#like how were the gods birthed from mortals

[https-bobreynolds]

under mesopotamian stars

pairing: the void x the enchantress, slight robert ‘bob’ reynolds x reader

summary: a backstory on how two entities met for the first and second time.

warning: mentions of y/n, blood, war, curse word, and tension.

author’s note: I AM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN A WHILE🥹🥹 university has me in a chokehold and not in a good way, oh ALSO i want to clarify that reader, unlike june from DCU, can actually use enchantress’s powers herself but only a fraction of it🤏

1600 B.C

the world was young, still drenched in nothing but myth.

in the highlands of mesopotamia, the sky tore open, and from its wound, poured a shadow not cast by any sun- the void, primordial and unshaped, spilled into the world in the aftermath of an ancient war.

and beneath moonlit ruins, she danced- the enchantress, cloaked in energy, appearing as green flame. her temple was soaked in sacrifice, her magic was worshiped and feared.

he was drawn to her like decay to flesh.

“you are not of this world.” she said, her voice echoing in the chamber as she looked upon the dark figure.

“so are you,” he replied, swirling into a human-like figure, “but you wear this world like silk.”

she smiled slowly and tilted her head. “do you seek power?”

“i seek silence.”

she then stepped toward him, unafraid. “then why do you follow the sound of my heart?”

that night, they didn’t speak again. the stars blinked away as their shadows entwined.

they weren’t lovers. they were omens.

but the gods, fearful of what their union might birth, tore them apart.

she was sealed in a tomb by her so-called subjects, her soul bound to a doll.

he was cast back into the space-between, locked behind walls of thought and will.

THE PRESENT DAY

millennia passed, civilizations fell, empires turned to dust.

and then came y/n, the new host of the enchantress, and robert ‘bob’ reynolds, the sentry, barely holding back the flood of the void within.

they both ended up where fate always puts its cursed pieces: in a vault, minutes away from being incinerated.

yelena raised her weapons. “great. a witch.”

your voice was low, trying to sound as intimidating as possible, “you don’t belong here, widow.”

walker took a step forward. “neither do you. so unless you want to get reacquainted with blackout protocols, stand down-“

you suddenly threw a wave of magic that sent walker flying into the walls. ava blinked into the floor, phased halfway through it to avoid the lash of energy. yelena rolled, firing bullets that you caught midair and twisted into birds of flame.

then you they saw each other.

bob froze, darkness pulsing beneath his skin.

you turned, green energy crackling in your eyes.

“you…” she whispered, taking complete control of your body.

bob clutched his head as the void whispered her name, his body replaced by nothing but a dark silhouette, by force.

“you were the only silence i ever loved.” he said softly, coming closer to her.

and she smiled again, the same way she did under mesopotamian stars.

they weren’t enemies. nor allies.

just two cursed gods wearing mortal skin, fated to meet where death lingers.

and this time?

this time, they wouldn’t let the gods stop them.

bonus:

“what the fuck just happened??”

taglist:

@lovetoalll

[maleficore]

Trying to come up with a more or less lore-accurate and believable way for baby Durge to be sprung into existence makes me want to tear my hair out

[h-worksrambles]

HUGE endgame spoilers for Expedition 33 below. Do not read if you haven’t completed the game.

The most heart wrenching thing about Clair Obscur’s ending is that no matter what you pick, the whole scenario is set up so that someone gets screwed over. Maelle and Verso’s respective traumas have shaped them in such a way that their ideals are completely at an impasse. To side with one is to rob the other of agency, even if it may well be doing what is best for them.

If you pick Verso, he is finally freed from the shackles of his immortality. Remember not only was this entire Canvas made specifically for him, he isn’t even truly Verso. And he’s been trapped in that existential nightmare for too long. Bound to memories that he knows aren’t his. And we finally let him claim agency over his mortality and let him go out on his own terms. But at what cost?

The Dessendres, as an outlet for their grief, made an entire world of living, thinking people, and consigned them to a ticking clock apocalypse because they got caught up in their creators’ family drama. And you’ve spent dozens of hours in this world connecting with it, coming to love these characters and fighting to give them a future. And just when it seems they finally have one, Verso takes it away. To take Verso’s side is to agree with Renoir, that this painted world isn’t real and doesn’t matter.

I love that the game makes you linger on every member of your party as they Gommage. Monoco and Esquie have known Verso longest and they saw this coming. They simply hug him and fade away without complaint. Sciel, despite how hard she fought to save this world has had enough experience with death to understand why Verso did what he did, and wordlessly empathises with him. But Lune? She just sits there. Coldly. She doesn’t offer sympathy. She doesn't offer forgiveness. Because Verso lied to her. Again. Despite getting attached, he stabbed everyone he’s come to bond with in the back (and those were relationships you developed and fostered as a gameplay mechanic).

And what about Maelle? Yes, rationally, this is the correct choice. Leaving the canvas gives her a shot at healing. And at Verso’s funeral we can see glimpses that maybe the fractured family has a chance to reconcile. But we have to rob Maelle of all agency. To force her back into a world of pain, consign her to a life altering disability. Maelle treasures her family as both Alicia and Maelle equally. But she is ultimately giving up a family either way. Her birth family or her painted one. But she didn’t even get the luxury of choice, after we just fought so hard to give her the agency her father denied her. So we basically sacrificed the very world we fought to save, just for the slim chance that Maelle might get therapy.

So does that make the Maelle ending better? Unfortunately no, because Christ this is a horror story (and the one I got on my playthrough). On the one hand, it seems like the one where everyone got what they wanted. Gustave, Sophie and all those who Gommaged are restored. All these people whose chances at life were stolen from them by the machinations of the Dessendres get a chance at life. And Maelle has clearly given Verso the ability to age, so he will one day die as he wishes, but can live a full life until that happens.

And yet, we come back to that point. The Dessendres are basically gods to the Canvas. That fact can never be put back in the box. Maelle’s relationship with her loved ones will never be the same. However much she loves them, however benevolent her intentions, they’re always going to puppets playing out their existence to make her happy. Letting Verso age might be a kindness in the same way sending Maelle back to her family was, but in the same way, it strips him of any agency. He’s literally performing for her on a stage. Symbolic of how that power dynamic of Painter and Painted will forever linger over them. She will never truly have her brother back.

Furthermore, that (absolutely terrifying) smash cut to Maelle with painted eyes like the Paintress shows the true horror of this. If choosing Verso meant validating Renoir, then choosing Maelle calls Aline to mind. Maelle, like Aline, is left drowning herself in a dream, chasing catharsis in a world she controls. It’s a gentle rule, but a rule nonetheless. She will always be a god, and her found family will always be her creations, and that may well drive her to lose herself as it did her mother.

Verso’s ending was a cruel vivisection, one where the treatment was arguably more extreme than the result. Cutting everything away chasing an uncertain future. Maelle’s ending preserves life, but offers only stagnation. Even after defeating both Aline, and Renoir, both Maelle and Verso were ultimately shaped by their parents, and repeat their perspectives. Even at this final choice one that is theoretically theirs without their parents’ influences, they can’t shake off their legacy of grief and pain. As such, there is no golden ending for these two traumatised souls. It’s too late for that. There is only cruel necessity or gentle delusion.

Both endings come with their share of disturbing implications, and both can make sense to a player at the time. A player might agree with one of the two in the moment but be horrified at the consequences. Like Verso said ‘we’re all hypocrites’ none of these choices are pleasant. The Dessendres’ grief, and the lives they toyed with as a result, will have consequences one way or another.

Ultimately, I would pick Verso’s ending as the lesser evil, if only because it offers some kind of hope that SOMETHING good may come with this. Maybe the family really can move on. Maybe tomorrow will finally come, as the game’s been constantly saying. But you as the player, are still gonna have to carry the weight of Lune’s cold, judgemental stare. Remember how much you threw for even the slimmest chance at another outcome. Is that arguably better than leaving Maelle to a prison of her own making, to nothing but stagnation? Maybe, but that doesn’t make the alternative any less pleasant…

Verso’s ending left me at least hoping that something good may come from it, while wondering if it was worth the cost. Maelle’s ending left me hollow, realising that nothing good could come from this.

Clair Obscur’s ending is definitely hitting notes I’ve seen in other stories and even other RPGs. The need to accept suffering as an inevitable part of life and not hide away from it in fantasy. The fact that the first step to moving on from grief is acceptance. The way parents shape their children and how crucial it is to let them make their own decisions. How easy it is to cling to control after grappling with loss. But the way it leverages the player’s attachment to the world and people of the canvas makes for one of the most thoughtful examples of that narrative. Even if the people of the canvas aren’t ‘real’ they’re still people with hopes and dreams and rich inner lives. And the fact that their only options are oblivion or to forcibly play house with their well meaning but misguided teenage god is a horrible prospect.

Clair Obscur is about grief. It’s about its cyclical nature. About how if we don’t learn to move on from it, it will ripple onwards to our children. But it’s also about how grief causes us to affect the world around us. The horrific cruelty of the canvas’ fate (Verso included) reminds us how we can end up treating others when we’re blinded by our own inner demons.

It’s a brilliantly done conflict to wrap up a brilliantly made game. And one that will likely go down as one of my favourites.

[athenaeum-of-the-herald]

• Cleanliness for the Gods •

Today, I wanted to talk about cleanliness when it comes to serving/approaching our gods.

While naturally things have changed from the practices used in ancient Greece, remembering that the gods we approach are still to be revered and respected will often lead us to a very simple but overlooked concept; are my hands dirty?

Aa always, I am a singular source! Please remember to always do your own individual research and I will attempt to cite sources as I can for convenience!

The Act of Cleanliness

When it comes to recerence of the gods, the ancient Greeks heavily valued the act of cleanliness when it came to providing offerings.

Designated hunters and gatherers were set to collect the animals and bloodless offerings (plants, herbs, etc). Not only were the collectors purified and cleansed, but their utilized tools and the collected offerings as well. This gives us some insight into how important cleanliness was seen in the eyes of the gods. [Greek Religion; Walter Burkert / Homo Necans: The Anthropology of Ancient Greek Sacrificial Ritual and Myth; Walter Burkert]

It is with this viewing that we begin to understand the importance of cleanliness when approaching the gods, and can act accordingly.

𝐌𝐢𝐚-

A commonly known impurity in hellenic polytheism is miasma, although there are some common heavy misconceptions of what it is and how it is collected.

Mia- is a known word group that encompasses the words of impurity it encompasses, miasma being the most common. It can be difficult at times to discern because the mia- word group is diverse. Robert Parker in Miasma Pollution and Purification in Early Greek Religion described the following:

"the mia- word group is applied to a diverse range of things, and if one isolates within it a category that seems to have real unity, the same criteria that have been applied in order to constitute it demand that phenomena described by different words should also be included, An English example will illustrate this simple point: 'innocent' thoughts associate better with a 'pure' mind than does 'pure' alcohol, Not merely words are involved, of course, but forms of behaviour - avoidance, expulsion, ablution, and the like."

With this, we understand that the mia- words - in their most basic sense - encompass words of defilement and impurity. This can be a dirtiness collected through physical defilement (miasma) or ideals and integrity (miaino). It should be known that while the two can be separated simply, they themselves are more complex, whereas miasma can be considered filthier than miaino as it refers to more physical acts and miaino refers to the act of BECOMING miasmic. However, miaino can also refer to impurities that are not physical, such as lying and injustices. These terms depend on context, and their exact definitions are not something I personally can be definitive on. However, for the sake of this post, I'll forgo miaino and refer to miasma as 2 sects; mortal and moral.

Mortal miasma refers the pollution of human and mortal existence. It is collected on a daily basis and is not inherently filthy nor evil nor disgusting. But rather, it is a separating factor between us and the divinity of the deathless gods. It is collected simply by us existing as mortals (using the bathroom, sex, giving birth, dying, etc). While not inherently evil it is impurity in itself that requires cleansing.

That said, while this is the most commonly known form of acquiring miasma, there is actually very little mention of miasma in this context in ancient texts (to my research).

Moral miasma, however, is far more referenced (such as by Homer), and is far more structured in how it is acquired.

Moral miasma is collected through injustices and crimes, as they are seen as acts of violations against Zeus. Murder, rape, incest, etc. These are afronting acts of filth. While all forms of miasma makes us ritually impure, it it moral miasma that requires ritual purification to be cleansed and deemed fit to kneel again before the gods.

Cleansing the Miasmic

The phrase "cleanliness is close to godliness" heavily applies to cleaning ourselves for the gods. It is an act that brings us closer to Them, as the action of being clean brings us closer to their divinity. Unlike us, the gods do not become miasmic or impure, and our need to cleanse ourselves for them is another factor that separates us from Them.

Khernips is another aspect of cleanliness that tends to be debated. The consideration and common acceptance is that it is purified water (adjacent to holy water) for cleansing oneself. Commonly this is done through "purification by fire." Burning herbs, using matches, etc.

With khernips, we wash our hands and feet or our bodies to cleanse ourselves and stand properly before the gods.

Cleansing can also be asking simple as washing our hands or taking showers and baths. That said, these sorts of cleansinga only apply to mortal miasma, not moral.

Because moral miasma is a violation against Zeus and dirties our very being, it cannot simply be washed away. Moral miasma requires ritual purification, which is far more complex and takes far longer than simply cleaning yourself.

This can include fasting, isolation, and other concepts that do not typically overlap with a state of normalcy. It is only through ritualistic purification that someone can become clean again before the gods after being stained with moral miasma.

Overall, I believe simple cleansing should become a part of any hellenic polytheist's normal life. And in a sense, it is. The act of washing your hands, taking showers, even your typical skincare routine. These are acts of cleansing, and setting the intention of cleansing for the gods, especially when done before offerings and devotional acts, is quite beautiful ♡

[apricot-blossomss]

☛ mortal! fem! reader telling apollo she is pregnant

☛ sfw, angsty-ish, fluff

he was late, and it only worsened your anxiety. for the last half hour, you had been pacing nervously around the house, jumping at every sound that might announce the return of your immortal lover. the ticking of the clock mocked your growing despair as your gaze flickered between the door, the window and the bathroom door that stood between you and it. the positive pregnancy test on your sink.

five minutes late. was there any way he knew already? would he never come back to you again? the nausea that crept up your throat was very unlike the one that had you throwing up over the toilet this morning. just when you thought you would start to cry, there was a knock on the door. eight knocks in the rhythm of "here comes the sun" by the beatles.

since you had been waiting by the door, you opened it in a matter of seconds, only to be met with the face of apollo. a look of surprise graced his divine features and he smiled breathtakingly down at you with raised eyebrows. "quite eager to see me, are ya', sunshine?"

swallowing down your worry and despair was easy when he was right here, in front of you, when his shining smile made your heart burst with happiness and his deft fingers reached for your hips to ground you against him. a warm hand landed on your neck as your lover gazed down at you with pure adoration in his eyes and leaned down to kiss you. it was warm, it was perfect, it was like coming home and you sighed contentedly into his mouth.

however, you were pulled out of your haze when you felt the tips of his fingers dip under your skirt and the kiss become more heated. shakily, your hands pressed against his chest to push him away and immediately, you could feel him retracting. "love?" you opened your eyes to find him looking down at you, his worried eyes searching your features for an explanation for your shaky figure.

you should get this over with. after all, it was also his fault that you were now in this predicament. so you smoothed out your skirt and looked him in the eye, fingers fiddling with each other. "apollo, i'm... i'm pregnant"

the rush of emotions on his face was too fast and intense for your mortal senses to pick up. there seemed to be conflicting reactions within your lover which at least meant that he didn't only react with distain. at last, worry remained as his hands wrapped themselves around your bicep and he leaned down to your height. "how are you feeling?" oh, right. god of medicine.

"fine, just a little morning sickness earlier today," you answered, remembering the horrific story of his own birth. without your permission, your lower lip started to quiver and your fingers clawed at his shirt. "will you- will you leave me now?" you lowered your head to avoid looking at him if he pushed you away, it would be so much harder that way.

not that you thought he was a monster. but he was a god. dieties are fickle, as one mortal is only a second in the eternity of their existence. god's don't stick around and only rarely burden themselves with taking care of a mother and a child. from the moment you saw that the test was positive, you knew you wanted the baby, but you also wanted apollo. would you have to let one or the other go?

"leave you?" strong hands tilted your averted face towards the god and you couldn't help the tears burning in your eyes. if you could at least have a graceful farewell, but no. here you were, crying pathetically between his warm hands. apollos brows were furrowed- in anger, wonder, worry? you couldn't decipher it, even though you could read him fairly well most of the time.

"yes?" you squeaked with your broken crying voice. a dry chuckle left apollos lips and you frowned. must he mock you now as well?

"sunshine," he sighed and another tear escaped your eye at the sound of the nickname. grimacing, he brushed it away and offered you a gentle smile. "after all the poems and songs and declarations, what made you think i could leave you this easily?"

