart heavy with the weight of (Y/N)'s words. She reaches out and places a gentle hand on her cheek, her touch tender and comforting.

"Yes, my dear. In another lifetime, perhaps. In another lifetime we'll meet again and may your path be a kind one this time."

She smiles bittersweetly, her gaze holding a hint of sadness and hope. "Until then, cherish every moment you have with Telemachus."

She leans onto her hand, smiling "Thank you, for everything, once more." (Y/N) mutters gratefully, before hugging her tightly.

Hera smiles warmly at her, her heart full of affection for the young woman who had grown into a force to be reckoned with as she hugs her back, running her hand through the young woman's hair.

"You're most welcome," Hera says softly. "And remember, even though we may be on different paths now, I will always be proud of you. You've become the kind of woman I always knew you would be."

(Y/N) smiled at Hera, before catching Poseidon's eye, bringing a frown on her lips, who is still slumped onto the ground.

Poseidon looks at (Y/N) with a mixture of anger and hurt in his eyes. He can't believe that she had chosen a mortal over him, a god.

"You chose him," he mutters with a sneer, his voice laced with venom. "A mortal."

"Better than you, a selfish god." (Y/N) answered, frowning at him.

"One who I can never call my Father."

Poseidon's face contorts with anger, his eyes darkening at (Y/N)'s words.

"How dare you," he fumes, his voice booming across the room. "I am a god, the God of the Seas, and you dare to compare me to a mere mortal? You ungrateful child!"

"Ungrateful?" She retorted, her voice filled with anger.

"You're the one who never gave me never gave me anything, I was all alone, even as a child, you never saw me or cared for me, heck you didn't even know my name, The one who found me nearly dying of starvation at the ripe age of 3 was Auntie Hera, but you, still didn't care, and now that I've found my happiness, you intended to destroy it?." (Y/N) sighs, shaking her head.

"Fine, if that makes me ungrateful, then so be it." (Y/N) pulls out her arm bracelet, throwing it to Poseidon.

"This is yours, I don't want anything of yours in my new life."

He catches the bracelet that she throws at him, gripping it tightly in his fist.

Poseidon glares at (Y/N), his expression a mask of anger and bitterness. He feels stung by her words, but also guilty, knowing deep down that she's right.

"You were nothing but a burden to me," Poseidon seethes, his voice filled with venom.

"Then let me be your burden, and forget about me." (Y/N) didn't even bother turning around to face him, as she walked back to Telemachus and Odysseus, Hera gave him a warning glare, before following her.

Poseidon's eyes blaze with fury, a mix of anger and hurt that he can't quite admit. He feels her defiance in his bones, and he can sense the love that she has for Telemachus.

But despite his anger, he knows that he has lost her. He had never treated her as a daughter, and now she had chosen Telemachus over him.

But he can't bring himself to admit his past faults, and instead, he grits his teeth, glaring defiantly at her back as she walks away.

All he could is clench the bracelet tightly in his hand, a memory of another woman flashing through his mind.

As (Y/N) approached Telemachus and Odysseus, she grew nervous looking at the older man. "Sir, I'm so sorry about-"

before she could even say anything, Odysseus pulled her into a hug.

Odysseus wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. He holds her for a moment, his eyes soft and weary.

"Don't apologize," he replies, his voice gruff but gentle. "You've done nothing wrong."

He pulls back and looks at her, a small smile on his face.

"I can see how much you care for my son," he says quietly, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and concern.

(Y/N) hugged him back, "But...I got him killed"

Odysseus sighs, his grip on her tightening slightly.

"Yes, you did," he replies bluntly, his voice firm but softened by a hint of understanding. "But you also saved him. You gave up everything for him."

He pauses, his expression turning thoughtful.

"I have to admit," he admits, looking at her with a small frown. "I had my doubts about you at first."

"I thought you might just be toying with my son's feelings, or using him for your own gain," he continues, his voice tinged with a hint of protective fatherly concern.

"But seeing the lengths you've gone to for him... I can see that you truly love him."

He gently cups her chin, looking into her eyes with a mixture of approval and wariness.

"Just promise me one thing," he implores, his voice serious.

"Treat him right. Don't break his heart."

"I won't, I promise, Sir." (Y/N) tells him seriously.

Odysseus gazes into her eyes, searching for any hint of dishonesty. But he sees nothing but sincerity and love. His expression softens, and he relaxes his grip on her.

"Good," he says gruffly, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction and acceptance. "You better keep that promise, young lady."

Odysseus looks at (Y/N), a warm smile on his face. He can see the love and affection in her eyes as she gazes up at him.

"You know, you don't have to keep calling me 'sir,'" he says gently. "You can call me Father if you'd like."

(Y/N) looks at him in shock, tearing up, before blinking away the tears with a large smile.

"Alright, Father."

Odysseus smiles fondly at (Y/N), his heart swelling with affection for her.

"There's no need for tears, my dear," he says gently, reaching out to pat her on the head. "You're part of the family now."

"Ehem." Hera coughs to let her presence be known

Odysseus and Telemachus quickly kneel before Hera, paying their respects to the Queen of the Gods.

"My Lady Hera," Odysseus greets her with reverence, his head bowed.

"Your Highness," Telemachus echoes, his voice filled with awe in the presence of the divine.

Hera chuckles at their display of respect, amused by their formality.

"Rise, rise," she tells them, her voice warm and amused. "You make me sound like a tyrant, no need for kneeling."

Hera glances at Telemachus, her expression gentle. "Take care of her, Telemachus. She has given up a significant part of herself for you."

Telemachus looks at Hera, a determined expression on his face.

"I will, Your Highness," he replies, his voice filled with conviction. "I will take care of her, and cherish her for the rest of our lives."

Hera nods, satisfied by Telemachus's answer. She can see the determination in his eyes, and she can feel the sincerity in his words. She knows that he truly cares for (Y/N), and that he will do everything in his power to keep her safe and make her happy.

She glances at the two of them again, her smile turning a bit sly. “And don’t keep me waiting too long for grandchildren.”

"Auntie!" (Y/N) exclaims, blushes deeply.

Telemachus's face goes beet red as he glances at his Father, who bursts out laughing.

"It seems the Queen has spoken," Odysseus says, still chuckling. "You had better get busy, Telemachus."

"I forgot, you've been busy." Odysseus corrects, as the two blushes harder

Hera chuckles, finding great amusement in the young couple's shyness.

"Oh, come now," she teases, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "You've been through much together, and yet you still get flustered at the mere mention of grandchildren. It's adorable, really."

Hera chuckles at (Y/N)'s embarrassment, enjoying the young woman's reaction.

"Oh, don't be shy, my dear," she teases. "You two make such a lovely couple, I can't help but look forward to seeing what kind of little ones you'll produce someday."

"Auntie, please," (Y/N) protests weakly, her face still burning red.

Telemachus manages to regain his composure, though his cheeks are still tinted pink. "We'll...keep that in mind, Your Highness," he says, his voice a bit shaky.

Odysseus pats his son on the back, grinning widely. "Don't worry, Telemachus, it's perfectly natural to be a bit flustered when it comes to these things."

He chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. "You'll get used to it in time."

Hera laughs at them, before looking fondly at Telemachus.

"Take good care of her for me, Young Prince."

Telemachus nods, his expression solemn and determined.

"I will, Your Highness," he says firmly. "I promise you that I will take care of her and make her happy, for as long as we both shall live."

Hera's lips curve into a small smile as she watches the scene unfold. Seeing Telemachus and (Y/N) finally together, with Odysseus by their side, warms her heart.

"Hermes," she says, her voice firm and clear. "Take them home, won't you?"

Hermes, the fleet-footed god of messengers and boundaries, nods at Hera's command.

"Of course, milady," he replies, his voice as swift as his wings.

He turns to Telemachus, (Y/N), and Odysseus, a sly grin on his face. "You three ready for a little ride?"

"Cousin!?" (Y/N) exclaims in shock, he was watching them the whole time.

Hermes chuckles at Egeria's surprise. He grins at her and shrugs.

"You didn't think I'd miss all that drama, did you?" he teases her. "Of course I was watching."

"That's right, little cousin," he says with a wink. "I couldn't help but keep an eye on you and your man here."

He looks at Telemachus, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "And you, Telemachus, you're a lucky fellow to have snagged this one."

Telemachus couldn't help but chuckle at the God's words.

He puts his arm around (Y/N)'s waist, pulling her closer to him. "I'm very lucky," he says, looking lovingly at her. "And I have no intention of ever letting her go."

(Y/N)'s blushes heavily, a sheepish smile on her lips.

Hermes grins at (Y/N)'s blushing expression, finding her reaction amusing and endearing. He chuckles to himself before speaking again.

"Ah, young love," he sighs dramatically. "It's a beautiful thing, isn't it?"

He looks at Telemachus and (Y/N) with a cheeky grin. "You two are too sweet. I might just get a toothache from the amount of sugar you're giving off."

"Isn't that right, Old Friend?" Hermes turned to Odysseus

Odysseus chuckled at Hermes' question. He knew the messenger god too well to be offended by his playful tease.

"You're one to talk, Hermes," he retorted with a grin. "Last I heard, you had more than a few admirers of your own."

"But not as sweet as this one, It's making me a bit jealous" Hermes sighs

"But what do you know? You have your Penelope anyway"

Odysseus smiles fondly at the mention of his wife. "Yes, I do have Penelope," he says, his voice filled with love and affection. "She is the light of my life."

He glances at Telemachus and (Y/N), his eyes filled with a mixture of happiness and fatherly pride. "But our Telemachus deserves his own love and happiness as well. I couldn't be happier for him."

"Yeah, yeah, spare me the lovey dovey, time to finally get you all home, especially you, Old Friend" Hermes taps Odysseus's nose

Odysseus chuckles at Hermes' affectionate pat, amused by his friend's playful banter.