"don't you gods always?" you sniffed and tried to blink your tears away. "apollo, I- I want to keep it"

"good," he hummed and lowered his head to press a kiss onto your tear-stained cheek. "if that's what you want" as if to physically stop him from leaving, your arms locked around his godly body and you hid your face in his neck. your voice quivering with a shy hope, you whispered: "I want you, too"

"well, i'm glad," he laughed and you shuddered because even that sounded so ethereal. softly, he said your name, prompting you to look at him. with your faces only an inch apart, his warm breath fanned your moist face. he was smiling and you were in awe of how happy he looked. "sunshine, i'm not leaving. not ever"

"no?" you hiccuped embarrassingly and he chuckled. strong hands came up to cup your tummy as if there was a bump already. "i am amazed by your strength, lover, to carry our child. i shall promise to be with you every step of the way."

"thank god," you laughed and wiped your tears away. looking back, your outburst seemed almost stupid, but you knew you were justified in your suspicions when it came to gods and their feeling of obligation to their families. but not apollo. your lover was going to stay, with you, with the child. as the realization sunk in, your heart swelled with joy. about the baby, about the god in your arms, about your family.

new strength flooded through you and you took a step back. "i'll make dinner, do you want-"

apollo didn't let you finish, he picked you up princess style and shook his head scoldingly. "you aren't allowed to do anything. i'm making dinner, you just relax." before you could protest, he set you down on the couch, covered you in blankets and placed a cup of tea in your hands. "do you feel okay? any nausea? any pain?"

the deadpan look you gave him didn't seem to impress him very much. "apollo, I'm only a few weeks pregnant, this is ridiculous, do you want me to spend the next seven months on this couch?"

A tender but mischievous smile graced his lips as he pecked your nose and tucked you in despite your protests. "maybe. what would you do about it?"

"probably smother myself with these pillows out of boredom." you huffed and rolled your eyes. "apollo-"

"i know," he almost whined and you raised your brows. this thousands of years old diety was not supposed to sound like a toddler asking for his bedtime story. "it's just- you humans are so easily ki- hurt"

you frowned, but he turned away and walked a little more hurriedly to the kitchen than necessary. to not elicit any more protests, you didn't go after him but sat up on the couch, watching him scramble around just a tad bit to un-gracefully for a god. a sigh left your lips as you watched him and he stiffened a little. "apollo, how are you ever going to get through the childbirth?"

[x-z-x]

SAND AND METAL

Seth x Goddess!OC [Habibah]

Synopsis: Hathor gives birth to her first descendant, and Seth is the last to find out.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Incest / Smut + Erotic Asphyxiation.

sᴘᴀɴɪsʜ ᴠᴇʀsɪᴏɴ ‧ masterlist

“What’s happening with Hathor?”

The gods turned at the new voice, and some faces showed displeasure at seeing the latest addition to the room. Seth raised an eyebrow at their reactions, while Sekhmet smiled widely, ready to provide answers.

“Apparently, her daughter is causing trouble,” she said with malicious laughter.

“Since when does she have descendants? Who among you was it?” he asked, slightly aggressive due to the confusion.

“None,” Maat sighed, crossing her arms. “She had an affair some time ago and...”

Seth made a sound indicating his opinion on how foolish it was for her to end up pregnant, then watched them with suspicion, wondering if this had been a secret kept just from him.

“What did she do to make Hathor run through the halls in tears?”

“She was born with her mother’s beauty. She enjoys dancing and travels with a troupe to different cities for performances, but her appearance is drawing quite a lot of attention,” Bastet explained.

“Seriously, the problem is that she has too many suitors?” he scoffed.

“It’s more than that; some are deities who are starting to fight and cause chaos,” Maat said, emphasizing the gravity of the situation. “We asked Hathor to impose order and demand that her daughter act according to her divine title, but...”

“Divine? Did her daughter ascend?” he asked, less sympathetically.

“She is the Goddess of Precious Stones and Metals. Everything we use was crafted by her,” Thoth said, pointing to the impressive necklace he wore.

Isis smiled with mockery, but Seth dismissed the situation as a waste of time and left the place, heading to his temple. Upon arrival, contrary to what he had said, he ordered his most loyal servants to find the young woman who captivated everyone. However, the information didn’t arrive until several months later, and by then, any interest had faded.

Still, Hathor didn’t hesitate to confront him when she learned he knew her precious daughter was coming to the city. Nervous and agitated, it only encouraged the man to dismiss her concerns even more.

“Don’t mess with my baby! I’ll deal with the suitors, erase every trace of affection, and nothing will happen!” she growled, frowning.

“Now you choose to act? Battles and conflicts have arisen because of her, and that’s my territory.”

“She’s the victim, don’t blame her! If you do anything...”

“What?” Seth raised an eyebrow, a challenging smile on his face. “Do you think you can stand up to me?”

Hathor turned crimson, her violet eyes' pupils becoming vertical slits, her aura extremely threatening.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to destroy you if you interfere with her. I don’t care if I have to alter the feelings of every living being to have them protect her and turn against you,” she declared, sparks flying from the tips of her fingers. Then she turned and left the hall.

“Since when does she dare to speak to me like that?” he muttered angrily, tapping his nails against the throne he occupied.

Choosing to go regardless of the circumstances, he instructed them to prepare less conspicuous clothing and to cover his red hair well to remain unnoticed. Wrapped in linen, he set out at dusk for the designated area, frowning at the large number of people already occupying the front rows.

“Sir, please come this way,” a young woman with fine jewelry and a broad smile announced.

“Don’t touch me,” he growled as she grasped his arm.

“Please, I have instructions from the lead interpreter to take you to the front row,” she explained, maintaining her charm.

Seth squinted and moved forward, noticing that several mortals dressed like her were organizing the spectators. Both women and men watched him pass by, curious about who he was as they were led to more favorable spots. When he stopped, they led him to a cushioned area just a few meters from the makeshift stage.

As the sun set, torches were lit, and the musicians settled into their places, quietly chatting among themselves. It took some time before the performance began, and after a while, a man finally welcomed the audience and announced the start of the show. The first to perform were a mixed group dancing in pairs or small ensembles before breaking formation to interact with the audience. Seth admired the performance, wondering where they had found so many beautiful and talented people, while the crowd laughed and applauded at the artists’ infectious enthusiasm.

Minutes passed in a different activity for him, the final act arriving as a curtain was lifted to reveal several female silhouettes that captured everyone’s attention. A different rhythm began to play, and the fabric was released by the men holding it on ladders. Nine women showed their backs, with one standing out at the tip of the V formation. Gradually, they turned, and finally, the face of the girl Seth had come to see appeared, his mouth slightly open in awe.

With a confident and seductive smile, and lips as red as rubies, the goddess lifted her eyelids to reveal dark purple irises, with long lashes inherited from her mother. She walked slowly as the other women scattered across the stage. In perfect synchronization, they began their choreography with incredible flair. Crystals and golden beads intertwined and flew through the air as they twirled, the decorations sparkling as brightly as she did, leaving the audience breathless.

Seth’s red eyes followed every movement, admiring the curves that swayed with mischievous grace. Ignored until she decided to get closer to the prime spot, she crouched with a predatory air and crept to the edge of the platform, supporting herself on her hands and knees. The crowd cheered excitedly as she maintained eye contact, rising at one point and slowly swaying her hips. She traced her legs, thighs, waist, and neck in an extremely sensual display before turning and calling one of the men dancing nearby.

Euphoria erupted at the potential of what might happen, with Seth grinding his teeth and watching almost without blinking as she placed both hands on the man’s shoulders and began to caress him. He held her and spun her around, recognizing her intentions, and stroked her exposed abdomen while maintaining a challenging gaze toward the god. At this point, due to the heat from the large torches and the dance, she glistened with a light sheen of sweat and had cheeks flushed like beautiful garnets.

"I’ll wait for you," she said, her voice fading into the music and the noise.

Seth read her lips and watched as she threw a bracelet at his feet. Some people tried to reach for it, but he covered it with his hand, glaring at them so intensely that they backed off.

Once the event ended, he decided to wait for a signal. Suddenly, the bracelet began to heat up, pulling him with an unseen force in a specific direction. He let it guide him through a couple of crowded streets before turning into an alley, where the woman awaited, leaning against a wall and inspecting her nails.

"I learned of your existence only recently, unlike the rest," he remarked with a hint of reproach.

"It’s understandable. From what I’ve been told, your temper is rather volatile and aggressive," she said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter much. "What brings you here?" she asked, tilting her head and closing the distance between them, but soon found herself trapped as sand coiled around her legs.

"As the God of War and the Desert, I’ve come to deal with the trouble you’re causing with your suitors."

She averted her gaze and rolled her eyes silently, prompting Seth to issue a warning sound that forced her to speak.

"Do you have somewhere more private?"

Seth narrowed his eyes, considering the question before grabbing her by the arm and vanishing in a whirlwind.

"This is…" she hesitated, looking around.

"My temple," he finished, shedding the unnecessary linen, letting his red hair fall freely over his shoulders.

"Wow," she murmured, gently touching a strand. "I could make so many things to enhance this color. It’s so beautiful..."

Seth grabbed her wrist high in warning, allowing her to smile and lick his hand without breaking eye contact.

"Careful, or I’ll cut out your tongue."

She snorted, pulling free and turning her back to him, elegantly walking toward the massive stairs leading to the main building. The jewels and gemstone threads hanging from her chimed harmoniously with each step, glowing brighter as she neared the torches.

"It’s huge. I wouldn’t mind spending a few weeks here," she teased, brushing a wall with her fingers.

Seth followed at a measured distance, his eyes tracking her every move, taking in everything she was. Since he first saw her, an unfamiliar, overwhelming need had been growing inside him, frustratingly hard to ignore.

"Did I offer for you to stay?"

"Don’t you want me to? I’m good company," she turned, walking backward. "Why do you think those who know me fight over having me?" she winked.

"Sex."

"If that’s all, why don’t they forget me when I leave? What makes them cling so tightly?" she slowed her pace, drawing closer. "You saw it tonight—the crowd gets excited just watching me... Even you."

Seth clenched his teeth in frustration, and she stuck her tongue out teasingly.

“Do you have your mother’s permission to be mingling with gods?”

“I haven’t needed her approval in centuries,” she laughed. “I told her today I’d try to avoid causing chaos. Who knows, maybe getting close to the God of War is the solution.”

“You’ll be more trouble than pleasure.”

Her laugh rang out at that, before she pretended to ponder deeply.

“Do you have musicians? Maybe a private dance would change your mind.”

“We have matters to settle first,” he replied indifferently, though she knew a little push would make him fall. “What’s your name?”

"I'll tell you depending on what you decide after my dance."

He clenched his jaw, hating the carefree tone in her voice and the mischievous glint in her eyes. The constant smile was unnerving, making it seem like she was the one in control.

"Why do you live like a nomad, performing shows?"

"Mortal or immortal, every being is born with a family they can cherish—or not. My mother is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, and she'll always have a place in my heart. But the rest doesn’t really matter much. I met people who share my interests, people I enjoy spending my days with. They trust me, and I trust them, so I chose them," she explained, a new air surrounding her. "I won't leave that caravan, not when everyone I care about has an expiration date."

"You have feelings unbefitting of a deity."

"What is a god without humanity? If you don’t understand the people you’re meant to protect, represent, and serve, how can you be an empathetic and respectable ruler?" she asked, her eyes filled with pure seriousness. "I know I’ll never rule Egypt, but that doesn’t make me indifferent to those who pray to me."

"By the way you speak, I have no doubt you’re close to Osiris and Isis."

"Well thought out, both had a big hand in raising me," she responded, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one hip.

"Whatever," he mimicked her stance, looking her up and down. "Are you incapable of ordering your lovers to stop fighting over you?"

"Most haven’t even managed to lay a finger on me; they fight purely for the desire to do so. I’ve intervened, but the one who really should be stepping up here is Nephthys and encouraging peace."

"I don't question that. They should’ve turned to her from the start."

"She’s your sister. If she doesn’t act, you could ask her."

"Who do you think I am, a messenger?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Wow," she sighed, tilting her head. "So what now, we sleep together and let the rumor spread to scare the gods?"

"You’re really persistent. Do you want me that badly?" He clicked his tongue, grinning smugly.

The question drew a dry laugh from her as she stepped closer.

"I won’t deny you’re incredibly attractive, but even before you showed up at the performance, I knew I was in the mood for some fun tonight. If you don’t join me, I’ll find someone else to satisfy me."

Seth exhaled and held her gaze, his heart racing as he fought the urge to look away, feeling as if she were pulling him closer to the edge of a cliff.

"I believe you promised to dance and change my mind, didn’t you?"

"Finally, we’re getting to the important part," she said, pleased, taking a step back. "Lead me to your musicians."

Without delay, he took the lead and left her waiting outside as he entered a room. From the corridor, she could hear the hurried greetings of men and women as they scrambled to follow his commands, a few accidental notes sounding in the shuffle. A considerable line of people soon filed out, their eyes widening as they caught sight of her. She smiled, reveling in the way some let their jaws drop in astonishment.Seth exhaled and held her gaze, his heart racing as he fought the urge to look away, feeling as if she were pulling him closer to the edge of a cliff.

"I believe you promised to dance and change my mind, didn’t you?"

"Finally, we’re getting to the important part," she said, pleased, taking a step back. "Lead me to your musicians."

Without delay, he took the lead and left her waiting outside as he entered a room. From the corridor, she could hear the hurried greetings of men and women as they scrambled to follow his commands, a few accidental notes sounding in the shuffle. A considerable line of people soon filed out, their eyes widening as they caught sight of her. She smiled, reveling in the way some let their jaws drop in astonishment.

“What’s keeping you all busy?” Seth asked from the back, his voice causing everyone to snap out of their stupor and hasten their movements.

"If you decide not to have sex with me, I’m glad to know I won’t have to look far for another partner."

He shot her a sidelong glance, gritted his teeth, and then tossed his hair back.

"Let’s go."

They walked calmly, with Seth entering first into a vast room where a massive mattress lay nearly at floor level. Posts with large curtains were arranged to shield the bed from view, while four attendants lit incense and prepared alcohol.

"Release the side curtains."

Another small group hurried to comply, loosening the ties and leaving only one section uncovered.

"Interesting," the goddess remarked, taking a few steps around the room.

The musicians arranged their instruments and took positions concealed by heavy drapes, their role clearly to observe the guest.

"Prepare as you wish," Seth said with an indifferent gesture before heading to the bed and reclining against a large mound of pillows.

Two women approached with golden goblets filled with wine, which both accepted before the temple owner instructed them to leave.

As she drank calmly, she approached the musicians to discuss her preferences. They exchanged opinions and reached an agreement on how to proceed. Satisfied with the outcome, she moved several meters from the bed and took her place directly in front of the open section.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Are you?” he replied, raising an eyebrow as the incense began to fill the room.

Winking, she emptied his glass in one gulp and raised it in the air. At this signal, the musicians began to play as she turned her back to him, keeping her arm extended above her head.

As she swayed her hips slowly, the gold she wore started to melt and reshape. It dripped down her arm, first forming a small head and then an elongated body. The newly formed snake coiled and descended to rest around her neck. With both hands on the sensitive area, she turned slowly and smiled with her eyes closed, letting herself be carried away by the music. She caressed her collarbones and shoulders before extending her arms, while the serpentine creation moved across her chest and encircled her. Suddenly, a piece of fabric fell away, revealing a breast.

As if nothing had happened, she continued her dance, the metal caressing and embracing every part of her body as it descended. Her adorned wrists and fingers skimmed her skin and created perfect movements in the air, captivating the onlookers who held their breath as the serpent approached the garment covering her most intimate area.

Unperturbed, she turned and placed both hands on the back of her legs, carefully lifting a bit of the fabric. The serpent coiled one of its segments around her thigh to keep her hand in place, taking advantage of the opportunity to slither beneath her skirt.

A murmur rose from the left side, and the woman glanced over her shoulder to see Seth’s unblinking gaze, though one of his eyebrows twitched involuntarily at a comment she couldn't quite decipher. With a smile, she arched her back and bent her body backward, her free fingers caressing from her abdomen up to the exposed breast, squeezing it with delight.

The serpent gradually released her, and she turned to show how it emerged from the front, starting to rise and drag the fabric up to the edge of revealing her inner thigh. However, she made sure not to expose too much, guiding it to change direction slightly. She pivoted on one foot, preparing for the imminent drumbeat, and at that moment, she fell to her knees with her hands extended and her hair cascading forward.

She slowly straightened up, and the musicians adjusted their rhythm to match her movements. Seated in a W shape with her legs apart, she locked eyes with Seth and felt the intense heat from his red gaze, which made her smile. She then turned her attention to one of the women who had earlier caught her eye. Attractive and alluring, the woman was a tempting prospect if Seth chose to let her go. In an instant, the protagonist contemplated how to seduce her, but the god’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

Everyone snapped out of their trance and ceased their actions, the musicians hurriedly gathering their instruments and leaving the room. Within minutes, they were alone, and she approached the foot of the bed, tilting her head with curiosity.