"Yes, I am more than ready to go home. I've been away far enough and for too long."

Hermes grins widely, his wings flapping in anticipation.

"Then let's not waste any more time," he says, his voice eager and excited. "Hang on tight, everyone. This is going to be a quick ride!"

He wraps his arms around Telemachus, (Y/N), and Odysseus, holding them close. Then, with a swift and sudden movement, he takes off into the air, soaring towards Odysseus's kingdom.

Hera watches them take off with a fond smile, happy that her dear student had found her happiness.

"Why did you help them?" Until a gruff voice ruins the moment

Hera turns to Poseidon, her expression hardening at the sight of him.

"Why does anyone do anything, Poseidon?" she replies coolly. "Compassion, kindness, a desire to see two people who care deeply for one another reunited. Is that so hard for you to comprehend?"

Poseidon glowers at her, his anger barely contained.

"Compassion? Kindness? Don't make me laugh, Hera," he spits out. "You know very well the trouble that girl caused me. And now you're just letting her and Telemachus prance away happily ever after? It's enough to make a god sick."

Hera turns towards him, frowning at him.

"Did you not notice anything when she was losing control on you earlier?" Hera asked, looking blankly at him

Poseidon's expression flickers with a hint of confusion, but he quickly hides it.

"What are you implying, Hera?" he grumbles, his suspicion clear in his voice.

"She had control over everything you had dominion over, while you didn't." Hera points out

Poseidon's face twists into a scowl at Hera's words. He knows she's right, but he's too stubborn to admit it outright.

"What's your point, Hera?" he growls, his irritation growing. "Are you trying to say she's more powerful than me or something?"

"No, she's not more powerful than you, you lost your dominion over the seas, storms, and earthquakes at her moment of grief." Hera reveals, shocking Poseidon.

"Oh, I'm so proud, she's my student after all." Hera praises herself

Poseidon is stunned into silence for a moment, his mind racing with the implications of what Hera has just told him.

"I...lost control?" he finally manages to sputter out, disbelief and anger mingling in his voice. "How is that even possible? I am Poseidon, the god of the seas and all the power they hold! How could a mortal have taken that away from me, even temporarily?"

"Because, she's your daughter." Hera reminded him, as she walked past him.

"And I know that girl like the back of my hand, with that intense of a grief, it would have been trouble for all of us." Hera sighs, shaking her head.

Poseidon's expression darkens even further at Hera's words. He already knew that Egeria was his daughter, but hearing it said aloud by Hera still stung.

"So you protected her from me because she's your student, huh?" he snarls, his resentment and anger bubbling to the surface. "And because she has the potential to be a threat to everyone, including me?"

"No, not really, I only expected her to be a demi god, with her kind and peaceful nature, only wanting to live for herself, but you just have to push her to the brink of destruction, that's why I had to step in, to remove her divinity and bring back your dominion to you." Hera explains, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You should be thanking me, really."

Poseidon scoffs at Hera's words. He's still angry, but a part of him knows that she's right.

"Thanking you?" he huffs. "Why should I thank you when you only intervened because you were afraid of what my daughter might become?"

"She had the power to destroy the world, Poseidon, that's why." Hera points out with a serious frown

Poseidon's expression darkens even further as he processes Hera's words. The thought of (Y/N)'s power being strong enough to destroy the world is both awe-inspiring and terrifying. He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"Fine. I'll admit that you had a good reason to intervene. But that doesn't make me feel any better about the situation."

"Then I'll just see myself out while you lick your wounds, and do clean up after yourself, we wouldn't want another case the same of my student once more." Hera orders before leaving with a purple mist.

Poseidon watches her leave, a mix of anger and guilt swirling within him. He knows that he played a part in (Y/N)'s grief, but it's a tough pill for him to swallow.

He lets out a deep sigh, his mind filled with conflicting emotions. He can't shake the feeling that he's lost something important, something valuable, and it's not just his broken trident.

[captainsamuelmorrigan]

Poolverine NSFW [mentions & talking about sex acts]

Logan isn't exactly 'secretive' about his sex life. He just thinks everyone is a little too blasé about revealing details about their private life. Call him old-fashioned, but he is perfectly happy to keep his experiences between him and his lovers.

Of course, Wade has to poke the bear, or rather, the Wolverine. He's desperate to know what over 200 years of trudging through the world as a hunka-hunka burning love produces in the bumping uglies department. What kind of kinky shenanigans could a mutant Edward Scissorhands get up to? And that healing factor? That meant all-nighters to him.

"Peanut, have you ever heard of 'pegging?'" Wade leans over the couch, encroaching Logan's personal space in a way that would be concerning if Althea hadn't made a rule about drawing blood in the tiny apartment.

Logan nods, not looking up from his book. "Yeah."

Wade fist pumps. "Someone in some universe owes someone five bucks for that one. Hell yeah, feminist king. Have you ever tried it?"

"Why do you care?" He licks his finger before turning to the next page.

"I'm curious like a cat, Wolvie-bear. Except satisfaction has nothing to do with me coming back. Who was the lucky girl?"

"I'm going to stop talking now. I suggest you do too." Logan remarks with a flash of his middle claw.

Several days pass before Wade brings up something like that again. Waltzing into Logan's room, an interdimensional add-on that was part of the perks from the TVA.

"So, Babygirl, do you pitch or catch?" Wade mimes the baseball gestures. "Are you more of a gun or a holster? Gifted or receiver? One or a zer-"

"Depends on the person."

"Ooooh~, look at you using gender-neutral language. What makes you decide?"

Logan closes his laptop with a sigh. "Bub, listen, I really don't talk about this stuff with people I'm not sleeping with. It's nothing personal, I just really prefer not to get a reputation."

"So if I blow you, I can ask about the past of the X Mansion pass around party bottom? Deal." Wade starts in on Logan dramatically.

"I'm not that easy, Bub. We may have had some moments in the car, but I'm not a cheap date. You haven't even told me about your past."

"I've joked about Scout Master Kevin many times!" Wade flops onto the bed, jostling Logan a bit.

"That shit doesn't count, and you know it. You haven't mentioned anything to me that wasn't horribly traumatic. I'm starting to think you don't even like sex." He teases lightly.

Wade shouts. "How dare you! Vanessa and I had a great sex life." He drives his pointer finger into Logan's chest.

Logan bats it away, rolling his eyes. "I never hear about it."

"Well, that's..."

He looks at Wade, meeting his eyes. "Bub, I'm perfectly happy to talk about this kind of thing, but I need you to start taking it seriously. I'm not entirely sure you have taken anything seriously, but I'd like to know what you're into in a way that isn't you joking about mortal wounds giving you a stiffy."

"That one is only half a joke." Wade mumbles, smiling nervously at him.

"After the Honda, I know, Bub."

They begin to have more serious conversations over the next few weeks. Wade opens up about some of the things he's done, with Vanessa, past girls, and even a few guys. It takes a while of Wade being vulnerable, for real this time, but eventually, he starts to get some information out of the Wolverine.

Wade sidles up to Logan on the couch. "Okay, so, who introduced you to pegging? I have to know? I told you about Vanessa wanting to try it out." He waits with baited breath, hoping he's done enough to earn Logan's trust on this.

Logan raises an eyebrow. "Clarification, are we talking strictly about a cis woman using a prosthetic, or are we including trans women using their own?"

"Great question, let's say the store-bought kind."

"I think I heard about it from a couple of bra-burning girls in the 70s? Tried it out with one of them, probably around 78'. It was pretty okay. I think it got a lot better around the early aughts."

"And Jean?"

"Oh, you wanted specifics? Not there yet, Bub." He pats Wade's leg before getting up to go to the kitchen. His hips swinging just a bit more to add a sassy emphasis.

"Logie-bear! Wolvie! Peanut! C'moooonn!! I've been a good boy!" He begs.

Wade begins to plan date nights. Logan said he wasn't a cheap date, so Wade's going to make sure he feels respected. Wade even breaks out the second-cheapest wine from the nearest liquor store. The good stuff. He makes a full meal twice a week. He even brings home some yellow roses for Logan.

One night, over dressed-up ramen, Logan looks at Wade with something hungry in his eyes.

"Jean used to peg me while Scott watched. It was a whole thing."

"You're fucking kidding."

"Nah, I'd take it, then he'd take it from both of us. Plus, with Jean's powers..." He whistles. "We'd all feel what the others were feeling. It was some of the best sex I've ever had."

Wade barks out a laugh, shaking his head. "Are the rumors true? Were you really doing everyone on the team?"

Logan smirks. "Well, there were teenagers on the team, so obviously not everyone, but it was a pretty good possibility if they liked men."

Wade squeals like a teenage girl, lightly kicking his feet before leaning in closer. "And what about Ororo? That must've been crazy."

Logan shrugged. "She didn't like having her private life gossiped about, so we're gonna skip that one, Bub."

Wade nods. "Kurt? Hank? Anyone else?"

Logan thinks for a moment. "Kurt was a bit young for me. Hank was a little stuck up, but if we both had a few drinks in us, he was likely to want some action. They all..." He pauses, that deep frown that furrowed his fuzzy brow taking over his expression, something internally catching his attention. "Well, y'know."

Wade's shoulders sag as the weight of the loss that this Logan had suffered pulled at him. "Oh man, Logan, I'm so sorry."

Logan shakes his head, getting up to go to the kitchen and grabbing a beer, ending that conversation. He stays quiet, with that far away look in his eye. He goes to bed early. Wade worries late into the night. If he still had hair, he swears most of it would've been pulled out by morning.

The next day, Wade makes breakfast. Plenty of greasy sausage, just like they both liked it. Eggs were placed in such a way that the sausage smiled up at a groggy Wolverine. "Morning Sunshine, the Earth says, 'Hello!'"

Logan hums in acknowledgment.