“Didn’t you like the performance?”

Seth took a deep breath, finished his wine, and threw the glass off the bed with a loud clink. He adjusted himself and gestured with his index finger, signaling her to come closer. She smiled and took a few steps onto the bed, getting on all fours and crawling towards him until she was on top. The serpent, curious, slithered over the red-haired man’s body as they locked eyes.

“It was disrespectful of you to look at someone else when you should have been trying to convince me.”

“Is that why you cut off the dance? I was just assessing the best option in case you decided to pass on such an incredible opportunity,” she defended herself, moving closer until their faces were only a few centimeters apart. “So, what’s your answer?”

After a moment of silence, he placed his right hand on her head to close the distance. Their lips met and quickly intertwined, his feeling incredibly soft mixed with the aroma of the wine they had drunk.

"When you decided to meet me, had you planned this?" she asked as he pulled away, his hand caressing the small of her back.

"You’re the first descendant of Hathor, and she had hidden you from me jealously. It was just curiosity," she replied. "And you? Why did you give me the bracelet?"

"Isn’t it obvious? You captivated me the moment I saw you. I definitely wanted us to share a bed."

Seth flashed a small sidelong smile and brushed her hair back, the intertwined lines of gems shining in his hand as he gathered it.

“What’s your name?” he asked, even more dazzled by her incredible appearance up close.

She smiled and tilted her head towards one of the curtains, as if deciding whether to reveal the information. Finally, she turned back and kissed the palm resting on her cheek.

“Habibah, which means ‘the one who is loved,’” she confessed, with a look of complicity.

“Your mother really knew what she was doing, because that’s how everyone seems to feel when they meet you.”

“Even the God of War and the Desert?”

“I’m not like the others. Do you think you can make me feel the same way?” he said with a touch of challenge, but sounding more like an invitation to continue what they had started.

Accepting the challenge and everything it implied, she kissed him deeply, her tongue exploring his. Seth caressed her warm skin and then pressed down, aligning their bodies so that she could feel his erection. Without hesitation, she began to move her hips, and he let out a pleased sigh, his hands finding their way to her waist.

Habibah ran a hand through his red hair and descended slowly, tracing her way down his chest until she focused on one of his nipples. Seth gritted his teeth, undid the clasp of the upper fabric, and started to caress what was within reach, instructing her to lie down.

Without hesitation, she moved a few pillows and settled against the soft mattress, watching as the serpent coiled around the man’s arm like a perfect and beautiful accessory. He barely noticed the gold, focusing instead on returning her affections. Habibah closed her eyes and took a deep breath as his lips arrived at her breasts. She caressed his shoulders and back, lightly scratching as she felt him burning like the desert under the sun.

The incense began to take effect, lightening their minds and giving way to an intense desire that drove them to hold each other with urgency. Their hips searched for each other frantically, moaning against one another in broken kisses, their legs and arms entwined in a connection with no clear beginning or end.

Habibah slipped a hand between them, urgently seeking his erection, which she attended to with skillful movements until she lifted the fabric that covered his intimacy. Seth created some distance and propped himself on his knees, removing the minimal clothing and setting it aside before focusing on her. Completely naked and adorned only with jewelry, she settled herself as he took her legs and dragged her over his thighs. The movement elicited a small surprised sound from Habibah, and he watched her expectantly while caressing the outer side of her legs.

“Do it,” she encouraged, brushing his stomach with a hand.

Seth tightened his grip, leaving momentary marks before releasing her and taking his erection. With a single movement, he inserted the tip and then thrust in a steady rhythm until he reached the deepest point. Both moaned, and the woman arched her back with a wide smile while pulling the sheets.

“You’re incredibly wet,” he growled, his cheeks flushed with satisfaction.

“You say that as if it’s something strange. Don’t women get excited with you?”

She shivered with excitement and pleasure as a sharp, red gaze emerged among the fiery hair. The intense tickling sensation made her laugh with delight until she nearly screamed as he began to thrust forcefully. Breathless, she tried to steady herself amidst the sounds of raw impact, the heat and pleasure spreading like waves from the center of her body to every corner.

"You shouldn’t be competing with the God of War," he said with a proud expression.

"I don’t mind losing," she replied honestly, though she knew it would only fuel the fire further.

Seth narrowed his eyes but soon regained his composure, placing his hands on the mattress with a feigned calm as she wrapped her legs around his body. She swayed her hips, feeling his member pressing down, and he resumed the movement with great force after a hiss. Habibah pulled him towards her by the nape to kiss him, shivering as his tongue entered and took control. The thrusts were relentless, with a stamina reminiscent of someone who had fought countless battles to defend Egypt.

With tearful eyes, she admired the man moving above her, pushing aside her strands of hair to see him better, noticing the earrings that moved violently in sync with their owner.

"I’ll make you some prettier ones," she said, brushing against the fine, rectangular gold plate.

"How can you think of that in the middle of sex?"

"Maybe you should try harder," she pressed, noticing how the atmosphere shifted in the blink of an eye.

The room fell silent, and Habibah's skin tingled as she realized she had made a mistake.

"Turn around," he commanded as he withdrew from her, not waiting for her to move and grabbing her by the arm to start repositioning her.

Any doubt vanished when she lost her breath again, feeling Seth penetrate her abruptly and hold her by the neck with considerable force. She was left gasping for air and tried to grab his wrist, but the sand made her hands stick to the bed.

"Such behavior with someone who was born long before you is very inappropriate," he growled, his abs tensing as he gradually adjusted the angle to graze the spot that would drive her wild. "Talking less and learning would do you a lot of good."

Involuntarily, Habibah’s eyes rolled back as he found her most sensitive area, her legs wanting to give out but unable to do so due to the force with which he held her.

“Se… th…” she called, her muscles trembling in a way she had never experienced before.

“Hmm?” he asked, loosening his grip.

A bit of awareness returned to her as she tried to ask for a breath amidst the perfect administrations. However, Seth increased his effort, making it impossible for her to speak.

Cursing inwardly, she let her head drop as moisture dripped down her thighs, slightly staining the sheets. Seth held her by the hips for added stability and wrapped sand around her neck, the itching heightening the effects of pleasure and strangulation. Any cries and moans were muffled or cut off, with only a few gasps escaping as he breathed heavily and occasionally growled in deep satisfaction.

Struggling to swallow and relishing the challenge, Habibah briefly focused and set the serpent in motion. The god's hips lost their rhythm, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the golden creature firmly wrapped around the redhead's throat.

“T-Two…” she tried to say, and he deliberately loosened his grip. “Two can play… this game,” she smiled proudly, though she soon rolled her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows.

He breathed heavily, the metal not yielding in the slightest and intensifying his own sensations.

“I knew you’d be a pain if I brought you to the temple,” he growled, his brow furrowed.

Habibah tried to laugh, but a strange sound escaped as she felt the onset of her orgasm.

“But I… I also give you pleasure,” she defended, feeling her lungs burn and forcing the gold to make him suffer the same way she did.

A desperate, frustrated groan escaped from the man, who felt the constriction sending electric waves to his erection. He clenched his jaw and threw his head back, pushing into her with renewed urgency to provoke the impending climax.

Both seemed to have lost control of their consciousness and bodies as they moved, overwhelmed by the need to escape the pleasure consuming them. They were on the brink of fainting, allowing brief moments of calm before their necks were swiftly constricted again.

Habibah's spasms intensified, reaching a climax that opened a new world of pleasure. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, making lascivious sounds as the moisture increased significantly with the release. The pressure of her walls became too much for Seth to bear, and the stimulation pushed him to his limit, culminating inside her. He trembled and groaned loudly, delivering the final thrusts with some difficulty until the stimulation became overwhelming and he stopped.

Both the metal and the sand loosened, and they both breathed heavily, their eyelids drooping as they collapsed onto the mattress, savoring the comfort. Habibah, lying face down, slowly turned to look at the man, who had one arm draped over his forehead as he steadied himself. He looked just as beautiful, if not more so, with an enviable profile and eye and hair color that she would love to highlight with various creations.

“That was good,” the young woman sighed, stretching her arms.

Seth watched her, unknowingly mimicking her movements, silently admiring the beauty that had captivated him at a single glance. They chatted a bit and decided that this would be the only round, though their mouths didn't escape some additional entanglements until they surrendered to sleep.

When the sun was high, the god cracked open his eyes and, groggy, took a few minutes to become aware of his surroundings. Floral scents filled the air, none of which were familiar, so he looked around and noticed Habibah’s absence. Frowning, he sat up, ready to get up and find out if she had left, but then he heard a noise in the room and, cautiously, drew back the curtains.

Facing away from the window, the goddess examined herself in the mirror as she applied a type of oil to her face. Her hair was wet and slicked back, the sunlight streaming in and drying it quickly. She was visibly focused and didn't realize that Seth had awakened until his bare feet made a soft noise on the floor.

“Good morning,” Habibah smiled as she applied perfume.

“I see you found the bathrooms.”

“Yes, after the show and our entanglement, I needed to freshen up.”

“I still have the bracelet you threw at me.”

“It’s yours,” she said, looking at the object. “With it, if you ever get bored and miss me, you can find me wherever I am and relive last night,” she winked playfully.

Seth clicked his tongue and looked at the accessory, feeling his stomach churn. The stones sparkled as much as she did in the sun.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Still, you should be prepared for when my mother sees you wearing something of mine,” she warned, stretching her neck to examine the marks he had left.

“Not much she can do,” he brushed off, placing a hand on his hip. “Are you heading to the caravan?”

“Yes, I need to let them know I’m okay and ready for tonight’s performance.”

“How long will you stay in the city?”

“Until the next full moon.”

They fell silent for a moment, and Seth crossed his arms, looking out the window at the clear sky.

“Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Habibah raised both eyebrows, admiring his chiseled face.

“During the night, don’t sleep in the caravan. Come here.”

“Every night?” she asked, surprised.

Seth nodded, and she blinked, perplexed, but then gave a quick affirmative gesture.

“I would love to, thank you.”

“I’ll go take a bath. Do as you wish in the temple.”

“Are problems included?” she asked mischievously, and he tilted his head.

“No.”

“But…”

“If so, I’ll punish you.”

“Somehow, that sounds very promising. Maybe you should give me a lesson,” she laughed, playful and seductive.

“I’ve just gotten up,” he said with a yawn, still feeling the remnants of the previous night. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Of course, I’ll make sure to say goodbye before I leave.”

As she watched his back, Habibah dropped any pretense and smiled slyly, knowing that the man was falling for her. He wasn’t different from any other human or deity, but Seth was undoubtedly the one she truly desired, and she would give him everything if he surrendered at her feet.

[bloodyshadow1]

I'd like to think that Athena doesn't know what a normal person is capable of and that's why she pushed Telemachus so hard. she's normally someone who surrounds herself with heroes born for greatness, not normal kids (I say kid but he is 20 years old, but I'm in my 30's so he's a kid to me).

Like she was never a kid being born a woman grown from her father's skull, her godly siblings were not normal either. Artemis helped her mother give birth to her twin seconds after being born. Hermes literally stole Apollo's cows and invented musical instruments days after being born

The the mortals she mentored

Heracles, son of Zeus and capable of strangling snakes in the crib, his strength is legendary amongst gods much less demigods

Perseus was able to kill medusa and go on a quest in his teens, also the son of Zeus

Odysseus was a child prodigy, great grandson of Hermes, capable of taking down a magic boar as a youth

Belleraphon and Theseus- sons of Poseidon capable of great feats of their youth blessed with great strength due to their father's blood

the only normal kid Athena ever interacted with was Diomedes, the son of her previous famous mortal. And he's probably one of the strangest on this list because he's a normal mortal guy and without divine blood is one of the scariest motherfuckers in greek mythology. When Odysseus gets banished to Calyso's island Telemachus was almost as old as Diomedes was when he went to win his first war.

Just saying Athena probably has a bit of a blindspot when it comes to what normal children can do because the only kids she ever really interacts with are superhumans like the demigods or freaks of nature like Diomedes. How is she supposed to know that a normal kid like Telemachus who has never learned to fight can't beat a grown man in hand to hand combat?

[shinedoitsulikeabright]

Twins AU

Alright, it seems like people were actually curious about this AU, so I decided to write this post. The OG idea was mine, but then @axt-bs and I worked on it together (also a huge thanks to @bigidiotenergytm for drawing the kiddos). Make sure to show them both some love <3

This is going to be a long post so brace yourselves...

The AU starts after Thunder Bringer. In an attempt to save both himself and his crew, Odysseus used the other ways of persuasion. It worked and Zeus agreed to it. They both believed it would be a one time thing, however, after seeing how juicy Ody's thighs were, Zeus couldn't bring himself to let him leave.

So, he gave him a new ultimatum: he either stays with Zeus and becomes his servant while the rest of his crew returns home safely, or he leaves with his men and they all certainly die. Obviously, Odysseus didn't want to do it, but he had no other choice but to stay. As promised, the crew made it back to Ithaca quickly and safely.

Naturally, it didn't take long for Poseidon to find out what happened. Of course, he was FUMING. Odysseus was his mortal to fuck kill. He went to Zeus and demanded he give him Odysseus so "he can receive his divine punishment and pay for the crimes he committed against him".

Zeus obviously didn't want to, but Poseidon gave him an ultimatum: either he gives the mortal to Poseidon or Ithaca will become the next Atlantis. Now, Zeus himself doesn't care about what happens to Ithaca, but Odysseus does and begs for his island to be spared.

Since Zeus and Poseidon are a match in terms of power, the thunder bringer reluctantly agrees. They end up awkwardly sharing Ody (one year he's with Zeus, another with Poseidon). One day, the two brothers get in a fight and somehow get to the topic of whose sperm is more powerful. They decide to settle it by getting Odysseus pregnant and seeing whose baby he gives birth to.

Anyway, some time passes and it's time for the babies to be born. In order to spare both Odysseus and the potential future child from Hera's wrath, Zeus sends him back to Ithaca. In fact, Zeus had to physically hold Hera back from cursing Ody's entire bloodline.

He also sent Artemis, the goddess of midwives, to help with the delivery. No one knew she would be coming; she just kinda showed up, all disheveled from the woods, at their front door and went to work.

The firstborn was Kyrios, the son of Zeus. Naturally, Zeus was beyond proud about his win and rubbed it into his disgruntled brother's face. He was quickly humbled, however, when the second child (Atlanta) was born and it was Poseidon's. They both just sat there in shock, somewhat disappointed that it was a tie (things like this happened in Greek mythology so it's not like it would be unheard of).

As expected, the two gods are terrible fathers and aren't present at all in the twins' lives. They do care in their own way though. They watch over the entire family from afar and send small, but noticeable blessings to the island (it rarely stormed, the sea was unusually calm, the Ithacan fishermen suddenly start catching more fish etc.)

Since the twins were raised by Ody and his family and never met their fathers, they began to resent them. However, they still also respected them because, well, they were gods. While everyone was able to notice the sudden influx of blessings, to the twins it all appeared normal (since it was that way since they were born, so in their minds, the gods never cared about them).

Odysseus taught them so much and raised them well. He taught them to be loyal to their future partners, so that was yet another reason why they resented their divine fathers (this is also why Hera eventually stops hating them, particularly Kyrios. She sees he's nothing like Zeus and that makes her stop wishing he were dead).

I think that's about it. If you'd like to read about Penelope and Telemachus' thoughts, you can check out this post. If you'd like to see some cute drawings of these little guys, check out this and this post.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I'm more than happy to yap about these guys all day :3

[bloody-night]

Do you do Mydei? He is so pretty I love him so much. He is such a malewife. So I was thinking feminization, crossdress, and I want to spoil him like a princess he is. Imagine this buff guy in a cute lingerie rawrawrawr

‘Unpleasant experience’

short draft

Mydei was the god of war, one who can provoke victory and win. He has won many wars, even if he was the one who started it all. He is fearsome, even if his people cheer his name as he victors all battles. His name is spoken with praise and respect. He is surely not one to be made a fool of.

…

So why is he standing right before you, not wearing his armor, rather laced lingerie?

“Is this what takes to please you?” He asked, his arms resting beside those adoring hips of his, hips made for your cock, hips to birth out your offsprings. You were practically drooling at the sight. His question fading into your empty mind, all you could was stare at how his pecs were fat and not even covered by the bra, but it was perfect. It’s red lace tight, only hiding his perked nipples.

You cleared your throat, catching a glimpse of his packed crotch, seeing the massive bulge and small stain of pre damping the cloth. “Red suits you.” You whispered, standing up from your previous seating, walking close to your prince.

…You do remember telling him about wearing stuff like this, and even buying it, but always getting declined.

—“Look Mydei! Could you please wear these for me? They’re definitely your style!” You pestered, holding a bag out to him, the materials covered in a black plastic.