"I was thinking about our conversation from last night." Wade worries the hem on his 'Suck the Chef' apron between his fingers. "I... I'm sorry if I brought up anything too painful. Really, I am. We don't have to talk about your sex life anymore if you don't want to."

"That wasn't your fault." Logan puts his silverware down, wiping his mouth before looking up at Wade. "I wanted to tell you."

"You said you didn't usually talk about your sex life to people you weren't bumpin-"

"If you call it 'bumping uglies' one more time, I'm going to break Althea's 'no blood' rule, I swear to God." He flashes his slowly protruding claws at Wade.

"Noted. My point is, we're not doing anything physical, though. You said you only talked about that with people you were physical with."

Logan shrugs. "I was planning on being physical with you. I just got cold feet when I realized that would've been the first time with someone I cared about since the X-Men."

Wade slides into the chair next to Logan. "Peanut... yeah, that totally makes sense. Besides some really poor choices, you would've been my first since Vanessa."

Logan sighs. "A breakup ain't the same as dyin, Bub."

"No, not at all. I'm just saying that that was still a raw spot for me. You waited until I was ready to talk about it, and you were patient. Even though you've got the most rockin' bod I've ever seen, I'm not trying to jump your bones if you're not into it too, Wolvie. We could just be roommates forever, and that's fine." He puts his hand on Logan's shoulder.

Logan huffs out a laugh. "I'm certainly not saying never. I've got needs, Mouth."

Wade pulls his apron off his lap a bit to hide his rapidly growing erection. He squeaks out a "That's fine too," before fist pumping once again. "Also, calling me 'Mouth?' You're gonna have to do that again once sexy things have started."

Logan laughs. "It's a date."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I feel like the Ghost Marriage event shouldn't have happened. I mean, it's a little sus that this dead chick was proposing to a bunch of TEENAGERS in the first place, but not only that, but she was a royal, and as I understand only a few of the students at NIght Raven were of noble/royal decent.

Personally, I don't think there's a huge issue here?? Depiction of something doesn't automatically mean endorsement or condonment of it. Ghost Marriage clearly depicts Eliza wanting to quickly get hitched to one of the NRC students as a patently bad thing; it is in no way promoting what she's trying to do. (Small correction though: she's not proposing to anyone, Eliza is just outright kidnapping the one she deems to be her ideal groom; it is the other NRC students who are proposing to her in an effort to rescue Idia.) The mere existence of Ghost Marriage is NOT Twst saying, "Hey, it's okay for minors to marry adults and this is what we should be doing!" That's like claiming that Sebek being depicted as racist or Epel believing in gender norms is promoting racism or gender norms. If you look at the context surrounding these situations, you'll quickly realize that these depictions are, in fact, NOT promotions. Sebek, Epel, and Eliza are constantly told their viewpoints are wrong or clowned on for expositing their beliefs.

When it comes to age, the devs kept Eliza's pretty ambiguous. Just because she is dead doesn't mean she's like 80+ years old. They never put a number to it, but they allude that she "died young", but she isn't exactly a child since her attendants speak of her childhood like it's a thing of the past (ie "[...] ever since you were a little girl"). Judging by her immaturity and even her looks, you could honestly argue that Eliza is roughly the same age as the NRC students or is at least a fellow teenager herself. (Furthermore, in the original Japanese text, Eliza promises to visit the school again with a baby; this was scrubbed from EN--why? Maybe because they didn't want to imply a young woman close to the boys' age getting pregnant so soon.) Whoever she marries wouldn't be left alive; her kiss will literally kill them, also rendering them a ghost too. As a married couple, both Eliza and her groom would be dead; it would not be a situation where one is dead and the other is left alive. I don't find it problematic that students potentially younger/older than her proposed because the intention was never to go through with the marriage, it's to trick her so she puts on a magical ring that will dispel her from the world of the living. Again, CONTEXT MATTERS. No one here is actually seriously wanting this legally binding marriage except Eliza herself. Idia (the intended groom) is 18, so he could marry if he wanted to. It might be weird if Eliza was younger than him, but I think that even if that's the case, it's fine because she's supposed to be viewed as immature and unrealistic about love. Eliza is MEANT to be seen as a little cuckoo, not an example to live up to (literally ALL the other characters, including Idia, see her as unhinged); the writing in this event isn't trying to tell you that you should aspire to be like Eliza. On the contrary, you shouldn't be like her, and Ace even calls her out for this at the end of the event. I would take issue with Ghost Marriage if it had done the opposite and tried to promote her behavior as "good" or "desirable" when it very obviously is not.

I don't think the typical rules for nobility and their marriages apply in this case. Eliza is dead and technically has no country, wealth, or anything to her name. She is chained to this mortal coil because of her unfulfilled desire to marry the perfect prince--so that's the desire she seeks to fulfill. Her retainers help her because they lament that she was not able to achieve her dream when she was still alive and they feel guilty for not being able to help her flee before their kingdom was brought to ruin. Eliza doesn't have to heavily vet lineages or even necessarily marry another royal. That kind of stuff is only really important if you have countries to rule over, assets that could be impacted, politics that could shift. You know, actual things at stake that are dependent on who she marries. But Eliza currently has nothing but her own desire fueling her, so nothing is riding on who she marries. She's just driven by her own selfish longing to find her perfect prince because... oh yeah, everyone in her country is already dead and this is literally all she has to "live" for left 💀 (though if we really wanted to get technical, Idia may not be nobility but he’s still pretty rich and influential; he’s close to being a noble without the actual title attached to it.)

[abugsomewhere]

I love all the Sonadow shipping…

Because it’s always doomed. General Sonadow and Lansoni, both are doomed.

For general Sonadow, it’s implied in a few different ways that Shadow is functionally immortal/partially immortal, but Sonic is absolutely mortal… so in the end, Shadow will be left alone.

For Lansoni, well, that’s literally not Sonic’s world. Whether you believe the events of satbk are set in the past or in a myth, Sonic doesn’t belong there and can’t stay. So they’ll have to part ways eventually.

Either way, they are fucked. WHY CAN’T WE EVER HAVE A NORMAL QUEER SHIP, GUYS…

[doritochoi]

pairing: king elf choi san X human!reader

genre: fantasy, smut, slow burn, dark romance, supernatural, royalty, forbidden desire

word count: 11,6k (42 minutes)

warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, blood and injury, dark themes (including fear and death), morally gray characters, power imbalances, explicit language, eventual explicit content (smut), themes of captivity, slow trust-building, mentions of magic and curses, and emotionally intense scenes.

A/n: Hey everyone! I’m so sorry it’s been such a long time since I last posted—I’ve been swamped with school and barely had time to write anything. Recently, I rewatched The Lord of the Rings, and it completely inspired me to create a story with a similar vibe. I hope you’ll love this twisty, magical world as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think! 💗

Your village sat on the edge of a dark forest, a place where sunlight rarely touched the ground. It was a simple life, full of chores and quiet days. People often told stories of the forest—how it was sacred, forbidden, alive in ways no one could explain. But you never believed those stories. To you, they were just warnings to scare children, until the night the creatures came. They arrived without sound, like shadows in the dark. Their glowing eyes and twisted forms were unlike anything you had ever seen. They destroyed homes, set fires, and dragged people screaming into the night. Your family begged you to run, to leave them behind and save yourself. You didn’t want to go. But when you saw one of the creatures tear through your neighbor’s door, you had no choice.

So you ran

The hills stretched endlessly before you, but you could feel it—their eyes on you. One of them was still following, its growl echoing in the distance. When you reached the edge of the forest, you stopped. The trees were massive, their trunks twisted and ancient. The stories of the elders whispered in your mind: “The Forest of Luthënar is no place for mortals. Those who enter are never seen again.” But the growl behind you grew louder, and you knew there was no other way. You stepped into the forest.

The air changed immediately. It was heavy, damp, and strangely silent. The only sound was the crunch of leaves beneath your feet as you pushed deeper into the woods. You could hear the creature behind you, crashing through the trees, and your heart pounded. The forest didn’t seem to want you there. Roots twisted up from the ground, trying to trip you. Branches reached out like claws. You dodged them as best you could, but you were already so tired. When you glanced back, the creature’s glowing eyes locked on yours. It was fast—too fast. You tried to push yourself harder, but the forest was too wild. Your foot caught on a thick root, and you fell. Pain exploded in your head as you hit the ground. The last thing you saw before everything went dark was the forest above you, the trees twisting together like they were closing in.

When you opened your eyes, it wasn’t the forest floor beneath you. You were lying on something soft, like a bed, and warm light streamed through the air. Slowly, you sat up, wincing at the ache in your body. The room around you was unlike anything you’d ever seen. The walls seemed to be made of living wood, with golden light shining through cracks in the branches. The carvings on the ceiling looked ancient and beautiful, full of strange symbols and patterns. You looked down at yourself. Your old, dirt-stained clothes were gone, replaced with a soft tunic. Before you could wonder what had happened, a voice cut through the silence. "She's awake". You turned your head to see a man standing by the door. He wore silver armor that gleamed in the light, and his sharp features were cold and unreadable.“Bring her to the king,” he said. Two other guards stepped forward, their expressions as blank as stone. They helped you to your feet, ignoring your protests, and led you out of the room. The halls were like a maze, carved from the trees themselves. The air was thick with magic, and the light seemed to shift and shimmer. But you didn’t have long to look before you were brought to a massive room. At its center was a throne made of twisting branches and silver, and sitting on it was the most striking figure you’d ever seen. Choi San, the king of this strange, hidden realm. His hair was short and dark red, a deep color that reminded you of embers. It framed his sharp features perfectly, his piercing eyes watching your every move. He was dressed in robes of dark green and black, lined with silver thread that shimmered as he moved. San sat with one leg crossed over the other, his posture relaxed but his presence overwhelming. He studied you carefully, his gaze moving from your face to your hands, as if searching for something. The longer he looked, the smaller you felt. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice low and cold. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “I… I didn’t mean to come here,” you said, your voice shaking. His gaze didn’t waver. “And yet, here you are.”, “I was being chased,” you said quickly. “By something… I didn’t know where else to go.” San tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t mean to—” ,“Silence,” he said sharply, and you froze. He rose from his throne, the movement so smooth it seemed unnatural. As he stepped closer, the light caught the silver embroidery on his robes, making it seem like he was glowing. “You entered the Forest of Luthënar, knowing nothing of its laws or its dangers,” he said, his voice calm but dangerous. “Do you have any idea what this place is?”. You shook your head, trembling. “This is no place for mortals,” he said, his eyes locked on yours. “And yet… you’ve survived.” For a moment, he stood there, his expression unreadable. Then, without looking away from you, he spoke to the guards. “Take her to the dungeons,” he ordered.

The days in the dungeons bled into weeks. Weeks into months. Time became a haze of cold stone, fleeting dreams, and the weight of unspoken words. The guards came and went, wordless as always, their presence a fleeting shadow. Yet, despite the monotony, there was a shift in the air—a tension that hadn’t been there before. You noticed it in San’s visits. At first, he had come to question you, his cold eyes cutting through you as he demanded answers you couldn’t give. Over time, those visits grew less frequent. But when he did appear, something in his gaze lingered too long. His sharp features—too perfect to be mortal—softened ever so slightly, as though he were searching for something he could not name. You had long since stopped trying to understand him. Yet, even in the dim silence of the dungeons, you felt his presence looming, like the whisper of a storm on the horizon. That night, you were jolted awake by the sound of iron scraping against stone. The cell door swung open, and two guards stepped inside, their expressions as impassive as ever. “Up,” one of them barked. You blinked, groggy and disoriented. “What’s happening?” The guards didn’t answer. They seized your arms with unyielding force, pulling you to your feet. You struggled, fear clawing at your chest. “Where are you taking me?”, “Silence,” the other guard snapped. You had no choice but to comply as they dragged you through the winding corridors. The forest palace was silent, the usual hum of its magic muted as though it, too, were holding its breath. When they threw open the doors to the great hall, the sight before you stole the air from your lungs.

The room was vast, its walls carved from living trees that stretched impossibly high, their branches intertwining to form a ceiling of shimmering leaves. Light cascaded down in ethereal beams, casting the hall in a golden-green glow that felt both warm and foreboding. Intricate carvings adorned every surface—scenes of battles, feasts, and stories long forgotten by mortals. And at the center of it all, on a throne of twisting silver and ebony, sat him.

Choi San.

The Elven King.

His presence commanded the room, even as he sat in stillness. His dark red hair, like the embers of a dying fire, caught the light in a way that seemed otherworldly. His robes, deep green lined with silver, draped elegantly over his lean frame, accentuating the sharp angles of his face. He looked as though he had been sculpted by the gods themselves—beautiful, cold, and untouchable. Yet, his expression was far from serene. His jaw was tight, his piercing eyes fixed on you as though you were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. At his side was a long table, its surface littered with scrolls, maps, and what looked like an ancient goblet. The guards shoved you forward, and you stumbled, landing on the cold stone floor before the throne. You winced, the impact jarring your knees, but you barely had time to register the pain before something clattered onto the ground in front of you.

Your medallion.

The delicate chain glinted in the soft light, and the pendant, a green, pearlescent leaf. For a moment, you simply stared at it, your heart thudding in your chest. San rose from his throne with the grace of a predator. Every movement was calculated, his robes shifting like water around him. He descended the steps slowly, each step reverberating in the silence until he stood over you. “Where did you get this?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. You looked up at him, confusion and fear warring within you. “It—it’s mine.”

“Do not lie to me.” His tone was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. “This medallion… it does not belong to you.” Your brows furrowed. “I’m not lying. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.” He crouched before you, his piercing eyes boring into yours. “You expect me to believe that a mere mortal stumbled into my realm, wearing this?”His fingers brushed the medallion, and you flinched at the sudden intensity in his gaze. He wasn’t just angry, he was shaken.“I don’t understand,” you whispered. “What does it mean to you?”San straightened, his expression unreadable. “This medallion,” he said slowly, “belonged to my queen.”His words struck you like a thunderclap. You stared at him, your mind reeling. “Your… queen?”San turned away, his posture rigid. “She is gone,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something you couldn’t place—pain, perhaps, or anger. “No one but her could have possessed this medallion.”

“I swear,” you said quickly, your voice trembling. “I don’t know how I got it. I’ve had it since I was a child. My family said it’s always been mine.”He turned back to you, his expression unreadable. “You expect me to believe that this—this artifact—found its way to a mortal child by chance?”

“I don’t know!” you cried. “I’ve never understood what it was. It’s just… always been there.”His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he would lash out. Instead, he moved to the table beside his throne. With a sudden sweep of his arm, he sent everything on it crashing to the floor—scrolls, goblets, and maps scattering across the stone. The sound was deafening, echoing through the hall like a storm breaking.The guards shifted uncomfortably, but San ignored them. He leaned heavily on the table, his head bowed as though trying to gather his thoughts.When he finally spoke, his voice was low and strained. “My queen,” he said, almost to himself, “was the only one who could wear this. It was bound to her.” You swallowed hard, unable to look away from him. “I don’t know why I have it,” you said softly. “I just… I’ve always had it.” San’s gaze snapped back to you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something in his eyes—recognition, perhaps, or even fear. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the cold, unyielding mask he wore so well.“Take her back to the dungeons,” he ordered, his voice like ice. The guards moved to seize you, but you resisted, desperation bubbling to the surface. “Wait! Please, you have to believe me—”

“Enough!” San’s voice thundered, the power behind it shaking the very air. “Take her.” The guards dragged you away, your protests falling on deaf ears. As the doors to the great hall slammed shut behind you, you couldn’t shake the image of San’s face—the way he had looked at you, as though you were a ghost from his past.

A few years ago

The medallion had always been there, as much a part of you as the blood in your veins. From the moment you drew your first breath, it had hung around your neck—a delicate green leaf with a pearlescent glow, suspended from a fine silver chain. No one had ever told you where it came from. No stories, no whispered truths. Just silence.

Because the truth was, no one knew.

You had no parents. At least, not the ones who gave you life.

The family who raised you—the kind, hardworking couple who had taken you in—had always been honest about that. They told you how they’d found you on a stormy night, abandoned on the edge of a cliff overlooking the restless sea. You were swaddled in soft, unfamiliar fabrics, cradled in a small wicker basket that was damp from the rain. The medallion was clasped around your tiny neck, its glow faint but unyielding, as if it were alive. It had been your father, a woodsman by trade, who had spotted you. He was out hunting for game when he heard your cries, faint and fragile against the roar of the wind. At first, he thought it was the wail of some forest creature, perhaps an injured fawn or a lost bird. But as he approached the cliff’s edge, he saw the basket. His heart stopped. “What kind of monster would leave a child out here?” he had whispered, his voice shaking. The storm had been unforgiving that night. Rain lashed at the rocky cliffs, and the sea churned below, its waves crashing with a violence that seemed determined to swallow the earth whole. If he had arrived even moments later, the wind might have swept the basket into the abyss. Your mother had wept when he brought you home. “She’s so beautiful,” she had said, her voice thick with emotion as she gently cradled your tiny form. “Who could leave her out there like that?” You were a mystery to them. A miracle, perhaps, or a tragedy they would never understand. But one thing was certain—they couldn’t turn their backs on you. “We’ll keep her,” your mother had said firmly, wiping her tears. “She’s ours now.” And so, you grew up in a small, humble home at the edge of the village, surrounded by love and warmth. Your adoptive parents treated you as their own, raising you with care and devotion. They taught you how to tend the garden, mend clothes, and read stories by the firelight. They were simple people, but their love for you was boundless. But the medallion was another story. It hung around your neck every day, an unspoken part of your existence. No one in the village could make sense of it. The local blacksmith once examined it, running his calloused fingers over the smooth, pearly surface of the leaf. “It’s no metal I’ve ever seen,” he had muttered, his brow furrowed. “And this shimmer… it’s not natural. Almost looks alive.” The village elders, who prided themselves on their knowledge of lore and legend, had no answers either. They spoke of old magic, ancient forests, and forgotten kingdoms, but none could explain how such an artifact had come to be with a child like you.

Your parents had little interest in the medallion’s origins. To them, it was just another part of you—something they loved because it was yours. But to you, it was a question that lingered in the back of your mind. Who had left you on that cliff? Why had they given you this strange, beautiful thing? And why, no matter how far you wandered or how many years passed, did the medallion seem to hum faintly against your skin, as if it were alive?

As you grew older, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the medallion was more than it seemed. You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the simple joys of village life. Helping your parents in the fields. Watching the sunset from the hills. Listening to the crackle of the fire as your mother sang soft lullabies. But the medallion was always there, a silent companion. Sometimes, when you were alone, you would take it in your hands and marvel at its intricate design. The leaf was perfectly formed, each vein etched with delicate precision. Its green surface shimmered with an otherworldly glow, shifting between shades of emerald and pearl. You never dared to take it off. It wasn’t just because of its beauty or its mystery—it was because, deep down, you felt that it belonged to you in a way that nothing else ever could. As though it were a part of your very being. The villagers sometimes whispered about you, though never within earshot. They didn’t mean to be cruel—it was simply human nature. The child with no past. The girl who wore a medallion of magic. The one who had survived against all odds. “She’s special,” some would say.“Or cursed,” others would mutter. Your parents shielded you from the worst of the gossip, reminding you daily that you were loved. But the whispers followed you, a quiet shadow you could never escape. And now, as you sat alone in the cold darkness of the dungeon, the weight of those whispers pressed down on you. The medallion, which had always been a source of comfort, now felt heavier than ever. San’s words echoed in your mind. “This medallion belonged to my queen.” How could that be possible? You had worn it for as long as you could remember. You had no memory of his queen, no connection to his world. And yet, the look in his eyes when he saw it… It was as though he had seen a ghost. Your fingers brushed the medallion’s smooth surface, the faint hum of its magic resonating against your skin. It was warm to the touch, a strange contrast to the chill of the dungeon air.