Mydei looked at you with a quirked brow and slight scowl, only for him to take the bag. You sat on the edge of your shared bed, waiting for Mydeimos to come out of the bathroom, before hearing an annoyed grunt.

You felt the thin clothing hit your face like a slap. “You really think I’ll wear this, nonsense?!” He practically shouted, seeing a glance of the red tips of his ears as he closed the door to change again.

In the bathroom, Mydeimos could only pinch his nose bridge in annoyance, giving a grunt at the frustration. His face was blushing red, and so were his ears. He stood in front of the mirror, naked, imagining himself with that black laced two piece of clothing.

Pretty lace covering his body, maybe he’d look good with it? Surely only for your eyes it’d be fine.

No, Mydei can’t afford to ruin his image. Not for a puny mortal like you.

So then, why is his erection leaking with pre, twitching at the thought of wearing lace for your eyes?

Mydeimos scoffed before changing into his normal attire.

You’ve given Mydeimos several sets of lingerie, some pink, ranging to red, black, and even white. All those, Mydei would only scoff before snatching the bag from your grasp, presumably thinking he’d have thrown them out due to him returning with his normal wear on. Not long before you stopped giving him suggestions, your mind left to wander on what he did to the expensive items you gifted him.

Mydei would only keep to himself as he’d wear the sets in private, admiring himself in the mirror, only continuously wearing the red one. Sometimes, he’d imagine you fucking him like this,

And thankfully, that time has come.

—“Mydei… you kept them?” You asked, your hands rubbing his waist up and down repeatedly. Mydei scoffed, rolling his eyes in irritation. His arms loosely wrapped themselves around your neck, his beautiful irises staring at you with a slight glare. “This’ll only happen once a blood moon.” He mumbled, seemingly teasing you.

You shook your head, giving a small chuckle. You hummed and kissed his cheek, becoming closer together, chest to chest. “Thank you for doing this for me.” You mumbled, taking his lips as you both kissed, yours being gentle, however Mydei’s being slightly desperate and rough.

Once in a blood moon? Better make sure that happens frequently…

[goth-mami-writer]

¤ Sweet, Silver Affliction ¤ (pt.1)

▪︎ King Baldwin IV x f!Reader arranged marriage AU work

{Some countries/regions mentioned are entirely fictitious as to not misrepresent anyone's culture. Some historical facts have been altered for plot purposes ♡}

《 You kept your father's colors woven tightly around you as the horse's carriage rode away from the desert lands of your birth. You weren't used to the mild temperatures of your soon to be home in Jerusalem. All your silks and scarves decorated around you did almost little to keep you warm now- their thermal purpose being changed entirely in the changed climate.

Your nurse mother, a guardian who was set in place to oversee you on your journey, rode beside you, making you practice aloud through the harshness of Hebrew vowels and grammar.

“Pay attention-” She told you with a soft scold in your mother tongue to see that your mind was flitted elsewhere as the carriage rocked you both gently.

“Your Hebrew words must be perfect for the King. You cannot sound uneducated in his language, princess.”

“He is uneducated in mine.” You snarked, feeling annoyed with the situation entirely and your nurse felt at her wits end, unsure if it was strong humidity, the jostling ride…or knowing that your family was losing you to an arranged, blind marriage. She wasn't sure as her frustration ensued to reprimand your teenage attitude at its hottest since the eve of your 18th birthday only days ago.

“You cannot use that sharp tongue in King Baldwin's presence, young one. Do not mistake his quiet demeanor for weakness. He led the Holy Army into great victory where odds were dwindling for Jerusalem. You must show him your utmost respect-”

You thought she was finished when your narrowed eyes peered over to glare with disdain to being lectured but she finished with heavy emphasis on amending your soured attitude from leaving home,

“-as a Christian and his bride!!”

At age 18, your father had bid your hand in marriage to King Baldwin of Jerusalem, a union that would not be made official until you stood before him face to face on this very night. This marriage, once binded, would make your two countries allies against the war that ravaged the lands separated by the Jordan river and unite the Holy City to become stronger in its efforts of Christian conquest.

In the minutes following your heavy thinking, you heard as the road began to steady with softer ground and you knew the entrance into the city was close ahead. Your nerves began to twist around your patience, strangling your poise to fidget and twine your long head silks in your fingers.

There was a secret you'd discovered shortly before leaving Hadjari, the royal city of your home country of Tuunda’an; a sovereign territory after converting entirely to Christianity upon Baldwin's reign.

Your advisors, and even your father, had falsified your age to Jerusalem when the call was made for your hand. It was not a lie that you were close in age to the king who was only of 23 years, but it was not made true…that you were only 18. You hoped he wouldn't see it in your face but how could he?

Could he see anything at all through that iron facade that made you tremble?

The boy king turned leper king.

The words swathed in your mind like the beating of war drums. He was a marvel, a young god that some felt to have the looming, supernatural presence of an ancient ghost that could look right through you from the eyes of his haunting silver mask.

Baldwin was known to be otherworldly intelligent. For a ruler of his age, his sense of war strategy and wisdom of the throne was singular. But his fatal, damning flaw that guaranteed him mortal instead of the young god he appeared to be was his failing and unfortunate state of health.

Leprosy had begun plaguing him in his adolescence and the disease was, rumoredly, leaving his face cursed with marred, lesion ridden skin that was either devoid of all feeling or weakened to pain by a mere touch.

How could he even have heirs? It was a thought that consumed you seeing that your lone purpose for taking his name was the fertility you had to offer for his legacy to continue.

Could a leper plagued by misery really sire an heir while his very life was dwindling by the year?

As you passed through the entrance of the city, your nurse mother turned to you upon hearing the city's commotion to your arrival that was being shouted in the very streets, following your carriage all the way to the towering Citadel where you would meet the king at the very foot of his throne.

“Princess, I must…prepare you for the likes of the King's illness.”

“He is a leper. I know this. Doesn't everyone?” You asked her, wondering why she was being so grave of a subject. A subject that you needed to pretend wasn't shaking you to the core to imagine upon the face of your soon to be husband.

“Yes-” She nodded, feeling as though you weren't taking this dire circumstance s seriously as you needed to in these last few moments,

“But you should know…that the King's face is rumored…. to be a tragic sight. I want you to promise me that you will not offend him if he were to be without his coverings in your presence following this night. Even if the very vision of his bare skin…makes your stomach turn sick.”

Your face was stilled from expression, wondering if all the rumors just as this were, in fact, true of his grace. That he was repulsive to see without his mask. You expected to marry for things other than vanity. You'd always known that your husband wouldn't be of your choosing, but you never thought yourself…to be wed to someone your insides might have found disgusting.

What if you couldn't help but retch on your wedding night trying to....consummate?

Would God punish you? Would your father?

When the carriage came to a halt, you turned to your nurse who then began to prepare you in the thin, sheer bridal scarf that would be secured to your head by the thin circlet encrusted with your family's royal jewels. She acted as if you were fine porcelain, needing nonchalantly polished and dusted before being sold upon the market road to anyone who held the coin.

Your heart thundered with what you knew to be terror when you heard Hebrew voices drawing nearer to the carriage and you sputtered with warm, streaming tears when you called her name before she could place the lace, demure veil upon your face as the tradition of a Tunda'anian bride.

“I….am frightened. I want to go home..!”

You spoke your fears in your mother tongue, making sure the Hebrew ears around you couldn't discern your distress and she shushed you. Her thumbs kneaded your under eyes one part in hoping to preserve your painted makeup but also to soothe the soul she knew well to still be a child that she once nursed the same as her Queen mother that was now passed.

“You're a bride.” She told you as your veil became placed against your face, modestly concealing you from the nose down in its fine lace to keep you hidden from any eyes other than that of your awaiting husband and she finished, raising her knuckle to your chin.

“Your father is proud. I am proud. And you will make him proud…”

The words she spoke hardly eased your grim nerves and you saw as a guard had reached his hand inside the cart where you were instructed in Hebrew to come forward.

The distinguished Tower of David, the Citadel of the entire Holy City, stood before you now, making your head tilt up to see it so vastly in full. Your steps were languid and weary as you were led up the winding gravelly road that would take you to the doors of what felt to be God's own protected fortress built by men.

Your dress silks were tossed by the winds of the hills you were reluctant to admit were breathtaking when painted in the rosey hues of the twilighted sky, the last sunset you'd ever see as unmarried you knew it. When you passed the guarded gates, feeling your nurse keep pace behind you in the swarm of his Majesty's guards, you saw that you were being led to what seemed to be a courtyard, but by the sounds you heard, you gathered that it was much else.

Your name was announced by the royal harker, telling the masses of your presence and you hesitated when you saw that at the head of this open terrace hung with vines upon the browning stone, you saw steps that lead upward…to a height you knew would hold your royal betrothed.

After turning to your guardian, assuring that you were being asked to come forward, you walked alongside a king's guard in heavy, chattering armor where he took your hand upon the first step.

It grew silent when all eyes came upon you, and your pulse was beating the blood in and out of your tiring heart. Your burdensome journey, the hours spent in worry were coming to a peak all in one moment as you drew closer, but your eyes still couldn't look up.

Not yet.

“Princess…” You heard a deep voice before you speak distinctly, the Hebrew vowels you were learning never sounded more clear as they rattled the walls of the temple and your tense frame.

“May I introduce to you Jerusalem's blessed keeper. The Lord's chosen Sire of the Holy Land, son of Amalric and victor to the great battle of Montisguard, His Majesty King Baldwin, fourth of his name.”

You trembled in small quakes to know that you were before him, and without another breath of hesitation, you thought of the proper royal etiquette of bowing…no, curtsying before a king- something you weren't accustomed to in your culture, one would always kneel.

But you hadn't practiced curtsy.

God above couldn't help you when the entire Holy Court stood in watch of your silent, shuddering turmoil that rendered you halted and motionless. You broke, unable to remain still anymore, and you bowed in the Tuunda’anian fashion instead with your knees crashing to the stone, and your face turned downwards.

It felt like assault to embarrass yourself and your eyes were watered in tears to know that everyone could see you. Even him.

You heard as footsteps came to approach you and you readied yourself for that king’s guard to tell you to stand. While you still had some dignity.

But it was much worse.

The movement was too silent, too ominous and with your heartbeat at its most unforgiving, you heard the words that cleared any doubts from your very soul when he said….muffledly.

“Rise.” King Baldwin, your masked intended, spoke to you for the first time, his words purring as if spun from silk.

Your head turned up without thought of ever looking away again, and he looked down to you, standing before you on the remaining step where you found his silvered gaze for the first time. 》

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. V

sorry for the wait, I'm trying to do a mix of longer and shorter chaps depending on how much time I have. Love yall 🩷

tags- @beebeechaos @hueanhdang @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew

cw- blood, death

"I'll find her." Cregan promised the she-dragon, not stopping to wonder if it understood his common tongue.

He sat upon Red's saddle, looking out into the dim forest. He prayed of the old Gods that she was only lost.

🗡

Daenys had yet to find her mysterious calling. It wasn't a voice or a message, but a persistent tug in the forefront of her unconscious mind. The snow seemed to fall harder the deeper she continued into the forest. She was unsure which way she had come from, but knew it didn't matter now.

White fortresses of snow grew all around her, trapping her from going any other direction. Squinting, she could barely make out a few feet in front of her face. This must be some cruel game the gods were playing, toying with the Princess before leading her to her doom. Perhaps a frozen lake would be fitting. She wouldn't even know that she was standing in the middle of one until she was frozen in the icy depths.

Or mayhaps a cliff so monstrous that the jagged edges left nothing of her mortal body left behind. Whatever it was, Daenys just wished she would reach it already. Now that she was wide-awake, the cold was getting to her, mentally and physically. Even the well-suited fur dress was not enough to keep her alive forever. She needed fire, warmth.

And what of her most recent vision? Tame in nature, but harrowing to her poor heart nonetheless. Daenys had never seen Rhaenyra so undignified before, flying on Syrax in a dirty, worn dress and covered in soot and sand. Her hair was in a loose braid, clearly one meant for sleep and not council duties. She was searching for something that no one else could find. A dragon, perhaps? Maybe Seasmoke had become active again after his depressive state from Laenor's passing. The grey dragon had always liked Rhaenyra. The married couple often rode their dragons together to spend time away from King's Landing. Daenys was sure it would obey her still.

But that look on her face. The same one she wore after returning from her birthing room, without baby Visenya in her arms. Puffy face, red eyes, downtrodded posture unbefitting of the new Queen. It was all the same in her dream, maybe even worse. Daenys was glad that her mother was with Syrax, for the she dragon would keep her safe no matter what.

She smiled slightly at the remembrance of Syrax, the princess dragoness. Though Morningstar was not born from Syrax's clutch, the two had bonded as if they were truly kin. Daenys had even commissioned an iron star-shaped chain to be the dragonsaddle's chestpiece. Rhaenyra had given Syrax a similar heart-shaped chestpiece in her youth and was happy to see the white dragon doning a matching article.

Daenys suddenly felt a pang in her heart, clutching the star necklace hanging at her neck. Guilty ate at her for leaving her loyal dragon behind. She missed her warmth.

She missed Cregan's, too.

She longed for either's protective embrace in this desolate wood.

"Find me," she whispered to the nothingness. The air seemed to still, freezing Daenys in place. She listened for something, anything. She no longer felt the incessant tug. Her mind cleared.

A crunch of snow was her answer.

But Daenys hadn't moved an inch.

"Cregan?" She asked, louder. "Are you here?"

No answer but the one in the wind, like a solemn wolf's howl.

Another crunch. Another step. Cregan would've answered her by now, surely. He was not one for callous pranks or jests. Daenys wasn't alone anymore. Was this the destination? Her mind's call? Would it be a wise seer, or a vessel sent by the gods to deliver a message? Swallowing, she hoped that the entity was merciful.

A low growl answered her desperate wishes.

A wolf.

Not Dusk.

Shit.

Daenys stilled her breaths, bracing her legs into the snow. What does a weaponless person do in the face of a predator? She'd never been taught such survival methods. The Red Keep's wildlife consisted of garden rabbits and squirrels, and Dragonstone had naught but sea creatures and crabs at its disposal.

Her eyes caught the slow movement of the creatures paw, striking dread straight into her heart. The form was smaller than Dusk, by a lot. Direwolves had a size no natural animal compared to. But this one seemed smaller than an average wolf, too. Perhaps a wolf in its teen years, just recently leaving its pack to stake his place in the world.

It was a slim thing, thick coat not enough to hide its ribs. Poor thing. It was starving, clearly. Daenys would have the heart to help it if only she wasn't the current prey he had in mind.

It was survival of the fittest in this world, after all. A dragon and a wolf. Any person with common sense would declare the dragon the victor before the fight could even start. But what was the blood of the dragon without the dragon? Daenys began to wonder if there was anything special about the Targaryens besides their dragons. They gained no special traits. No endurance, strength, speed. Without Morningstar, was Daenys worthy of her namesake? Lightbringer, the realm lovingly called the beast. Fearsome and powerful, a shame that the dragon will never be given glory like other dragons of history.

The dragon wouldn't be winning wars, protecting Westeros, or even stationed at a House to guard. All because of the rider she was bestowed.

A wolf does not care for blood.

They stared at each other, neither blinking nor moving.

Run or fight.

Run or fight?

Her only two options, and both would lead to her death. It wasn't nearly as merciful and quick as a frozen lake or a jagged cliff would be. No, she would be torn apart kicking and screaming.

If she charged it, would it run or have the courage to meet her head on? No, it would not back down. A starving dog hunts best. A starving wolf cannot risk failure.

What would Rhaenyra do? What would Daemon do?

Rhaenyra might stand her ground, ever the Dragon Queen she was. Mighty and proud, though she wielded no sword or plated armor.

Daemon wouldn't hesitate, drawing Dark Sister from its sheathe, beheading the wolf with a triumphant laugh.

Daenys was neither her mother nor her step-father, though she wished futility to be an image of them.

Cregan? Perhaps he would tame yet another wolf, seeing as he clearly had an affinity.

What would a northerner like Cregan Stark do in the face of a wild wolf? Unarmed, unshielded. Pray? Take the death as the will of the Gods? Maybe.

Daenys Velayron was far from a northerner. Fire and blood hot through her veins, not ice or faith. The way of the dragon was to be unchained, forever standing tall above the realm.

Though, wild animals have no reason to care for heritage or blood. The meat on her bones was all it could see.

A wolf does not care for blood.

Daenys exhaled, long and slow. Run or fight. Fighting a starved wolf meant death, instantly. Running gave her a chance at finding a tree or rock to climb–anything to get her a vantage point.

The choice was clear.

She just needed to act.

To turn your back on a predator was to sign your own life away.

Daenys, ever so slow, unbuckled her fur coat from her shoulders. The grey wolf eyed it, snarling. Its yellow eyes grew brighter, like two harvest moons shining against the fallen snow.

Daenys mustered up all the courage she could manage, heart pounding, throwing the fur coat across the distance to the wolf. Immediately, it took it in its maw and ripped its head back and forth wildly. If it were a hot-blooded prey, the coat would be dead with blood spattered all over the snow.

Daenys ran, wasting no time watching the display.

She hoped to blind it temporarily, but it catching the furs was a better outcome than missing entirely.

She panted, adrenaline coursing through her to give warmth and strength to her limbs. They burned with the sudden exertion. Daenys could hear the wolf throwing the fur away, not being able to gather any sustenance from the useless garb.

It barked frustratedly at her disappearance from his sight, quickly giving chase to the girl.

Daenys could only hear her heart beat out of her chest and the sounds of the snarling chasing her, closer every second. Her eyes flew around wildly, hoping to spot a low-hanging but sturdy branch. Kind of difficult when running at full speed. Screeching at a bite nipping at her heels, she jumped to the nearest branch she could reach, not having any time left to search. Daenys managed to pull half of her body over it before the wolf's teeth were on her skirts, tugging violently.

She cried out as she hit the cold floor, winded from the wall. The wolf planted itself over her, leaving no room for escape, nipping at her face. Her arm instinctively flew to protect her throat and face, resulting in the wolf's jaw clamping right down on her forearm. She screamed in agony, flames of pain running through her arm. She kicked at its flank while it snarled deep and heavily, salivating through her arm. The blood and saliva from her arm dripped down hot streaks to her face, blinding her.

When the wolf let go of her arm, bracing to go for more vital parts of her to end her squirming, Daenys accepted her fate. The kicks had done nothing. It hadn't moved an inch nor showed signs of pain. At least her death wouldn't be completely useless. The wolf would be fed, for perhaps a few weeks until it could find another easy prey.

Above her, the yellow eyes were lit with hungry and drive.

Daenys closed her eyes tight, hoping for the end to be swift.

But, she did not feel the jaws of death.

She felt the hot sting of blood being poored onto her exposed skin. She shot up, feeling the head of the wolf fall onto her chest. In a horrific pool of blood and bone, the wolf's head went to her lap as she sat up. Daenys froze, chest heaving with panicked breaths. She wanted to toss the head off of her, throw up, and cry all at once. But she was frozen with shock.

"Is that you, Princess?"

That was not Cregan.

Daenys lifted her gaze from the head to the voice. A man, tall and sharply built, dressed in all black. Perhaps close to Daemon's age, with a salt-and-peppered black beard and hair.

She could only stare at him, eyes wide with terror and adrenaline leaving her body. The pain in her arm was flaring, only growing as it bled onto the snow. It could hardlt be called snow anymore, the radious around Daenys was pure blood red, including herself. Her hair was dyed red, too, sullying into her usually perfect white. She was sure she would never feel clean again, that the hot blood would remain on her forever.

"My lady, focus on me." His words were stern as he knelt to meet the Princess, a hand on her face.

She listened, looking into his crystaline blue eyes. A northerner, he must be, born and raised. "...Ser?" She whispered, hoarse.

He nodded, focusing her face to his and not letting her gaze drift. "Where are you, Princess?"

The question startled her from despondency, confused. "Where am I? The North?" She asked.

He chuckled at her bemusement. "Aye, lass. Very good. What's your name?"

She felt annoyed suddenly, this man was asking very stupid and obvious questions. He called her Princess, he must know the answer. "Daenys Velayron. Who are you?"

"The man who saved your life. You're very welcome, by the way." He smirked crookedly, chortling when she only narrowed her eyes.

"Seamus Knott, at your service, My Lady. I am sworn to the Wall, though, so I am no Ser." He bowed dramatically, though his bitter smile showed his discontent with his position. Perhaps he was sent to the wall in a way he deemed unjustified. Whatever the reason was, Daenys did not want to be alone with him for long. The Night's Watch was loyal to the crown in respect only. She was content to visit, but only because Cregan would be there to look after her. Theives and rapers were a majority of the Watch, Daenys did not want to take any chances with them.

"Why are you so far from the wall, Seamus?" Daenys asked him, still sitting lamely in her spot.

He raised a brow, "why are you so far from your protector?"

She bristled, curling in on herself protectively. Had he been following them? For how long?

Seeing her demeanor shift, Seamus raised his hands in a show of surrender. "Not like that, your highness. I was simply speculating. A princess so far in the North hasnt happened in a century. You are news to us all. At Castle Black, we were informed that you would be arriving with Lord Stark soon."

It did make sense. Though, only three days had passed since they left–

"Step away from the Princess." A voice growled behind the Knott man. Daenys perked up at the sound, the familiar tone putting her heart and mind finally at ease. Ice was held straight to the back of his neck, a perfect extension of the Lord's arm.

Cregan stood tall and firm with his expression almost unreadable. Would he be angry with her for her recklessness, send her back to Dragonstone? Or perhaps he was more angry with the Night's Watch for spilling private information to all the residents.

"Cregan!" She gasped, trying to stand to her feet but was stopped by a wave of vertigo. Her feet were like water, unable to hold up any weight. She held her head with her uninjured hand, cradling the pain.

Cregan glanced at her briefly, brow furrowing at the state of her, before he stepped closer to Seamus. The tip was a mere inch away from the man's stubbled neck, though the older man paid it no mind. Grinning, "I saved the poor maiden, she'd be dead by now if I 'aden't. Where were you, Stark?"

Cregan's jaw ticked, "How did you find her? We're too far from any houses for this to be considered a mere coincidence." Clearly, he was ignoring the man's words. Probably because he was right. The blood had long cooled in on top of her, leaving the liquid to intensify her shivering.

Seamus looked down at him over his narrow nose, arrogantly sizing the lord up. His blood-covered steel sword was still at his side, clenched around a gloved fist. "I have been summoned weeks ago to head the beckoning of Lord Tully. I received a raven from Castle Black's Commander only a few days ago, informing me of the Warden escorting the Princess to the Wall. I merely wished to ensure our Princess' safety."

Cregan was unmoved. "I can handle that perfectly well. She is under my protection, my watch."

"Your watch hasn't even begun, Stark. You have no idea what it means to serve the wall. Sitting pretty in Winterfell while we work thanklessly for our keep." Seamus sneered, nasty expression twisting his uncomely features.

"Who's fault is that, Knott?" Cregan bit back. Daenys was left confused at their familiarity. Did they know each other?

Seamus' grip on his sword tightened, the leathery squeeze ringing in Daenys' ears unpleasantly. Her ears rang harshly, blood rushing to her head and drowning other sounds out. About to vomit her rabbit up or faint, she did not know. Dusk, who had been loyally by Cregan's legs, now moved to Daenys' side at the flick of his owner's wrist. She placed an unsteady hand on his brown shoulder, allowing him to take her weight as she leaned into his warmth. He wasn't quite as comforting as Cregan had been, but the relief was nice.

Dusk huffed into her ear, though he still stared up at Seamus the whole time. When Daenys fell asleep, the sound of steel sheathing filled her muffled ears.

🗡

She awoke to a weight over her body, bundled like a blanket. The strong scent of iron and wood filled her nose and surrounded her entirely. She opened her eyes to see Cregan at her side, under the cover of a tent. Looking around, she spotted none of her belongings. His tent. He crouched on his knee, tenderly wiping at her wound with a wet cloth. While he was deep in concentration, his brows knit together tightly, a frown dragging his handsome face down.

"Cregan?" He lifted his head to face her, turning his attention from her arm.

He smiled tightly at her, clearly still bothered by something. "My Lady, I'm glad to see you awake." Cregan told her earnestly.

Daenys sat up with his help, allowing his arm to linger at her back. "What happened to Seamus?"

Clenching his teeth, Cregan fought the urge to roll his eyes childishly. "Outside. Dusk is watching over him. I had to tend to you before I deal with him."

She kissed her teeth when she felt the sting of her arm come back. The wound was clean, though deep and raised. It would scar her for the rest of her life, a painful reminder of her dreadful night.

Cregan, noticing her downturned face, lifted her chin to look up at him instead. "It is a warrior's scar, Princess. We have that in common." He smiled more genuinely now as he lifted his sleeve to reveal his bicep, raised slightly with an old white scar, one that mirrored hers.

"Dusk bit you?" She gasped, brushing her fingertips over the scar. Gingerly, as if she thought it would still hurt him.

He chuckled fondly, watching her eyes rack over the scar. "When we first met. I was six and ten when I first became Lord of Winterfell. I was forced to imprison my uncle and his sons that day to take my place. I left for a solo hunt to be alone for a while.

He found me first. The size of a normal young wolf. We were hunting the same dear when I shot it down first. Dusk didn't take to kindly to that," He gestured to the teeth marks. "But I won that fight, gave him a scar to match. He's stayed by my side ever since." Cregan left out the part where he discovered his soul bonded to Dusk's, due to him being able to warg.

Daenys smiled, moving her hand away from his arm. "I'm glad I didn't have to fight Morningstar to get her to obey me." She laughed. Cregan laughed along, white teeth glinting in the light.

Cregan survived a direwolf attack all on his own when he was but a young man. Daenys would have died without assistance against her attacker when she was a woman grown. Clenching her jaw, she started, "I'm sorry for leaving last night. I...wish I could tell you my reasoning, but I don't know myself."

He took her face in his hand, inspecting it long and hard. Her violet eyes were half-lidded, a sign of her exhaustion. They still shined brightly in the day's light like they always did. Two perfect amethysts looking straight at him.

"You did nothing wrong, sweet girl." Cregan's thumb brushed the apple of her cheek, rubbing at the clear skin. She now noticed the feeling of the sticky blood was gone almost entirely, except from her dress. He had washed it all off of her in her unconsciousness. "You couldn't stop it, could you?"

Like he knew everything, Cregan seemed to hold all the wisdom in the world. Perhaps that was the result of being a Lord at six and ten. "I stopped walking when the wolf came." Daenys nodded.

He kept his hand in its place while he took a moment to think. "I should've been there, It's my duty to keep you safe, and I failed. Seamus is right, the creatin he is. If he hadn't come first, you wouldn't have come home to the Queen."

She smiled crookedly, telling him she was not upset. "From now on, I must insist." He focused entirely on her, making her face feel hot from the intensity. "You be with me at all times. In my tent, hunting with me, Hells, even on horseback with me if that's what it takes to keep you safe."

"I do not wish to be your burden, My Lord."

"I wish it," He shook his head, a secret pang in his heart that she hadn't called him by his name again.

"Even while you hunt? I am not quite as stealthy as you, I would just scare everything away."

"I will teach you." Cregan said firmly, leaving no further room for arguments. "We will stay in larger clearings from now on, even if it means walking greater distances. I want Morningstar to be with us as we sleep. I do not trust Knott."

"Speaking of," she started, tentatively. "How do you know him?"

He sighed deeply, reaching into his satchel bag to grab a roll of bandage. While he worked on wrapping her arm, he spoke. "My father and him grew up together. His brother, the Knott heir, warded with my father for some time to learn his Lordly duties. Seamus just tagged along because his father wished to be rid of him. He was a jealous, spiteful person even as a boy. When their father passed, he left everything to his rightful heir Kent.

Seamus killed him when he had not even been Lord for a year. He was sent to the Night's Watch by my father, a worse punishment than death for a man who only cares for titles and power. In the Watch, all brothers are equal."

"I do not want to kill him because he saved your life. I also do not want him anywhere near you." Cregan grit his teeth, frustrated at his torn opinions. He owed the man what he asked of, which was simply to accompany Cregan and Daenys to the Wall. Cregan cursed himself for his own honor, the Lord of Winterfell always kept his word.

"I promise, if he does anything, anything, to make you uncomfortable, I will take care of him." Cregan told her, earning a short nod from the Princess.

He stood, bandage firmly in place, helping her up with a sturdy hand. "Change your dress and wash up, then I will bring you hunting." It was too early to allow her to sleep, he wanted her to sleep tonight so that they may only travel during the day. They had completely lost this day thanks for the circumstances, and he wanted to spend the remaining time doing something useful. Also, he wanted to keep his mind of maiming Seamus where he stood.

While Daenys changed, she grimaced at the sight of blood that had made it way further down her dress. The garment was not fixable without a miracle, so she left it outside of the tent for Dusk to use as a temporary bed. Less weight for Mylo to carry, she supposed. Daenys scrubbed the dried blood from her neck and chest, not yet able to clean out her hair. That would take running water, not a damp cloth.

Stepping outside, she doned a new white dress, lined with grey fur. The sight of grey reminded her of the young wolf, filling her heart with guilt. She hoped he hadn't felt fear or pain in his quick end. She was met with Seamus, standing a few yards away from her tent. He wore a wild and proud grin, baring his teeth to her.

"Princess! You're awake, how delightful." She nodded her greeting stiffly. "I have a gift for you to take home, a proper warrior's trophy for the Queen." He presented the wolf's head from a bag attached to his belt, its yellow eyes still wide open, but holding none of its previous hunger. Daenys gasped in horror, bringing a hand to her neck. Cregan, who'd been waiting near the edge of camp for her, strided forward.

"Is this a cruel joke on your Princess, Knott?" He began, hand hovering over Ice. Before Seamus or Cregan could begin to argue again, Daenys rushed forward to take the pup's head in her hands. Both men stared at her in surprise.

Without saying a word, though she had many specific words for the brute, she gently held the wolf's severed head as she brought it to Morningstar, who had been laying in the edge of the clearing. She looked grumpy already, perhaps because of the direwolve's irritating presence, but purred when she saw Daenys finally coming to her. Daenys sat the head gently in front of the dragon's head, "Daor havor."

"Dracarys." Daenys commanded the mighty dragon, stepping back many paces. The three people, and the curious direwolf, watched on as the dragon scorched the head until it was naught but ash. The snow around the head had melted to reveal black burnt ground. Silence filled the campground. Daenys bowed her head, whispering to herself. "Kostagon aōha iemny sagon forever lēda sir"

She turned to look up at Seamus, who had a strange look on his face. "That was a cruel thing to do, ser. Not to me, but to the poor animal who lost it's life to starvation."

Seamus clenched his jaw at the scorning, never having been told off by a girl, much less a younger one. "Aye, Princess." Was all he said, trodding off to sulk in his own small tent.

Daenys looked to Cregan, who smiled softly at her. "That was kind of you, my Lady."

She thanked him, "could we find a river before our hunt? I wish to rid my hair of this blood before it becomes permanently red."

He laughed jovially, agreeing. "I do not think red hair would fit you. White is your color." He gestured towards her dress, then to her dragon, making her grin warmly.

🗡

Cregan led her to the nearest water source he could find, merely a small stream, but it would work just fine. Politely, Cregan turned away, although she wasn't taking any garments off. She snickered to herself at his chivalrous attitude, refusing to watch a lady wash her own hair. It took a lot of scrubbing and numb fingers before she was finally content, seeing no more red wash out.

"How does this look?" She asked the man behind her, who turned to inspect her. Wet hair still dripping onto her furs, she looked as lovely and youthful as ever. Her hair seemed longer, curls not yet bunching it up. "Beautiful, my Lady." He offered her a hand. Daenys hoped that her cheeks were not visibly red at the simple compliment as she was lifted by Cregan.

He smiled that secretive grin once again, walking ahead of her. "We will set a snare up first. Then, I'll teach you how to make a kill."

Daenys swallowed harshly. The last thing she wanted to do was kill another animal. She knew it was necessary, though. The Gods would not be spiteful for Daenys filling her stomach.

She followed Cregan into the denser part of the woods, carefully stepping in every place he did. After a while of her silence, he glanced behind himself with a concerned look, only to stifle a laugh at her delicate tiptoeing. He shook his head good-naturedly, grateful that she was trying.

Daenys watched him carefully set up a snare with the coil of metal wire in his pocket. They both crouched over it, leaving it in by a rabbithole before moving on to set another. This time, Cregan gently instructed her to do her own. It took a while, almost thrice the time he took, but he never got impaitient with her. Finally, she set the wire to the sticks coming out of the snow, triumphantly looking to Cregan for approval. "You're a natural born hunter, Princess." He declared, watching her smile with pride.

The two sat far from their many snares for hours, sitting against a sturdy pine. No words were needed as they kept a comfortable silence between them, Daenys finding herself struggling to stay awake with the peaceful atmosphere. Cregan glanced to her from her side, placing a hand over hers. He traced symbols, cracked joints, and tapped their fingers together rhymically to a pattern she followed by doing the same back to him. The focus kept her awake, her mind on the new task.