In the great hall, San stood by his throne, his fists clenched at his sides. The medallion haunted him. He could still see it gleaming in the faint light, just as it had all those years ago when his queen had worn it. His queen. The one he had loved beyond reason. The one he had failed to save. He turned toward the table, his mind swirling with questions he couldn’t answer. Who was this mortal girl? Why did she bear the queen’s medallion? And why… why did she feel so familiar?San’s fingers trembled as he brushed the edge of the throne. He had spent centuries burying the past, locking away his grief and guilt in the deepest corners of his soul. Yet, with one look at her—at that medallion—everything had come rushing back. The storm outside mirrored the one within him, lightning flashing across the forest as rain pounded the palace. He closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “I will find the truth,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “No matter what it takes.”

The throne room was steeped in shadow, its once-grand walls shrouded in an oppressive gloom that mirrored the heavy silence within. The shimmering light that once filled the halls of the forest palace was absent, as if even the magic of Luthënar had withdrawn. The air itself seemed heavy, thick with a sorrow that no amount of time could dispel. Choi San sat on his throne, his posture regal yet tense, his fingers curled around the armrests as though they were the only thing anchoring him. His features—carved sharp as if by the hands of a master sculptor—were thrown into relief by the faint glow of a single enchanted lantern. The play of light and shadow etched every emotion onto his face, though his expression remained unreadable to all but himself. He was alone, as he had been for what felt like an eternity. The throne room was empty save for him, and his thoughts were loud enough to drown out even the faint whispers of the palace’s magic. His gaze wasn’t fixed on the doors, the floor, or even the medallion that lay on the table beside him, but somewhere far away—on a memory. Memories of her. In his mind, she was vivid. The soft curl of her smile, the warmth in her voice, the way her laughter could fill even the coldest corners of his heart. His queen. His beloved. She had been everything to him, a light in a life that had grown increasingly dark. He remembered the way she would stand beside him at this very throne, her presence a calming force even amidst the pressures of ruling. She had been wise, compassionate, and stubborn in the way only someone who truly cared could be. He had loved her strength, her kindness, her fire.

The sound of footsteps broke through his reverie, echoing softly in the vastness of the throne room. San didn’t look up; he didn’t need to. There was only one person who would dare to intrude on his solitude unannounced. “Wooyoung,” San said, his voice low but commanding. From the shadows stepped a figure, his presence lighter but no less commanding than San’s. Wooyoung was a king in his own right, ruling a distant realm that thrived on its trade and opulence. He was as charming as he was dangerous, his sharp smile often masking his sharper wit. His long, raven-black hair was tied loosely at the nape of his neck, and his deep crimson robes shimmered faintly as he moved. “You didn't move on, I see...,” his voice carrying a teasing lilt as he approached the throne. “It’s been centuries, San." Wooyoung continued, casually placing a hand on the edge of the table beside San. His gaze dropped to the medallion. He sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting across from San, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” he said. “The past is the past, my friend. You need to let her go. San’s hand twitched against the armrest, the first sign of movement since Wooyoung’s arrival. “Let her go?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of it filled the room. “You speak as though it’s a choice.” San’s gaze finally rose, meeting Wooyoung’s. His eyes were dark, haunted. “She was my life,” he said simply. “How do you let go of that?” Wooyoung leaned back, his expression softening for the first time. “You don’t,” he admitted. “Not completely. But you can’t keep drowning in it, either. It’s been centuries, San. Do you even know who you are without her?"San’s gaze shifted back to the medallion. Its faint glow was hypnotic, pulling him into memories he’d spent lifetimes trying to forget. But it wasn’t just the past that haunted him now—it was the girl.The mortal who had appeared in his realm wearing this.“She’s connected to her,” San said finally, his voice rough. “The girl. I don’t know how, but she is.” Wooyoung arched a brow. “The one you’re keeping in the dungeons?” He let out a low whistle. “I heard rumors, but I didn’t think they were true. What do you mean she’s connected?” San’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She wears the medallion.” Wooyoung’s casual demeanor faltered. He straightened in his seat, his playful smirk replaced by genuine curiosity. “The medallion? Her medallion?” He nodded. “She says she doesn’t know where it came from. That she’s had it since birth.”, “And you believe her?” Wooyoung asked, his tone skeptical. San didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the medallion. “She has the same look in her eyes,” he said quietly. “The same fire. I don’t know if it’s a trick of fate or something worse, but I can’t ignore it.” Wooyoung frowned, tapping his fingers against the table. “You’re playing with fire, San. You know that, don’t you? If she’s truly tied to your queen, then the answers you’re looking for might not be the ones you want.” San’s eyes darkened. “I don’t care what the answers are. I need to know.”

When Wooyoung left, the throne room fell silent once more. San remained where he was, his eyes fixed on the medallion. The memory of her face lingered in his mind, as vivid as it had been the day he lost her. And somewhere, in the cold darkness of the dungeons, you sat alone, the medallion around your neck glowing faintly against your skin. San leaned back in his throne, closing his eyes as the weight of everything settled over him. The medallion, the girl, the past—it all pointed the one truth.

The night was quiet, almost too quiet. You woke with a start, unsure what had disturbed your restless sleep. As you looked toward the heavy iron door of your cell, your heart stopped. It was open. The faint glow of magic that usually sealed it was gone. The air was still, but there was a strange feeling in your chest—a sense that this was your chance. You didn’t know why the door was open or how it had happened, but you weren’t going to waste it. Slowly, you crept toward the doorway, your bare feet silent against the cold stone floor. The corridor was dark, the flickering torches along the walls barely lighting the way. You hesitated for a moment, listening for any sign of guards, but the silence was complete. Taking a deep breath, you moved forward. The palace halls were a maze, and you had no idea where you were going. All you knew was that you needed to get out. The night air hit you as you stepped through the large wooden doors at the end of the hall. You were outside. Free.

The forest stretched out before you, endless and dark. The trees were massive, their twisted branches blocking out the moonlight. Shadows danced between the trunks, and the air was thick with damp earth and decay. Every step you took was a gamble—roots jutted out from the ground, and the uneven forest floor threatened to trip you. Your breath came in gasps as you ran, clutching the medallion at your neck. You didn’t know where you were going; you only knew you had to keep moving. Then, the sound you feared the most broke through the silence: a horn. The guards had discovered your escape. The sound echoed through the forest, a low, haunting note that made your chest tighten. You pushed yourself harder, your legs burning as you stumbled through the undergrowth. In the distance, a small, crooked cabin came into view. It looked abandoned, its roof sagging and the wooden walls blackened with age. But it was better than nothing. You slipped inside, shutting the door behind you as quietly as you could. The cabin was cold and smelled of mildew. Dust coated every surface, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. It was dark, the faint moonlight filtering in through cracks in the walls. You huddled in a corner, trying to catch your breath.

You were safe. For now.

The horn’s sound reached every corner of the palace, waking the guards and setting them into motion. They rushed through the halls, their armor clinking, until they reached the throne room. Choi San sat on his throne, his head bowed as he stared at the medallion in his hand. He had been holding it more and more often lately, unable to let it go. It was the last piece of her he had left. “My king,” a guard said, his voice shaking slightly. San didn’t look up. “What is it?”

“The girl,” the guard began nervously. “She’s escaped.” San froze, the medallion slipping from his fingers and landing on the floor with a soft clink. He lifted his head slowly, his sharp eyes fixing on the trembling guard. “What did you say?” His voice was quiet, but there was a deadly edge to it. “She’s gone, my lord,” the guard stammered. “We don’t know how. The dungeons were sealed, but she—”

“Enough,” San interrupted coldly, rising from his throne. Without another word, he strode toward the stables. The guards followed for a moment, unsure of what to do, until he raised a hand. “I will handle this myself,” he said firmly.

San’s horse was a massive black stallion, its coat gleaming like polished obsidian. The animal snorted, its breath clouding in the cool night air as its master approached. San mounted swiftly, his movements precise and controlled. He urged the horse forward, the forest swallowing them both. As the horse galloped through the dark woods, San’s mind was far from the present. His thoughts were filled with her—his queen. She had been his light, the one thing that made eternity bearable. Her laughter had warmed even the coldest corners of his heart, her touch grounding him in a way nothing else ever could. With her, the world had been full of color and life. Now, everything was dark. The palace, the forest, even his heart. He had tried to move on, to bury her memory deep, but it was impossible. The guilt, the loss, the weight of her absence—it consumed him. And now, this mortal girl, with her strange presence and the medallion, had brought it all back. “She’s connected to her,” he muttered to himself. San’s jaw tightened. He didn’t care about the risks. He needed answers.