As the sun was near setting, Cregan led her to his snares first, picking up two rabbits and his wires. He whispered Northern words of respect for the animal before swiftly stabbing it in the heart. They inspected Daenys' next, finding one rabbit struggling in it. She hesitated to step forward, only urged on by Cregan. "Here," he handed her his dagger, a fine piece of steel that had a direwolf's head placed on the pommel. She kneeled next to the rabbit, thanking it quietly for its sacrifice. She took a deep breath it, releasing it as she stabbed into the white chest. Daenys paused a moment, grimacing. Blood stained her leather gloves, another reminder of the wolf. He would haunt her forever, it seemed. She clutched the rabbit gently in her arms, holding it like she held baby Aegon and Viserys. Cregan fondly smiled at her. "You did well, Princess." They collected the wire, walking back to the campsite. After wiping the dagger off with a kerchief, she handed it back to him.

Cregan gently pushed it to her chest, shaking his head. "Keep that one on you. So I know you're safe, even if we're apart."

Daenys, awestruck, nodding slowly. This was her first gift from a person that wasn't her kin and not a new dress or piece of jewelry. "I will keep it safe." She grinned up at him, earning a hearty chuckle.

They burned one of the rabbits over the fire, sharing it amongst themselves. It seemed like Dusk had gone on his own hunt, gnawing on the leftover bones of his dinner. While Daenys and Cregan settled into his tent for bed, she felt too tired to be nervous. His comforting scent surrounded her like a blanket, his warmth radiating throughout the tent. He slept without the furs of his cloak, a wonder that Daenys was curious about. Did he run so hot that the chill of night didn't bother him, only needing one fur blanket?

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, Daenys snuggled into the furs he had given her for her own tent, almost grumbling at their lack of distinct scent. The two fell asleep side by side, the purrs of Morningstar soothing them to sleep.

Daor havor - not food

a wolf does not care for blood

Kostagon aōha iemny sagon forever lēda sir - may your stomach be forever full now

beheadings have become a trend in westeros, i see. i just remembered robb's direwolf and how he was grey.

did you catch that double meaning lol

also rip grey wolf, you would have loved being housed and fed in Winterfell by Cregan

I'm thinking that Morningstar is the child of Silverwing and Vermithor since they're a mated pair. We don't know if they produce asexually or not, so idk. Definitely Silverwing's baby though, since she's the only white dragon alive, but when I imagine Morningstar I see a white smaller version of Vermithor, I adore his horn and face design.

Who knows, the dragons seemed to be random colors. Arrax is white and Vermax is green, even though Syrax is yellow and theres no male whites or greens

[trappolia]

── MY SWEET VILLAIN, MY DARLING GOD

nanook. your aeon lover begrudgingly celebrates the day of your creation.

Nanook's birth was a fiery thing; a light piercing through the clouds like golden death, scorching the world once known as Adlivun. Their birth preceded the collapse of an entire universe, one that had somehow persevered through the Emperor's war and was strengthening their defenses against the coming of the Swarm's march. The old towers of this already dying world had crumbled as the sun rose for the very last time in Adlivun, marking the coming of Destruction incarnate.

But for all the chaos and death their birth brought upon, the day they came into being is of no real importance to Nanook. They do not remember the constellations shining upon their home when they first ignited, nor do they recall whether or not the heat remained or if the cold dark was the first thing they felt, for Adlivun was long gone by the time their golden irises illuminated what was left of the world.

It is a curious thing; for all they have discarded and forgotten of their birth, they remember yours.

What is a god? Certainly not immortal, that is for sure. Pantheons have collapsed with the passage of time, forgotten in the seas of lost religions. Aeons are just as susceptible to death and collapse as the universes they traverse and conquer. On the same spectrum, the birth of a being as powerful as an Aeon is an anomaly felt by the entire universe, a single ripple that results in the violent waves of a turning tide. Such concepts are merely specks of dust for them. What use do they have for such worries, when their lives are mysteries in the known worlds, tipping the balance of the scales simply by existing?

Nanook’s fascination with you could be dismissed as another consequence of the butterfly effect. They should have nothing else on their mind beside righting the worlds’ wrongs, ridding the universe of the cancer that emerges from the boundless stars to taint civilisations. War. Death. Destruction. Finality. Nanook is a jagged puzzle made up of the gods and mortals they had killed, universes scorched from existence like a supernova; and yet, you fit into their life like you were meant to be there all along.

“My sweet villain,” you whisper into their ear, saccharine sweet and painfully loving in all the ways they do not deserve. “My darling god.”

No, they want to say. They are a villain, yes — your sweet villain, if you continue to insist — but a darling god? No, that mantle has always rightfully belonged to you. For a being whose existence has been dictated by their status as Avatar of Entropy since birth, Nanook finds that everything seems to come together when you press your lips against theirs, your taste sweeter than ambrosia.

You are their most infuriating distraction, they think as you sit together amongst the stars of a universe that has yet to die, clinging onto their last rays of sun and hope before Nanook ends it all. it is their sweetest punishment, to have to sit here with you in their arms, so easily drawing their thoughts away from their duties and ideals— and for what? Looking at the stars together? How pathetic.

Pathetic, in the way they recognise these stars, these constellations. It is rare to come across any two galaxies that have the same formation of stars, as likely as to find a needle in a haystack, as mortals say. But here they are, their eyes dragging over the stars glimmering in the abyss. They know these patterns. They know their stories.

They remember the day.

“It is your birthday,” they murmur. Even in this soft tone that Nanook only ever reserves for you, their voice is a booming bass that reverberates throughout the galaxy. Somewhere, another star dies out.

“Hm?” you say cluelessly, looking up at them with eyes that shine brighter than the golden ichor that drips down their arms.

“A mortal custom,” Nanook replies gruffly, feigning nonchalance even as a shiver runs down their spine at the touch of your fingers upon their skin. “The stars are the same as they were the day you came into being.”

“Ah. So they are,” you say when you finally look at the constellations.

It is a strange thing— a humiliating thing; the way Nanook can barely breathe when you are near, and how the air grows stale when you aren’t. It’s as if the Aeon of Destruction is utterly dependent on your attention, your love. How pathetic. How miserable.

how true.

The aeon may have only ascended recently, the youngest of all known paths, but they have made their mark on the universe already; whether it is with the presence of the Antimatter Legion, or the existential crisis brought upon by Nanook’s very life. With their birth, one could no longer deny that destruction is the inescapable destiny of all the known universes; expansion, fusion, and then annihilation. It is the same for Aeons; the survival of the fittest, to destroy or be destroyed, to absorb or be absorbed. For as long as people still walk on the path of destruction, Nanook will continue to aim for the complete devastation of this tainted universe. They alone are the sole being who truly understands what a mistake the birth of this universe was. Each ship and planet may follow a different path, but what civilisation does not speak the common tongue of war? What universe does not know death, pain, destruction?

“What universe does not know love?” you would ask them in response to that. Your hands come up to cup their cheeks in your palm, and Nanook is undone. “Even you know love, my violent delight. Why else would you have remembered the position of the stars the day I was born?”

Would you like your death day to be on the same day as your birth?” Nanook questions you without any real malice, their voice breathless as you drag your thumb over their bottom lip.

You laugh, and Nanook hears the stars sing with you.

Why is it that mortals bother in the struggle of survival? they think. Nothing lasts forever, not even the great Aeons themselves. Civilisations rise and fall, galaxies materialise and collapse. For a new beginning, the book must end. It is simply the way of things. Nanook knows this. Nanook has always known this.

And yet, in these moments with you, they cannot help but cling onto your immortality. They cradle you close, because if the Aeon of Destruction — of all things lost to violence and death — cannot kill you, then what can? If Lan of the Hunt shuns Yaoshi of the Abundance for loving the living too much to the point of cursing them with immortality when it is too heavy of a burden to hear, then it is only a matter of time until they realise that Nanook is a threat to the balance as well. What is life without you? Merely the act of existing, rather than living— chasing a goal, without ever stopping to see the stars and consider the stories behind them.

in death, Nanook will be remembered as many things, and the Antimatter Legion will carry out their legacy just as all the previous Aeons’ factions do in the present day. Even if they must continue Nanook’s ideals in the shadows, the Aeon of Destruction will shadow the known universe for all of eternity— for what civilisation exists without the pain of violence and death? Destruction is a concept as sure as life and death; immortal, even if its Aeon has long since passed. That is Nanook’s goal, their sole purpose of living.

But on this day, Nanook allows themself a singular moment to hope that when they die, the universe will know them not only for the destruction they had reigned upon the universe, but for the fact that they did it in your name— for they had loved you above all else.

© trappolia 2024

[evilminji]

You know my Crechelings Are Possessed post?

What if it was just the one? A SI-OC or OC?

Dying and going THROUGH the Force? I will attest, is GONNA have side effects. You're gonna end up... weird. Not Normal for a Force Sensitive. Kinda like Anikin tbh. A bit TOO in tune. A bit TOO aware. Connected.

As though your brain was cracked open 5+ dimensionally, to the Whole Of Creation that IS the Force and it kinda fucked you up a bit. Cause as A Luminous Force Being? You were fine! Energy and light! But as MATTER? Well...

Matter breaks.

Can withstand only so much.

We are LIMITED by our matter, crude and flawed as it is. Beloved as it may be.

Cause make no mistake! You aren't BROKEN. But you are CHANGED. There were a series of clear, monumentous, and "life" altering events back to back here! Death, a traumatizing thing no matter HOW peaceful it may have been. And in all likelihood? It was NOT a peaceful end. It probably? Hurt. Was frightening. Abrupt. There is grief and hurt there. Fear.

Then the trauma of being separated from everyone we have ever known. Without closure. For them OR us. Our empathy would remind us of their suffering. That they do NOT know we are okay. That we have no way to TELL them we are. This too, is trauma. But? Worse?

Is the Force.

We? Are no Jedi. Not yet. We are confused. Lost and do not understand. It is FOREIGN to us. An outside will that we cannot escape. Where are our gods? The death we expected? The afterlife we assumed we would meet? It's INSIDE US. It IS US. We are IT. We don't know where we are and everything feels?

E N D L E S S .

Can force ghosts even cry? Weep, terrified and overwhelmed? Afraid? Simply BRINGING us to them would not impart understanding. And imparting understanding? Well... we know it to be not OF us? To be inflicted. An invasion. The Force is not cruel. But! Importantly! It is not and has never BEEN? Mortal.

Blue and Orange morality is at play. How do you explain to a formless, infinite, all knowing, all powerful God Force? The concept of "boundaries"? Limits? There is GOOD to be done. It's helping you! Pushing love and comfort! Surely that should work? Why is that not working? It is... confused. Not MADE for such contemplations.

This too, is Trauma. Being held in the hands of a God. Benevolent does not mean SAFE. Does not mean you will not be unharmed. Just... that they do not MEAN to harm you.

Or have very Good Reasons for why they "Must".

The Force Ghosts help. They are patient in the way only old Master's could be. Kind. They understand. Have taught. And so? Though they are quite confused, they understand you struggle to release your fear. Explaining things helps. Talking helps. And you find peace.

Not the afterlife you EXPECTED, but not terrible.

Which... of course, is when once again things change.

Birth, Life, these TOO, are Trauma. You were FREE. No more pain. No aches. No hunger, no thirst, no exhaustion. Connection deeper then this broken and flawed matter could ever hope to achieve. The world has gone SILENT. Muffled. Like solitary confinement for the SOUL.

Only in meditation, are you FREE.

Your parents can't handle you. You grieve for them. For the child they should have had. Look around the nursery, so filled with excitement and love, and feel nothing but the urge to weep. You are a stillborn, brought to life. A child stolen. They deserved better then this. Even as you can not be anything but what you ARE? What of THEIR sorrow? Their confusion and futures now impossible?

You love them. They are not yours. Will never tryely be your parents, for all they brought you into this world. But oh, Oh, you love these poor grieving souls. Wish it had not been you. That they could have had the child they were so excited to love. You... you are sorry. So, so sorry.

They take you to the Temple. You guild them to a child in need, first. Hope they will be happy.

You do not look back.

They put you in a Creche with others just as "Unusually Strong" in the Force. Is that Grogu? Hi Grogu. Who are the rest of you? The room is quite. Everyone talking loudly in the Force, instead. It would be deafening for the more delicate younglings. They don't have the shields for it yet. The children here SHOUT without meaning too, like standing at a rock concert.

Visions are a constant thing. Unusual Force gifts and manifestations. Illirrrska can see auras. Doesn't know what they MEAN, mind you, and xe sees them on EVERYTHING that lives, but still! Xey are well on xeir way to figuring it out. (Xey have a holo document cataloging the colors, you see.)

You fit right in! With your Tiny Herald Of Death To Come nature. Your Creche mates believe you. The adults? Have grown numb. Used to filtering. Tiny younglings with Too Much Force flowing through them? Are horrors. Viscerally unsettling. Unnatural.

Even to the Jedi.

But! They REFUSE to treat children with such caution and distain. Hold them at an arms length out of FEAR. So they mentally filter. "That's nice dear, horrifying concepts and brain melting secrets, mmmhmmm. Eat your pudding. Who wants to play float ball~‽ Yaaaaaay!"

No one will listen. Future in motion. But really, of course it is. You are no fool.

However... tell me, Master Jedi. Does it matter? If we die one step to the right as apposed to the left? Because you would not LISTEN when the Force spoke? The future only changes when you ACT. Not when you REFUSE too. Out of FEAR. Out of IGNORANCE. Out of ATTACHMENT.

And make no mistake, you ARE attached. Clinging so hard to your beliefs that you could not POSSIBLY be wrong. Could not POSSIBLY be fallible, be fooled by the Dark Side and lead astray, that you have turned your back on the very Tennants of the Code itself.

What is more important? Tradition or the Force? The innocent or the way things were? Tell me, what is the will of the Force... and what is Fear? Convenience? The little moral compromises that damn? Who do you serve, Master Jedi? And ARE you serving them?

Perhaps you should meditate.

Just???

This Tiny Cryptid Crecheling? That speaks like a wizened old Master? Feels like a tiny star in the Force? Not a cute lil ball of light. A FUCKING STAR. Giant ball of gas in space, a burning ball of light, THAT kind of star! But... small? Person shaped. It's like meditating next to a Force Nexus.

They just? Hand you things. Or sabotage random ships. Literally just FUCKING SHOT a knight once, for no clear reason! All they would say is "it's not like you'll actually listen. This is the only way." What? Of COURSE WE'LL LISTEN! (No. They won't. Just ask Sifo. Ask Obi-Wan. The Sith, fear, and hubris have eroded the Jedi from within.)

The full blown confidence of an adult? Combined with the creepy "oh god. They're in THE VENTS!!!" Nature of highly force sensitive Crechelings?

Magnificent~☆

They can see into your SOUL. Are holding a toddler that squirms around, wiggles up to whisper in their ear, gets a nod, only for YOU to be somberly informed that your second in command (a life long friend) has betrayed you. Avoid wearing red. You will die on a Friday. By the way, they can't reach the counter... could you hand them those snacks?

One of the other one speaks to trees.

The trees SPEAK BACK.

Prophecy. Fuckin Terrifying Prophecy EVERYWHERE.

Did YOU want to know that your grandson will grow up to kill his brother? No? Too bad! Not even married yet? ALSO TOO BAD! Have FUN with that knowledge! How about learning that there is horrific suffering planets away? No. No there ISN'T anything you can do about it. Just... here! Have some Deeply Cursed Knowledge. From a toddler. Now! They're gonna go eat grass~☆

The appear and disappear at random. Climb the walls. Fuckin FLOAT. The Force itself is their imaginary friend! They literally consult it over PUDDING CHOICES. Sometimes? They talk in perfect synchronization, like a hive mind. Stare without blinking. One moment they are perfectly normal children... the next? Like PUPPETS.

Tiny avatars. Through which SOMETHING GREATER speaks. They KNOW, not think, KNOW what they need to do. You can not convince them. Trying just makes you an obstacle to be overcome.

They are four.

Toddlers and children. Younglings. Initiates!

I just? Want there to be? A portion of Deeply Cursed/Possessed Crechelings? That are just LIKE that. Loved regardless. Nothing wrong with them. They're just too strong for their lil bitty baby brains. Once they learn to shield better? It'll balance out. Anikin would have gone there, had he been found young.

It'd be hilarious? If what saves the galaxy? Is someone finally REMEMBERING that? And thinking to themselves?

"Hey, you know what might be good for that Skywalker kid? Being exposed to more Force Sensitives that GET him. We should put him on Cursed Crechelings duty for a bit." And??

Anikin? Is in LOVE? They are all so SMOL an NORMAL? Finally! Jedi who aren't EMOTIONALLY DISTANT! Shielded? What do mean "Shielded"? No I'm not shouting all the time! This is my normal speaking voice! *Skywalker confusion as he cuddles babies*

Cause like? He too? Spoke in horrifying prophecy? Was vaguely Anti-christ-y? Did the (o.o) see into your sooooooul stare? So WHAT? That's just how babies ARE!

.....what do you MEAN "no"?