The cabin was small and dimly lit, its wooden walls creaking softly as you leaned against them, trying to catch your breath. Your chest rose and fell as you gasped for air, your legs trembling from the mad sprint through the forest. Outside, the sound of horns echoed faintly, the guards’ warning carrying through the trees. You had escaped—for now—but the fear still gripped your chest like a vice. You thought you were alone. But then, out of nowhere, a voice startled you. "Who are you, my dear?" It was soft but sharp, the kind of voice that made you freeze in place. Your heart skipped a beat, and your wide eyes scanned the room. A figure stepped forward from the shadows in the corner of the cabin. It was an elderly woman, hunched slightly with age but somehow commanding. Her silver hair was wild and long, framing a face lined with time. Her dark, piercing eyes locked onto you, making you feel as though she could see every secret you didn’t even know you had. Her clothes were patched and old, layers of earthy tones that seemed to blend with the forest outside. "I—I didn’t know anyone was here," you stammered, your hand gripping the door behind you as if preparing to run again. The old woman’s eyes dropped to your chest, and her breath hitched. "That medallion..." she whispered, her voice shaky. "How do you have that?" Your hand instinctively touched the necklace that hung from your neck, the one you had always worn. The smooth surface of the green, pearl-like pendant felt strangely cold beneath your fingers. "I—I’ve always had it. It’s mine," you replied. The woman stepped closer, her hands trembling slightly as though she wanted to touch it but stopped herself. Her face was pale, her expression unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—shock, disbelief, maybe even fear. "You look just like her," she murmured, almost too softly for you to hear. "Like... who?" you asked, your voice shaking. Something about her gaze made your stomach churn. She gestured to a chair by the fireplace. "Sit. There is much you don’t know." You hesitated but eventually sat, too tired and too confused to argue. The old woman lowered herself into a creaky chair across from you, her movements slow, as though the weight of her words was already too much. "That medallion," she began, "is no ordinary piece of jewelry. It was made long ago, in the heart of the Forest of Luthënar, from the bark of the Eldertree. The Eldertree is a sacred tree—older than memory itself. Its wood glimmers like moonlight, and its sap is said to hold the power of life and death. This medallion... it was crafted using that sap, along with the dust of rare stones found only on the darkest nights. It is unlike anything else in this world." Her voice was steady, but her words left you reeling. You glanced at the medallion in your hands, its soft glow catching the faint light of the fire. It had always been a part of you, but you’d never thought it was anything more than a family heirloom—or at least, that’s what you’d told yourself. She continued, her voice heavy with meaning. "The one who wears that medallion is bound to a powerful fate. It carries the blessing—and curse—of rebirth. Whoever wears it... their soul will return again and again, until their purpose is fulfilled."

"Rebirth?" you echoed, shaking your head. "That’s impossible. I’ve had this medallion since I was a baby. I was found with it."

Her sharp eyes bore into yours. "Yes. You were found. Left on the edge of a cliff, I’d wager. You were not abandoned by chance, my dear. That medallion belongs to a queen—a queen who lived long ago, a queen who ruled with strength and love. A queen who died... far too soon." You blinked at her, your mind struggling to process what she was saying. "A queen? No, that can’t be true. I’m not a queen. I’m just... me."

"You are her," the woman said firmly, her voice shaking slightly. "You are his queen. The medallion ensured your soul would return, though you may not remember. You may not know who you were, but the soul never forgets. It always remembers." You stared at her, your hands tightening around the medallion as if it might slip away. The words felt impossible, and yet... a strange uneasiness stirred within you. A faint flicker of something—like a memory just out of reach—tugged at the edge of your mind. "But... if that’s true, why don’t I remember?" you asked weakly. "Because memories fade with each new life," she explained, her voice soft now. "The mind forgets, but the soul holds on. That is why he could not destroy you, no matter how much anger he felt. Somewhere in his heart, he knows who you are, though he does not yet understand." You shook your head, leaning back in the chair as your world seemed to spin. This was too much. Too strange. Too... impossible. "You’re wrong. He doesn’t care about me. He threw me in the dungeons. He—he hates me." The old woman’s face softened, her eyes heavy with sorrow. "He does not hate you, my dear. He hates himself—for failing you. For not protecting you in your first life. His heart is broken, shattered by grief. And now, seeing you again... it terrifies him. He cannot face the past. But he cannot turn away from you, either. That is why he is searching for you now." Her words sent a chill through you. "Searching... for me?" you whispered. The woman nodded grimly. "He will not rest until he finds you. He cannot. His soul is as bound to yours as yours is to his." As if on cue, the distant sound of hooves reached your ears, faint but growing louder. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the door. The woman rose slowly, her gaze shifting to the window. "He’s here," she murmured. "You cannot run from him forever. The truth will follow you, no matter where you go."

The cabin door creaked as you stepped outside, the cold night air hitting your face like a warning. You didn’t dare look back. The old woman’s words still echoed in your mind, but you had no time to think about them. You ran, the medallion bouncing against your chest as your feet pounded against the forest floor. The woods were even darker now, the moon hidden behind thick clouds. The trees closed in around you, their twisted branches reaching out like claws. Sharp twigs scratched at your skin, and the uneven ground threatened to trip you with every step. You had no idea where you were going—only that you had to get away. And yet, no matter how fast you ran, you could feel it. Him. Choi San. His presence wasn’t just a shadow in your mind; it was something tangible, closing in like a storm. Then, the growl stopped you in your tracks. It came from somewhere in the darkness, low and guttural, sending a chill down your spine. Slowly, you turned toward the sound, your breath catching as your eyes adjusted to the gloom. A massive wolf stepped out of the shadows, but it wasn’t like any wolf you’d ever seen. Its fur was black, its body rippling with unnatural strength. But the most terrifying part was its three heads, each one snarling, each mouth lined with jagged, dripping teeth. Its glowing red eyes locked onto you, and all three heads tilted slightly, as though it were studying you. A low, menacing growl rumbled from its chest, vibrating through the ground beneath you. Your legs refused to move. Fear gripped you, freezing you in place as the creature came closer. The wolf growled louder, its heads snapping toward you in unison. Your heart raced, your mind screaming for you to run, but it was too late. The beast crouched, ready to pounce. Then, like a flash of lightning, something silver sliced through the air. A sword struck the wolf with deadly precision. In one clean motion, the blade severed all three heads from its body. The creature’s snarl turned into a wet, gurgling sound before it collapsed to the ground, lifeless. You stared, frozen in shock, as the three heads rolled away, their glowing red eyes dimming. The body hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling around it. For a moment, the world was still. Then, the sound of boots crunching through the leaves snapped you out of your daze.You turned, your wide eyes meeting his. Choi San stood there, his sword still dripping with the creature’s blood. He looked like something out of a legend, his sharp features illuminated by the faint glow of the moon. His black cloak shifted in the breeze, and his amber eyes burned as they met yours. He took a step closer, his gaze sweeping over you. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something intense, searching. "You..." he said softly, his voice rough but steady. "It’s you." You backed away instinctively, your pulse racing. "I-I don’t know what you mean." San sheathed his sword with a swift, practiced motion and took another step forward. "You don’t understand, do you?" he asked, his voice low. "But now... now I see it."

"See what?" you asked, your voice trembling.

San’s eyes flicked to the medallion around your neck. His expression shifted—confusion, pain, and something else you couldn’t name flashed across his face. "That medallion," he said, his tone almost accusing. "It belonged to her. To my queen." You instinctively clutched the medallion, shaking your head. "I’m not her," you said firmly, though your voice wavered. "I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m not—"

"You are," he interrupted, his voice steady but filled with emotion. He looked at you like you were a ghost, someone he thought he would never see again. "I didn’t want to see it before. I couldn’t. But it’s you. You’re her." You stared at him, your mind spinning. The old woman’s words echoed in your mind: You were his queen. Reborn. "No," you whispered, shaking your head. "You’re wrong. I’m not—"

"I know what I see. You have her face, her soul. That medallion... It wouldn’t be with you unless-" He stopped, his hands curling into fists at his sides as if he couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. Tears pricked your eyes. "I don’t know what you want from me," you said, your voice breaking. "I don’t know anything about a queen or a past life. I’m just me." San exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. He looked at you with a mix of frustration and anguish, like someone fighting a battle within himself. "You don’t remember," he said softly, almost to himself. "Of course you don’t." His words made your chest tighten. You wanted to argue, to deny everything, but deep down, something about his gaze, his voice, made you hesitate. San took one last step toward you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. "Whether you remember or not," he said, his voice low, "you’re here. And you’re mine." The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you weren’t sure if it was fear, anger, or something else entirely. "I don’t belong to anyone," you managed to say, your voice trembling but defiant. San’s lips curved into a faint, bitter smile. "You always said that," he murmured, almost fondly. San moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking prey.

You instinctively backed away, your heart racing in your chest, but it was no use. The rough bark of a tree pressed into your back, halting your retreat. You were trapped. His imposing figure loomed over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the faint light of the moon. The cool night air felt suffocating as his amber eyes locked onto yours, piercing through every layer of your resolve. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you thick and electric. San’s gaze flickered, his eyes traveling from yours to the medallion hanging around your neck. Then, slowly, they dropped lower, tracing the line of your jaw, lingering on your lips.He licked his lips, his hand moved upward, brushing against the medallion with a featherlight touch. The cool metal shifted against your skin, and his fingers followed, grazing your collarbone. "You still don’t understand, do you?" he murmured, his voice low and rough, the sound of it sending a shiver down your spine. "I..." You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. His presence was overwhelming, and your mind was a storm of confusion and unease. San leaned in, his face so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. His eyes searched yours, as though trying to find answers you couldn’t give him. His free hand slid to your waist, his fingers pressing firmly but not harshly, grounding you to the moment. "Even if you don’t remember," he said, his voice softer now but no less intense, "your soul does. I can feel it." You stood frozen, your back pressed firmly against the tree. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your chest rising and falling with every labored inhale. His words left you shaken, but it wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he looked at you, like you were something precious and fragile, yet completely untouchable. He leaned in further, the space between you vanishing until his body was almost flush against yours. His hand on your waist tightened slightly, and you felt the strength in his grip—not rough, but possessive, as though he were afraid you might disappear if he let go. Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to break free, but your body refused to move. It wasn’t fear that rooted you in place; it was something far stranger. His presence, his touch, the raw intensity in his eyes—it all held you captive. "You’re afraid of me," San said quietly, his lips so close to your ear that the words sent a ripple of heat down your neck. "But you don’t have to be." Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, your thoughts a jumbled mess of defiance and confusion. "I’m not afraid," you whispered, though even you didn’t believe it. His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Then why are you trembling?" You didn’t have an answer. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, but you couldn’t summon the strength to push him away. Instead, you looked up at him, your wide eyes meeting his, and for a brief moment, the world around you seemed to fade. San's hand remained firm on your waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your tunic, grounding you as the world seemed to tilt around you. His piercing gaze remained locked on yours, flickering with emotions you couldn’t name. It was as if he were searching for something—some hidden truth, some unspoken connection. His face was close now, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips, steady and measured, yet carrying an intensity that made your heart race. Your back pressed harder against the rough bark of the tree as he leaned in, his presence overwhelming but strangely magnetic. "You don’t even realize it, do you?" he murmured, his voice a soft rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "Realize what?" you whispered, your voice trembling. "That you’ve always been mine."

The words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable, as if they carried the weight of lifetimes. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your breath mingling with his as he drew even closer. His eyes lingered on your lips, and you felt the moment stretch, a taut thread about to snap. And then, it did. San’s lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. The touch was featherlight, sending a jolt of warmth through your entire body. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. But he didn’t stop there. The hesitation melted away as he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer. His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. The kiss was slow yet filled with an intensity that made your knees weak, a mixture of longing and something deeper—something neither of you could name. You didn’t know why you didn’t push him away. Every rational thought told you to, but your body refused to obey. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, your hands instinctively gripping the front of his cloak for balance. When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his breathing was uneven, his eyes searching yours with a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. "Why don’t you stop me?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. You swallowed hard, your lips tingling from the kiss, your mind spinning. "I... I don’t know," you admitted, the words trembling as they left your mouth. San’s gaze softened, but his intensity didn’t waver. "You may not remember me," he said, his thumb brushing your cheek again, "but I’ll make you remember." His words sent another shiver through you, and you realized with a pang of confusion that you weren’t sure whether you wanted to run or let him consume you entirely.

San’s hand remained steady on your waist as his other brushed against your cheek, his amber eyes pulling you into their depths. His gaze softened, and for the first time, there was something almost tender in his expression, though it was tinged with hesitation. “Close your eyes,” he said quietly, his voice low but commanding. You hesitated, your breath catching in your chest. “Why?” He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “Just trust me. Close your eyes.” Something about the way he said it left no room for argument. Slowly, you let your eyelids flutter shut, the tension in your shoulders still refusing to leave. You felt the faint warmth of his hand against your skin, grounding you, and the low hum of the medallion against your chest seemed to grow stronger.“Now open them,” he whispered, his voice brushing against your senses like a breeze. When you did, the world around you was transformed.

The dark, tangled woods were gone, replaced by a vibrant, sunlit forest. The trees stood tall and proud, their trunks wrapped in soft moss, and the air smelled of wildflowers and fresh rain. Birds chirped overhead, their songs mingling with the laughter of children. In the distance, you saw them—small, carefree figures running and playing among the trees, their joy infectious. The world here was alive in a way you had never seen before, every corner of it glowing with a warmth that made your chest ache. You turned to San, your eyes wide with awe. “What... what is this?”. “This,” he said, gesturing to the beauty around you, “is what it used to be. The forest before it was tainted by loss. Before... everything changed.” You couldn’t find the words to respond. It was breathtaking, magical, and yet there was a strange sense of familiarity in it all, like a distant memory stirring in the back of your mind. San reached for your hand, his touch firm but careful, and began leading you down a soft, well-worn path through the trees. You didn’t resist, too captivated by the scene unfolding before you. The laughter of children faded as you walked, replaced by a stillness that made your heart ache. The trees grew taller, their branches arching over the path like a natural cathedral. And then, through the gaps in the trees, you saw them.

There, standing in a sunlit clearing, was... you.

You gasped softly, your grip tightening on San’s hand as you took in the sight. The version of you from the past was radiant, dressed in a grand crimson gown that shimmered like liquid fire in the sunlight. The bodice hugged your form perfectly, while the skirt flared out in soft, sweeping folds, its intricate embroidery glinting faintly. Around your neck hung the medallion, its glow unmistakable even from a distance. You stood next to him—San. Or rather, the San of that time. He was dressed in dark armor, elegant yet strong, with intricate designs etched into the metal. His expression was softer than the San you knew now, his lips curved in a rare smile as he gazed at you. You both looked... perfect. A king and queen. Your throat tightened as you watched. “Is this...?”

"This is who we were", San said, his voice quiet, almost reverent. The memory played out before you like a dream. The two of you were speaking softly, though you couldn’t hear the words. San reached out, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from the past you’s face, his touch filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache. But the peace didn’t last. The skies darkened, and the sound of distant horns broke the stillness. Shadows moved through the trees—soldiers, weapons drawn, marching toward the clearing. The air was heavy with the tension of an impending battle. You saw yourself arguing with San, your face set with determination, his with frustration. “You can’t fight,” the past San said sharply, his voice firm but desperate. “I won’t hide while my people suffer!” the past you shot back, her voice ringing with defiance. San grabbed your arm, his grip firm. “You are my queen. You’re meant to lead, not die on a battlefield!”

“And you’re my king,” you replied, your tone softer now but no less resolute. “If you’re fighting, then so am I.” The memory blurred as the battle began. Swords clashed, shouts filled the air, and the forest was soon alight with chaos. You could only watch as the scene unfolded, your past self moving through the battlefield with grace and courage, the medallion glowing faintly as if feeding off your resolve. Then, the focus shifted. You followed San as he was drawn away from the main battle, his opponents forcing him deeper into the forest. Their swords clashed, the sound sharp and violent, until he finally struck them down one by one. But you didn’t know that. The past you, frantic and desperate, ran after him, your gown torn and dirtied from the fight. You called his name, your voice trembling with worry, but the forest seemed to swallow the sound. When you finally stumbled into a small clearing, it was empty. Or so you thought. A figure stepped out of the shadows. You couldn’t make out their face, only the glint of the blade in their hand. You backed away, clutching at the medallion as if it could save you, but it was too late. The blade pierced your chest, cold and unyielding, and your breath left you in a ragged gasp. You fell to your knees, blood pooling beneath you, staining the earth red. You tried to speak, to cry out, but no sound came. And then, through the haze of pain, you saw him. San. His sword slipped from his hand as he stumbled forward, his face pale with horror. “No...” His voice broke, raw and filled with anguish. “What have I done?” You stared at him, confusion and betrayal etched into your features as you tried to understand. It was his blade. His hand. The person you trusted most had ended your life.The last thing you saw was his face—haunted, broken—as the world faded to black.

You gasped as your eyes flew open, your chest heaving as if the blade had struck you again. The forest of the past was gone, replaced by the cold, dark woods of the present. San stood before you, his face pale, his expression unreadable."You..." you choked out, your hand instinctively clutching the medallion. "You killed me." His jaw tightened, his eyes filled with something between guilt and desperation. "I didn’t mean to. You have to believe me—I never meant to hurt you." Tears burned in your eyes as you took a shaky step back. "How could you? I trusted you. I... I loved you."

"And I loved you," San said, his voice breaking. "More than anything. That’s why it destroyed me when I saw what I had done. Why I’ve spent centuries trying to atone for it. Why I couldn’t let you go." You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "You don’t get to decide my fate," you whispered. "Not then. Not now." San reached for you, his expression pleading. "Please, let me explain—" But you didn’t let him finish. You turned and ran, the forest swallowing you once again as the weight of the truth threatened to crush you. The forest seemed endless, its twisted shadows reaching for you like hands trying to drag you back. You didn’t care where your feet were taking you—you just needed to escape. His voice, his eyes, the memories of what he had done... it was all too much. Branches scratched at your arms, roots threatened to trip you, but you didn’t stop. Your legs burned, your chest ached, and yet you pushed forward. But then, out of nowhere, he was there. San stepped out of the shadows ahead of you, his tall frame bathed in faint moonlight. Your breath catching as you stared at him, frozen. His chest rose and fell quickly, his breathing ragged, and his dark hair fell loosely over his forehead, damp with sweat. His shirt hung open at the collar, revealing the faint sheen of his skin, the lines of his chest rising and falling with each unsteady breath. The way the moonlight hit his sharp features made him look impossibly beautiful, almost unreal, but the intensity in his amber eyes grounded you in the moment. “Don’t,” he said, his voice raw and desperate. “Don’t run from me.” Your throat tightened, and you instinctively took a step back, your body trembling. “How did you—” The words barely left your lips before they faltered. San didn’t answer, but his gaze burned into yours with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. His lips were slightly parted, his jaw clenched, and there was something in his expression—something between anguish and longing—that sent a shiver through you. You took another step back, then another, until your back hit the rough bark of a tree. The impact made you gasp, and you realized, too late, that there was nowhere left to go. San moved closer, his steps slow but deliberate, like he was giving you a chance to stop him—but you didn’t. You couldn’t. His broad shoulders seemed to block out the forest around you, his presence commanding every part of your attention. “I told you not to run,” he murmured, his voice strained, his eyes flicking down to the medallion around your neck before returning to your face. He lifted a hand, bracing it against the tree beside your head, trapping you without touching you. "Why can’t you just leave me alone?" you whispered, your voice trembling, though you didn’t know if it was from fear or something else entirely. San exhaled sharply, his free hand running through his messy hair, his frustration clear. “Because I can’t,” he said, his voice low and uneven. He leaned in slightly, the space between you growing smaller with every word. “Don’t you see? I can’t stop—I can’t stop being in love with you.” Your breath hitched, and your heart felt like it had stopped. His words hung in the air, heavy and raw, like they had been torn from the depths of his soul. “Even after all this time,” he continued, his voice soft but filled with a desperate edge, “even after everything I’ve done, I can’t stop. You’re in my blood, in my soul. You’re... you’re everything.” Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his words crashed over you. “You don’t mean that,” you said weakly, your voice breaking. “You can’t mean that.” San’s hand moved, his fingers brushing your cheek so gently it sent a shiver down your spine. His touch was warm, grounding, but it only made your emotions swirl more chaotically. “You don’t believe me?” he asked, his eyes searching yours. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling just inches from you. “Then tell me to leave. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel it too. Tell me, and I’ll go.”