Every day, throwing open Obi-Wan's poor, slowly being destroyed, front door like "Master! Did you know I am AN OUTLIER!? And REALLY LOUD!? Other people aren't emotionally crippled psychopaths, they're just really REALLY quite compared to me!!" "Ah. Yes, Anikin, please. Maybe say that LOUDER. I don't think the ENTIRE temple quite heard you... -_- "

Just?? Anikin Skywalker! And his Hoard of Creepy Possessed Crechelings that are TOTALLY NORMAL, Guys! All kids are like this! He's a GREAT role model and baby sitting! Yeah, it's the Clone wars, and no, he has NO idea how the entire Creche got onto the ship... but hey! Enrichment! That's good for them, right?

(^-^) (o.o) (|o.o|) (o,o) (o-o) (|o,o|)

*clones look from their general, to the tiny unblinking magic jedi babies, back to their general* s-sure?

@legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @babbling-babull @hdgnj @hypewinter @leftnotright @starwarsblr

[bones4thecats]

❥· His My Treasure, Hephaestus × F! S/O

Character(s): Hephaestus (⚒️), Ares (⚔️) A/N: This was a piece I've wanted to write for such a long time. I had to make an outline of the story so I could fill in the bits and pieces to fit in with it. I hope you guys like this little love-piece for my favorite Greek deity; Hephaestus! (P.S.: This is by-far the longest part, consisting of 2,618 words and 14912 characters.). ╰┈⊳ " Being Ares' Ex and current spouse of Hephaestus. "

┍━━━━━━━━━━━━━☽【❖】☾━━━━━━━━━━━━━┑

⚒️⚔️ Relationships on Mt. Olympus are rocky to say the least. And there is no relationship more rocky than the one between parent and child; Hera, Zeus, and Hephaestus.

⚒️⚔️ Hephaestus, the second-born to both Hera and Zeus, was said to be disfigured shortly after birth. Zeus' violence, erupting at the audacity his son proposed by defending Hera from him, overtook him. He had gripped his son's leg; one hand on his ankle and another on his calf, and threw him off of the mountain and towards the mortal-land below.

⚒️⚔️ On the way down, the future God of the Forge would end up damaging his body. The first to break was his leg, bending backwards in a way that it shouldn't have been possible. Next was his wrist, then shoulder, and finally his hip. Due to the fractures in his body, he gained issues when functioning; his leg was to be replaced by a prosthetic made by his own hands later on, his wrist would pop anytime moved, his shoulder the same, while his hip was wrapped in a brace, gifted by his younger brother, Apollo.

⚒️⚔️ While Hephaestus landed on the island of Lemnos and was raised by his foster moms, the Oceanid Eurynome and the Nereid Thetis, the issue of marriage arose on Olympus. Aphrodite, the Goddess of Lust, was wanted by many Gods; both old and young.

⚒️⚔️ Because of the tension rising, Zeus was annoyed once again. He sat on his throne as he heard screaming. Standing up, he burst into the nearby room. There, soaring above all, was a golden throne. Inside of it was the Queen of the Gods, Hera herself. She yelled and damned her second son for his insolence while others laughed at the predicament.

⚒️⚔️ "You damned child! Let me out of this at once!" She screamed.

⚒️⚔️ "...Nah."

⚒️⚔️ Zeus sighed and rolled his eyes, walking up to the side of his son; the same side he had damaged from tossing him from Mt. Olympus years prior. "Son, what can I do to... assist in her release?" He asked.

⚒️⚔️ Hephaestus shrugged, asking what he had to give. Zeus offered many things, ranging from his own set of mountains to rule over and have to himself to even the replacement of his damaged limbs. "No," Hephaestus replied. "I'm used to using this now. Don't wanna mix up my senses."

⚒️⚔️ Zeus groaned, his long hair swaying as he looked around rapidly. It took him a mere few minutes before he caught the sight of three of his other sons arguing; Ares holding both Apollo and Dionysus in headlocks as they yelled. He knew what it was all about; Aphrodite.

⚒️⚔️ "I've got it!" He said, snapping his fingers as he looked into his son's stoic eyes. "How about I gift you something you'd never be able to get on your own; a wife! Specifically Aphrodite!"

⚒️⚔️ Hephaestus looked behind his father, catching sight of the Goddess of Beauty, and shrugged his shoulders. "Sure." He agreed. At the single-worded answer, the throne that glued Hera inside fell to the floor, sending the Goddess to the floor as well, but this time free from the chair's seating area.

⚒️⚔️ "Excellent. The wedding shall be held in four days time." Zeus cheered, patting Hephaestus' back as he groaned and looked away. "Good luck, son."

-

⚒️⚔️ It's been hundreds of years since the union on the two opposite deities. A mere fraction of that time belonged to the union of the God of War, Ares, and the Goddess of Womanhood, Music, and Healing, Y/N.

⚒️⚔️ Known for her kindness and gentle voice, she were beloved by many, especially the Queen of the Gods. She was the one who introduced her to her eldest son, and was also the one who had arranged for their marriage to the black-haired deity.

⚒️⚔️ And it was Hera who accidentally set the course for the day the polite, shy Goddess, would snap.

⚒️⚔️ Hephaestus was busy working away in his forge on Olympus, ignoring all around him. His mind was all focused on the weapons he was making for his half-sister, Athena. He needed to get the carvings in just right before putting the blade together with the handle.

⚒️⚔️ Because of the isolation that Hephaestus had neglected to see anything wrong going on his wife, not noticing how much more relaxed she seemed when he'd get home from the workshop to rest. Mainly because he was forced to by his dear youngest sister, Hebe.

⚒️⚔️ "You must get some rest." She'd say, a calming smile on her face as she would lightly pull his hand from his tools to bring him out of the sweltering room. Alongside her in these events was her husband, Heracles, who silently assisted his wife to bring the God of the Forge to his home for rest.

⚒️⚔️ When he was brought home the week prior, Hebe and Heracles were sent to handle some other political affairs with Hades, whom needed assistance with Pirithous and Theseus down in the Underworld. "They were being to noisy with their beliefs in wives again," he wrote. In the meanwhile, Hephaestus focused on his work, ignoring all attempts to push him out of the shop.

⚒️⚔️ Light covered the shop heavier than normal, alerting Hephaestus. He looked upwards and saw that a Titan God, specifically Helios, was standing behind him with a sly smile on his face.

⚒️⚔️ The second-born of Hera cocked an eyebrow and brushed his eye-guard away from his face and asked the deity what he needed. "Oh, I just found out something that is quite... interesting to say the least."

⚒️⚔️ "Spit it out. I don't have all day to listen to meaningless rumors." Hephaestus replied, laying his hammer and tongs to the side.

⚒️⚔️ "You are married to Aphrodite, correct?"

⚒️⚔️ "Yes."

⚒️⚔️ "Well, as the brother to Ares and husband to Aphrodite, you may take this terribly. Oh well! 'Honesty is the key', as Selene would say."

⚒️⚔️ "Again, spit it out."

⚒️⚔️ Helios laughed, floating in the air as he continued his words. "I witnessed a particular Goddess of Procreation and God of War accompanying one another in the bedroom, doing what only the married folks should."

⚒️⚔️ "...What?"

⚒️⚔️ "They were having intercourse. Quite vocally, might I add."

⚒️⚔️ Hephaestus' emotions froze, his blue eyes that came from his father were widened. After a moments time nothing moved, Helios cocked an eyebrows and waved his light-skin hands in front of his face.

⚒️⚔️ "You good-"

⚒️⚔️ "Get out."

⚒️⚔️ Fists were balled, and Helios caught sight of them. Instead of trying to calm the God down, he smiled and swiftly left, light following behind him like a cloak as he returned to his sky-high kingdom. Meanwhile, Hephaestus' mind began to wander. He grabbed a piece of paper and began to write down everything that came to his head; and a single plan hung high above the rest of the quick, anger-filled writings.

⚒️⚔️ Pushing his forge to the brink of breaking, he created a long, thin chain. It was invisible to the naked eyes unless someone were looking for it, and he smirked as he made sure it was unbreakable. From striking it with blades, hammers, and throwing it inside of the flames to melt.

⚒️⚔️ Step One: Make a trap. Check.

⚒️⚔️ Step Two: Catch the lovers in the act.

-

⚒️⚔️ Laying the chain's end down in the curtain, Hephaestus chuckled. He had finally gotten it all done. Each step to get to his goal done; successful. Now, all he had to do was step out and wait for his net of unbreakable chains to catch the affair-actors in the act.

⚒️⚔️ "Aphrodite!" He called, catching the attention of the self-interesting Goddess. "I'm going to Lemnos for a business trip; delivering creations and all. I'll be back in around a week."

⚒️⚔️ She nodded and said goodbye, still staring at herself in her mirror, adjusting her fluffy burnt umber hair. And Hephaestus left, going around the corner instead of heading to his chariot led by donkeys. He kept his ears open as he heard bushes rustle and a masculine voice mix with a feminine's.

⚒️⚔️ Before he even realized it, he heard the screams of both Ares and Aphrodite.

⚒️⚔️ Walking back inside his home, his wrist popped as he closed the door. His eyes looked up at the two deities wrapped up in the chains, anger on their expressions as they yelled at Hephaestus to let them go; much like how Hera did all those years ago.

⚒️⚔️ "What a predicament you both are in." He said, a smirk teasing his face as he called for Hermes to come to his home. Hermes did listen and cackled as he called the rest of the Olympian deities to see the lovers caught in the unbreakable chains made by Hephaestus himself.

⚒️⚔️ It was as some deities left that Poseidon finally spoke about what it would take to free his nephew and niece-in-law. Hephaestus scoffed, arms crossed as he rolled his eyes and spoke with anger tinting his voice. "I signed up for a loyal wife; one that would not have an affair, nonetheless with my own brother!"

⚒️⚔️ "I understand that part of you, nephew. I truly do. But, you must have some price to get the two out of the net."

⚒️⚔️ "I do; a refund."

⚒️⚔️ "A... refund?"

⚒️⚔️ "I want the marriage over, without any fault being put on my side. I want this to be something behind me. Father owes this to me."

⚒️⚔️ "This wasn't exactly your father's fault, more so your brother's. How about Ares pays while your father just eradicates the marriage?"

⚒️⚔️ Hephaestus scoffed once again, staring into his uncle's eyes as he bitterly disagreed. After all, what if Ares didn't end up paying him his dues?

⚒️⚔️ "If Ares doesn't pay, I will; straight from my pockets."

⚒️⚔️ "Fine."

-

⚒️⚔️ On the opposite side of Olympus, a woman cried in the arms of a brunette Goddess named Hestia. Two more females were beside her, one being the Goddess of the Hunt, Artemis, and the Goddess of Wisdom, Athena. Their eyes were filled with sympathy as the woman sobbed, face buried in the chest of the eldest Goddess.

⚒️⚔️ She hushed the younger female, patting her head a she asked what had happened to prompt such a sadness.

⚒️⚔️ "It was Ares..." She spoke. "He and Aphrodite... they're having an affair. I caught them in my own bed!"

⚒️⚔️ "What?!" Artemis yelled, eyes glowing a blinding white as her shoulder was grasped by her eldest sibling. Athena growled under her breath, scolding her brother before she sighed and relaxed her expression.

⚒️⚔️ "Do you know where he is now?" She asked. She nodded and pulled away from the motherly hold of her aunt-in-law, wiping her tears and she stood and spoke, telling the three Goddesses her husband was last seen by her heading towards Hephaestus and Aphrodite's residence.

⚒️⚔️ "Understood." Athena replied, looking at her aunt and telling her and her in-law to stay there for now, for her and her half-sister shall handle their half-brother. Hestia nodded, but the Goddess of Healing disagreed, saying she would help handle it. After all, he was her husband.

⚒️⚔️ "Fine." Artemis replied, "Just, stay next to us."

-

⚒️⚔️ "Ares." Athena said, hand gripping her spear tightly as she glared at her brother from behind. He stood, unwrapping the loosened chains from his arm and glared at his younger brothers with anger before turning around. Then he saw her standing there.

⚒️⚔️ His wife, the woman he called his, whom he took pride in being with, so much so that he had a child with; his son. Named after the pride he felt in his family, Aristotle, meaning "best purpose", was the perfect blend of the partners. Now, he saw his wife there, heartbroken, and anger flashing in her usually soft eyes.

⚒️⚔️ "How could you?" Athena continued.

⚒️⚔️ "W-what are you talking about?" He tried to avoid, feigning obliviousness, much to the upset of the remaining deities.

⚒️⚔️ "You know what she's talking about, wussy!" Artemis yelled.

⚒️⚔️ Y/N raised her hand, silencing all around her. Stepping up to her husband, her eyebrows furrowed and her teeth gritted. She then lifted her arm, opened her palm, and...

SMACK!

⚒️⚔️ Ares' head slammed to the opposite side as where his wife's hand came from. His eyes were wide as she began to tear up again, "I want a divorce."

⚒️⚔️ "W-what...?"

⚒️⚔️ "This. Is. Over. Goodbye, Ares."

⚒️⚔️ "But what about Aristotle?!" He yelled his question, glaring at his wife angrily.

⚒️⚔️ "He stays with me. I don't want a douche like you influencing my boy."

⚒️⚔️ Poseidon's eyes were wide, he had never expected one of his favorite deities to be so brutal with her words. While he knew she was strong, he had never seen it with his own eyes before this.

⚒️⚔️ "Good day, Ares."

-

⚒️⚔️ Sitting beside Hera, her eyes were filled with pity, much like her two step-daughters and sister. She couldn't help but feel guilty. She had pushed his in-law and Ares into the marriage, and she was the Goddess of the unions! How could she have not noticed the obvious issues between not only her and Ares, but Aphrodite and Hephaestus.

⚒️⚔️ "Again, I apologize for the forced event, Y/N." She said.

⚒️⚔️ "It's alright, Lady Hera. It wasn't your fault, it was more Ares and Aphrodite than anything."

⚒️⚔️ Hera breathed out a laugh and smiled, she then reached to her right, grabbing her paper with a letter from her second-born son. On the papers, it stated how close you two have grown; talking about the shared journeys away from your ex-lovers inspired the Queen to take one more risk.

⚒️⚔️ "Do you believe you can marry another?"

⚒️⚔️ "I'm not sure."

⚒️⚔️ "Well, if you were to marry another; who would it be?" She asked, lifting her glass to her small kylix filled with nectar to her lips.

⚒️⚔️ The Goddess of Womanhood flushed as she thought. "While I do enjoy the company of Hermes and Apollo, I wouldn't marry them. And when examining the other Gods, there is only one that I can even comprehend marrying..."

⚒️⚔️ "Hephaestus?"

⚒️⚔️ "...yes."

⚒️⚔️ Hera smiled, chuckling at the flustered face of her now-ex-daughter-in-law and planned future-daughter-in-law. She grasped the letter and her idea could finally come back into motion; marrying the two deities who unknowingly allied their emotions to one another's.

-

⚒️⚔️ Children's laughs echoed in the halls of Mt. Olympus; each coming from four children playing with one another. Two boys and two girls happily messed with the gifts their father had made for them just the day prior.

⚒️⚔️ "I see they like their gifts." A female voice said, her arms wrapping around her husband's arm.

⚒️⚔️ "Yes, I'm very happy they do. I worried they would dislike them. Sibling's influence and all."

⚒️⚔️ The woman giggled, lightly pulling her husband's head down to hers, allowing a kiss to occur. Their lips moved against one another's gently, love spiraling through their minds as the man wrapped his arms around her midsection while the woman's hands wrapped around her lover's head.

⚒️⚔️ "Ew!" Children's voices squealed, eyes staring at their parents while the eldest; the only half-sibling, smiled and chuckled alongside his own wife at their actions.

⚒️⚔️ The couple pulled away, laughing as they heard their children's reactions.

⚒️⚔️ "I love you, Hephaestus."

⚒️⚔️ "I love you too, my treasure."

┕━━━━━━━━━━━━━☽【❖】☾━━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 60 Chapter 60 | like father, like son⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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You weren't sure how long you stood there—back pressed against the wood, breath caught behind your ribs, the weight of that thing still staring at you from across the feast seared into the backs of your eyelids.

You'd barely noticed your own body move, feet pulling you forward, deeper into the silence.

The hallways here were strange. Curved like ribs, veined with gold. Quiet, but not still. You walked. You didn't think. Just moved. Past oil lamps flickering along the walls. Past empty sitting rooms with gauze-draped lounges and wine trays left untouched. Past murals of gods in battle and birth, their eyes following you in paint that shimmered faintly when the light hit just right.

You kept walking. Until your hands stopped shaking. Until your chest hurt less.

Until you found the balcony.

You didn't even know you were heading toward it. It was just... there. A pair of tall arched doors already cracked open, soft light spilling through the seam. You stepped through them without question, drawn by the air. By the quiet.

The change hit you all at once—cool breeze, sweet sky, nothing but space.

And for the first time in what felt like hours, you could breathe.