Your breath trembled as you stared at him, his amber eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to think straight. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his body inches from yours, yet he didn’t move any closer. He was giving you a choice. "You want to know what I want to tell you?" you whispered, your voice shaking as you fought the storm of emotions swirling in your chest. San didn’t speak, his lips parting slightly as he searched your face. His silence was answer enough. He was waiting, bracing himself for the words that might finally break him. Your heart thundered as you stepped forward, closing the small distance between you. His eyes widened slightly at your movement, his breath catching as your face came closer to his. “I want to tell you this,” you whispered. Before he could react, your hands reached up, gripping the edges of his cloak, and you pulled him down to you. Your lips crashed against his in a kiss so desperate, so consuming, that it left no room for hesitation. San froze for a heartbeat, as though he couldn’t believe what was happening, but then he melted into you. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepened the kiss with a hunger that sent heat rushing through your entire body. Your fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, clutching him as if you were afraid he might disappear. The world around you seemed to blur, the forest and its shadows fading into nothing as his warmth surrounded you. The kiss was fierce, filled with longing and pain and something else—something that felt like hope. San’s hand moved to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as his lips moved against yours. He kissed you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered, like he was pouring centuries of heartbreak and love into this one moment. His breathing was still ragged, but now it was from the sheer intensity of it all. When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathless. His amber eyes searched yours, his expression torn between disbelief and something deeper—something that made your chest tighten. "You..." he started, his voice hoarse, his grip on your waist tightening as though he feared you might slip away. "Why—"

"Because I couldn’t lie to you," you interrupted, your voice still trembling. "No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you to go. I couldn’t stop myself. I can’t." San closed his eyes briefly, his hand tightening against your waist as his other stayed cradling your face. "You don’t know what you’re doing to me," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "Maybe I do," you replied softly, your lips still tingling from the kiss.

San’s breath was uneven as he held you close, his forehead still resting against yours. The space between you had vanished, replaced by something undeniable, something neither of you could fight anymore. Then, his lips brushed against your jaw. Your breath hitched, your fingers curling against the fabric of his cloak as warmth spread through your body. “San...” you whispered, unsure if it was meant to stop him or urge him on. He didn’t respond with words, only with actions. His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your jaw before reaching the delicate skin of your neck. His lips fit there so perfectly, as if they had been meant for this. A shiver ran through you as he lingered, his hands tightening their hold on you as if anchoring himself. Each kiss was careful, like he was relearning something he had once known by heart. His nose brushed against your skin as he exhaled softly, the warmth of his breath sending a rush of sensation down your spine. “You taste the same,” he murmured against your throat, his voice low and laced with something dangerously close to need. You swallowed hard, tilting your head instinctively as his lips moved lower. Your mind was spinning, every nerve in your body awake under his touch. “San...” you tried again, your fingers gripping his shoulders. “We shouldn’t—” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his amber eyes dark and unreadable. "Then tell me to stop," he challenged softly. You opened your mouth, but the words never came. You couldn't say it. San's lips curled into a knowing smirk, his fingers reaching for the fabric draped around your shoulders—a soft, flowing cloak lined with delicate silver embroidery. With one slow, deliberate motion, he pushed it off, the fabric slipping from your body and pooling at your feet. The cool night air kissed your skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of him, of his hands sliding gently over your arms."You’re beautiful," he murmured, his gaze drinking you in as though committing the sight to memory. You shivered, though not from the cold. His lips found your neck again, this time pressing deeper, lingering longer. He kissed and nipped gently, his touch slow and teasing. Your breath came in soft gasps as he traveled lower, his lips brushing just above the lace of your bra, his fingers ghosting over your waist. Your hands found his hair, threading through the soft strands as you fought to stay silent. But when his lips pressed just above your collarbone, a quiet, shaky breath escaped you.

San's mouth paused, his lips still touching your skin, as he waited for your reaction. The sound of your shaky breath was like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a fire within him. His hands, already warm on your skin, seemed to burn with an inner heat as he slid them up your back, his fingers tracing the delicate lace of your bra. The touch sent shivers down your spine, and you felt your nipples harden in response, straining against the fabric that confined them. His lips, still pressed against your collarbone, curved into a gentle smile, as if he knew the effect he was having on you. And then, with a slowness that was almost torturous, he began to kiss his way down, his mouth tracing the curve of your breast, his tongue darting out to tease the lace that covered your nipple. Your hands, still threaded through his hair, tightened, pulling him closer as you arched your back, offering yourself to him. The night air was cool around you, but you felt only heat, only the burning desire that seemed to emanate from San's very pores. His fingers found the clasp of your bra, and with a deft touch, he released it, the lace sliding away from your skin like a whispered promise. Your breasts, freed from their confinement, seemed to swell, the nipples hardening further as San's mouth closed around one, his tongue swirling in a maddening rhythm. You felt your breath catch, your body arching further, as he sucked, his lips pulling gently, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. And when he finally released you, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with a fierce inner fire, his voice low and husky as he whispered, "I've missed this, missed you, missed the way you respond to me" As San's eyes held yours, his hands began to move, the fingers that had so deftly undone your bra now working to release the buttons of his pants. The sound of the zipper lowering was like a promise, a hint of the pleasure that was to come. His eyes never left yours, his gaze burning with an intensity that seemed to sear itself into your very soul. The pants, once undone, slid down his hips, revealing the hard, muscular thighs that had been hidden beneath. And then, his hands moved to his underwear, the last barrier between you and the desire that had been building for so long. The fabric slid down, and San's erection sprang free, hard and proud, the head glistening with precum that seemed to bring you closer. Your breath caught, your heart racing with anticipation, as San's hands moved to your hips, the fabric was pushed up, bunched around your waist, and then his hands were on your thighs, his fingers tracing the curve of your legs before moving to the lace of your panties. The touch was like a spark, igniting a fire that seemed to burn away all reason, all thought, leaving only the desire that had been building between you for so long. "I want you," San whispered, his voice low and husky, his eyes burning with a fierce inner fire. "I want to be inside you, to feel you around me, to make you mine."

His hands grasp your hips, his erection pressing against your inner thighs. You feel the tip of his cock teasing your entrance, sending a rush of anticipation through your body. With a gentle thrust, he slides inside you, filling you completely. The sensation is almost overwhelming, his length stretching you to your limits. Your muscles clench around him, holding him tight as he begins to move, his strokes slow and deliberate at first, then growing faster and more intense. The friction builds, a burning heat that spreads through your core, threatening to consume you. His breath is hot against your skin, his lips tracing the curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. One hand remains on your hip, holding you in place, while the other reaches down to find your clit. His thumb brushes against the sensitive nub, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. He begins to rub your clit in slow, gentle circles, the pressure building as he continues to move inside you. The combination of his cock sliding in and out of you and his thumb teasing your clit is almost too much to bear. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel yourself being pushed closer to the edge. His thumb moves faster, the circles tightening as he senses your impending climax. The sensation is intense, your body coiling tighter and tighter until you're not sure how much more you can take. 

The forest was quiet now, the air thick with the scent of earth and the lingering warmth of your bodies. The only sounds were your soft, uneven breaths, still tangled together in the aftermath of what had just happened. San held you close, his arms wrapped securely around you as if afraid you might disappear. His skin was warm against yours, his chest rising and falling in time with your own. The rough bark of the tree pressed against your back, but you hardly noticed. The only thing you could focus on was him—his touch, his presence, the way his fingers traced gentle patterns along your spine.He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. His amber gaze was softer now, no longer filled with the tension and desperation from before. Instead, there was something deeper—something that made your breath catch. His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing delicately over your cheek. His lips curved into the faintest of smiles before he leaned in, kissing you again—slow, unhurried, savoring the moment. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I love you, my queen.” The words settled over you like a warm embrace, wrapping around your heart and holding it tight. You smiled, your fingers threading through his dark hair as you whispered back, “And I love you, my king.”

[pepperyduck]

mortality | r. sukuna

a/n: very sad and angst😞, reader death, not proofread or anything i am just sad, hi guys😁😁‼️

mortality was nothing new to sukuna.

he’d taken plenty of lives before, comparably seen more death in his extensive lifetime than anyone else. he understood what it meant to die, and how painful it was for the ones around it.

he’d never felt that pain before. sukuna never understood what it was like to lose someone he loved, someone he cared about.

because sukuna had never loved. sukuna did not know love until you. he didn’t know it afterwards, either.

it was possible sukuna’s way of drawing you closer was considered to be unethical—but he was the king, after all. he’d have you on a silver platter eventually. and that is one thing he made sure of to happen.

though he was ruthless to others, you were delicate in sukuna’s hands, cradled in the soft blankets of his good graces. as your birthdays passed uncelebrated, and the years would pile on, sukuna considered you nothing less than beautiful.

he remembers when his world changed like it was yesterday. he remembers every event of that day, from his waking moments until his despairing drift into sleep—all a nightmare from start to finish.

the thought still brings him pain.

your aggrieved face as you called for him remains etched into the furthest corners of his head, as it was his last living memory of his love.

yes, his love. that’s the name he referred to you as, even long after your death. the name you also called him more than anything.

your weak grasp on his hand sent chills down his spine, it was utterly terrifying to feel the strength leaving your body with no evidence of ever returning. a simple thought of that was enough for him to destroy countries out of sheer anger.

how dare they.

and still, after all this time, you were still gone. lifetimes had passed since you, your memory only remained in a lonely man’s mind and in a portrait hung across from his throne. no amount of anger or violence or revenge or evil could ever bring you back to life.

but as the lonely king sits tiredly upon his throne, destruction and terror seem to be the only answer. sukuna needed to destroy the world looking for you, for there was no world for him without you.