You stepped out slowly, sandals brushing against the polished stone. The balcony stretched wide, held up by columns carved with stars. There were no guards. No nymphs. No gods watching from behind veils of perfume and praise.

Just you. And Olympus.

And light.

You moved toward the edge, hands curling around the railing as you looked out. The city unfolded below you—white marble, golden rooftops, the faint hum of music still drifting from the banquet hall far below. Gardens sprawled out like spilled ink, trees heavy with fruit and blossoms that moved even without wind. There were birds—bright ones—drifting between towers, their calls sharp and joyful like they didn't know anything bad had ever happened here.

It was still sunny.

Your brows furrowed.

Still bright. Still glowing like the day hadn't ended. You squinted up at the sky, hand lifting instinctively to shade your eyes.

How long had you been here?

Hours must've passed. At least, you thought they had. It felt like they had. You'd sung. You'd been paraded. Crowned. Fed. Kissed. Threatened. Watched. Pulled. Touched.

Yet, the sun hadn't moved.

You stared at it—high in the sky, unmoved, like someone had nailed it there. The clouds didn't drift like they should. The light didn't shift. Everything looked frozen in time, stretched into a forever kind of afternoon.

A trick, maybe. Or a performance.

Or maybe Olympus didn't care about time the same way mortals did. Maybe they didn't need hours. Just moments.

Just enough space to trap you in them.

You exhaled slowly, deeper than before.

The breath dragged down your chest like you were trying to pull up something that had sunk too far inside. You gripped the railing tighter, metal cool beneath your palms, and stared at the horizon.

This high up, the clouds didn't look soft. They looked heavy. Too still. Like they weren't made of mist at all, but marble cut into the shape of weather.

Everything here looked perfect. Beautiful. Clean.

Except you.

Because underneath your skin, the panic still lurked. It clawed at the edge of your thoughts. Bit at your lungs every time you remembered his face. Melanion.

And yet... you couldn't fall apart.

Not yet.

You looked down at your hands—still trembling, just slightly. Not enough for anyone to see. But enough for you to feel.

You tightened your grip on the railing. Squeezed until the metal stopped feeling cold.

You were not that same girl in the alley.

You were not helpless anymore. You had been killed. You had been erased.

And now you were here.

You had been stitched back together by a prophecy, dragged into godhood by a sunbeam's obsession, and draped in gold you didn't ask for.

But your breath?

That was yours.

And right now, that was enough.

You tilted your face toward the sky—toward that frozen sun. You breathed in deep. Once. Twice. Felt the air fill your chest and settle low in your belly. You let it anchor you. Let it remind you that you were real. That your body was still here. That no matter how many gods touched you or claimed you or tried to carve their names into your ribs—you were still you.

You weren't a muse.

You weren't a symbol.

You were a girl who had survived.

Not a saint. Not a story.

Not a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled.

Just someone who'd bled once and kept breathing after it.

Your fingers loosened on the railing.

You blinked at your reflection in the metal—soft and warped in the curve of it. The crown still sat on your brow, catching the light like it had any right to be there. It shimmered as if earned. As if forged for you.

But that wasn't what you saw.

You saw the stiffness in your shoulders. The faint sheen of sweat behind your ears. The dried edge of strawberry juice clinging to your bottom lip. And behind all that—eyes too wide, too alert, scanning even the clouds for danger.

You were tired of danger.

Tired of being someone else's prize. Someone else's project.

You exhaled, lips parting around the breath like it had weight. Like it carried more than air.

And then... you thought of him.

Telemachus.

The name slipped into your mind like water through cracks—gentle, inevitable. It curled beneath your ribs before you could stop it, and suddenly you were saying it aloud, quiet and soft against the breeze.

"...Telemachus."

It came out as a sigh. A wish.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the balcony rail. The wind lifted your hair and cooled your cheeks, and still—you closed your eyes. Because gods, it hurt. Not the sharp kind. The dull kind. The deep, slow throb of missing.

He would've known what to say.

Not to fix things. Not to wrap you in some gold-trimmed comfort the way Apollo did. Just enough to make it real again. Grounded.

He would've stood beside you, not in front.

He wouldn't have told you you were his.

He would've asked.

You let the image come—just for a second. Just long enough to remember the feel of his hand brushing yours, the way his laugh had curled around your name like it was something worth smiling about.

In your mind, he stood beside you now—barefoot, warm, sun-touched from a day too long at sea. He'd lean forward, arms slipping around your waist, chin nudging into the crook of your neck like he'd done it a thousand times before.

You swallowed.

Your mind tried not to imagine him replacing the arms that had been around you earlier. Not Apollo's golden grip. Not Dionysus' wine-sweet cradle. His.

It was his chest you'd want to fall into. His lap you'd crawl into if you were allowed to want that much. Not soft like Dionysus'. Not god-sculpted like Apollo's.

But home.

You flushed at the thought—your body responding to the fantasy like it had a mind of its own.

Telemachus' mouth on your shoulder, his voice low, whispering some joke just for you. His hands on your hips, warm, steady—holding you not like you'd break, but like you were real. Like you were his choice, not some divine accident dressed in silk and prophecy.

You shifted your weight, heart stuttering.

No.

No. Stop.

You slapped your cheeks gently with both palms, letting out a frustrated little sound as you dropped your forehead against the railing."Get it together, ____."

You were letting your heart drift again—turning to someone who wasn't here, who couldn't pull you from this high tower and tell you it was going to be okay.

You didn't need him to save you.

You just... wanted him here.

Even now, your arms ached in that quiet, heavy way. Like they missed something they were never given time to hold.

You lifted your head slowly, eyes dragging upward toward the sky again.

Still bright.

Still stuck.

And you whispered—like a vow, or a promise, or maybe just a prayer, "You'd be proud of me, wouldn't you?"

Because you needed to believe he would be.

You needed to believe that he'd see you like this—crowned, steady, terrified—and still smile that soft, small smile like nothing had changed. Like you were still you. Not a myth. Not a marvel. Just someone worth holding onto.

And more than that... you needed to see him again.

Your breath caught.

Not because you were crying—but because you almost could. Because the ache of wanting him back wasn't loud, wasn't sharp. It was constant. Steady. Like the quiet hum of something missing in your bones. Like a room you kept returning to in dreams, only to wake with your arms still empty.

You clutched the railing a little tighter, blinking fast as your chest rose—then stilled when it hit you.

The air.

The shift.

A heaviness crept in from nowhere—buzzing like static against your skin. Not cold. Not hot. Just wrong. Like your body had walked into something that didn't want you to move. It started at the base of your spine, then wrapped around your shoulders, up the back of your neck, into your scalp like invisible fingers threading through hair.

You shivered.

The breeze stopped.

The sky didn't dim—but something in you did. You could feel it. Like a shadow stretching without shape.

Then—before you could even turn a voice. Low. Booming like the crack of a storm echoing through a closed chamber.

"Leaving so soon?" it asked. "How rude... to walk out on a party thrown just for you."

You froze. Every part of you stilled, breath caught somewhere high in your chest. You didn't dare turn—you couldn't—because something about that voice wasn't just divine.

It was final.

And deep in your chest... your heart skipped and didn't quite start back up the same.

You stayed frozen, your body knowing something before your mind caught up—like instinct whispering, run, while awe and terror stitched your feet to the floor.

Slowly, you turned.

Your breath hitched halfway through, chest tight as your eyes finally rose to meet the figure standing just behind you.

Gods.

No.

Not just a god.

Something bigger.

Taller than Hephaestus and Ares combined. He filled the entire doorway like he'd been sculpted from stormclouds and sky. Broad shoulders swelled beneath a thick gold collar that looked more like a sun-forged mantle than armor. Bronze cuffs encircled both wrists, crackling faintly at the edges with stray arcs of lightning that hissed across his skin like it couldn't sit still.

Electricity shimmered along his body—not wild, not chaotic, but contained. Controlled. Like every spark was choosing to stay where he wanted it. Even the clouds at his feet seemed to bend under him—parting gently to let him walk, billowing with every slow step he took toward you.

And his face—

Your throat closed.

Sharp, regal, etched with smile lines like thunder had kissed the corners of his mouth. A jaw carved in command. Skin dark, sun-warmed, glowing faintly with power. His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile—but it wasn't unkind either.

His hair—

Gods.

It fell in thick silver-white curls, cascading down his back and shoulders like a lightning strike frozen mid-fall. It shimmered in the light of Olympus, catching on the wind like smoke and stars and war banners all at once. A few strands curled around his face, framing golden eyes that glowed like twin suns waiting to split open the sky.

Those eyes stayed on you.

Curious. Focused. Hungry in that divine, thoughtful way—like he was trying to decide if you were something precious... or simply interesting.

Your breath stuttered.

You couldn't move.

Not because he held you still—but because you didn't dare.

And then—before you could stop yourself, before your mind caught up to your mouth— his name fell from your lips in stuttered, breathless whisper.

"...Zeus."

It wasn't a question. Not really.

You weren't a fool.

The power that rolled off of him in slow, electric waves had already told you the truth. It tingled at the edge of your teeth. Made the hair on your arms lift. Made the metal on your crown pulse warm, like it recognized its god.

The murals.

The stories.

The throne rooms carved into cloud and thunder.

You'd seen him in painting after painting—etched in stone, drawn in gold. The split-skied god. The one who wrestled Titans, who ruled storms, who sat higher than all the others.

And now?

Now he was standing in front of you.

Real. Alive. Smiling.

He tilted his head at your voice, the movement too smooth for something so massive. A slow, pleased grin pulled across his mouth—not cruel, not gentle. Just... interested. Like a lion catching sight of something unexpected in its den.

"Well," he drawled, amusement lining every syllable. "There it is. I was wondering when I'd hear my name in that voice."

You blinked, lips parting, heart slamming.

Zeus took a step forward. Clouds moved beneath his feet, parting and curling like they were carrying him. The air buzzed louder, static following close behind.

"I've been waiting a long time," he continued, golden eyes fixed on yours, "to put a face to the name."

Another step.

You didn't retreat, but your back pressed tighter to the balcony rail.

"Apollo's muse," he said, almost to himself, like he was trying it on for the first time. His gaze flicked down and up again, sharp but curious. "The mortal girl with the storm-colored voice. The one who's managed to stir up Olympus just by existing."

He smiled wider.

And gods, it was devastating.

"I have to say," he murmured, "you're louder than I expected."

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Not because you didn't have words—but because none of them felt safe. None of them felt right. Not when the god of gods was looking at you like this. His gaze moved slowly. Not in a rush. Just deliberate. Measuring.

You felt it trail down your arms, brushing over every place where your body still remembered fear. Over your collarbone, where the crown's weight pressed against your skin. Over your ribs, where your breath stuttered, where your heart wouldn't settle.

"You don't look like much," he continued, and gods, his voice—it was quieter now, but no less sharp. "But the world seems to like you anyway."

The words should've stung, but they didn't. Not coming from him.

They just... settled. Like clouds collecting in the pit of your stomach. Because he wasn't insulting you. He wasn't complimenting you, either. He was stating something. Like a fact he hadn't decided what to do with yet. Like he was trying to figure out how someone so small had made the entire pantheon shift sideways.

Then—his eyes crinkled. Just slightly. And that not-quite-smile deepened.

As if you amused him.

As if this whole thing—your story, your songs, your existence tangled in his children's hands—was a twist he hadn't seen coming.

And suddenly... the air wasn't yours to breathe anymore.

It felt borrowed.

Thinned out.

Not choked, but close. Like Olympus itself was watching through his eyes now, waiting to see what you'd do next.

And for a moment—you did nothing.

You just stood there, pulse stuttering, every breath caught on the edge of your tongue like a wrong note in a quiet room. Your fingers twitched at your sides, unsure if they should reach, retreat, or just curl into fists and pretend they weren't shaking.

Then finally—because something had to give—you dropped your gaze.

Eyes down. Shoulders stiff. Your breath left you in a soft, uneven stream. "I... I'm sorry. Forgive me," you murmured, barely above a whisper.

You didn't even know what you were apologizing for.

For leaving the feast?

For drawing too much attention?

For daring to stand on a balcony too high, too quiet, with a name too loud in your chest?

You didn;t know. You just said it because it felt safer than silence.

Zeus' reaction was immediate. A laugh—low and sharp. More of a scoff than a real sound of joy.

"Apologizing?" he echoed, his tone rich with disbelief, like you'd just offered him a wet fig as tribute. "I insult your appearance, and you—" he chuckled, not kindly, not cruelly, just curious—"you give me an apology."

His golden eyes shimmered faintly as he took another slow step forward. You could feel the heat of him now—like standing too close to lightning that hadn't struck yet.

"How soft you must be..." he mused, and his voice went quieter, thoughtful. "How sweet."

Then—in a blink—he moved.

You barely had time to flinch.

His hand came up, big and warm, calloused in places you didn't expect. Fingers pressed against your cheek, palm cradling your jaw with shocking gentleness. Not squeezing. Not hurting. Just there.

He tilted your head slightly to the side, then the other. Studying. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, the pad of it slow and unbothered, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

You gasped softly—barely audible—and without thinking, your hands shot up, landing against his wrist—instinctive, trembling. You barely wrapped your fingers around him. Your hands looked small, almost ridiculous, clutching his arm like they could stop anything. Your thumbs didn't even meet.

But still... you held on.

Just in case.

In case he squeezed.

In case the thunder cracked.

In case the king of Olympus changed his mind about whether you deserved to be standing here at all.

Zeus blinked once, then his brows lifted.

Not in anger.

In... surprise.

Like he hadn't expected you to touch him.

Not out of reverence, or duty, or fear—but in defiance. Or maybe hope. Your trembling fingers wrapped around the wrist of a god, your body still and too small, and you didn't pull away.

That look on his face—arched brows, a slow twitch at the corner of his mouth—it was almost impressed. And then, he chuckled.

Again.

Richer this time. A little darker. Less amused, more... interested.

"Brave little thing," he murmured, letting you go.

Then, he lifted his hand lazily and the clouds beneath his feet responded like they'd been waiting. They stirred. Rolled. Then moved.

A sudden gust curled around your ankles—soft at first, then stronger. Thicker. You gasped, feet skidding slightly, and before you could even think to run or question or speak—

The clouds rose.

They gathered fast, spinning like mist wrapping around pillars, and from them—figures began to take shape. Not human. Not quite. Silhouettes formed in smoke and fog, tall and faceless, their bodies made of storm-wind and ash and gold.

You yelped—sharp, startled—as one of them wrapped an arm around your waist, another brushing at your legs, lifting you gently but firmly from the ground. Your hands scrambled against the sudden weightlessness, knees kicking slightly as you were swept upward like a doll held by the sky.

Your breath hitched. "W-Wait—!"

Too late.

They held you suspended, hovering now just above the balcony stone—then placed you gently before him face level.

Your sandals barely brushed the mist that pulsed below you.

Zeus stepped forward once, close enough that the glow of his eyes painted your skin in gold. He tilted his head again, like a man admiring a painting after someone raised it to the proper height.

He hummed—deep and pleased. "That's better."

Then, casually, he leaned against the balcony rail behind you—massive arms folding atop it, one foot crossed over the other like this was any other afternoon.

And now? Now he looked.

Really looked.

But this time... his gaze had changed.

Gone was the casual curiosity. The vague amusement.

Now it was focus.

Weight.

Like he'd decided you were worth his attention now.

And gods help you... you weren't sure if that was a blessing or the beginning of something you couldn't escape.

You tried not to flinch under it—that stare, steady and storm-heavy. But your body betrayed you. Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. Your shoulders lifted, just a little, as if shrinking might make you disappear.

It didn't.

Zeus stayed quiet for a moment longer, then, at last, he spoke.

"You've caught quite the few eyes here on Olympus," he repeated, voice dry, almost amused. "And I'm not talking about the usual pantheon gossip."

His gaze slid toward the distant skyline—toward the sun-drenched horizon where the palace rooftops cut through clouds.

"Things haven't been this messy," he went on, tone growing more sardonic, "since... what was it? That prince my son was so pathetically infatuated with? Centuries ago."

He waved a hand dismissively, like the name wasn't worth remembering. Like even the idea of it bored him.

"Hyacinthus," you said before you could stop yourself. Quiet. Careful.

Zeus blinked once, then snorted. "Right. Him."

A pause. Then his mouth twitched again.

"Didn't bother to learn the name," he muttered. "That whole mess was too dramatic for my taste. The poetry. The mourning. Pity, really."

He looked back at you, eyes narrowing with that same storm-born curiosity.

"But I suppose you can't blame me for wanting to see you for myself, can you?"

The question sounded like a trap.

You blinked, breath caught in your throat.

He leaned forward slightly, one brow arched.

"I mean, really," Zeus continued, tone shifting into something wry, almost condescending. "Every god you pass seems to forget how to let go. Apollo won't stop writing. Hermes pulled strings I didn't even know he still had. Even Artemis calls you sister now—and she barely looks twice at her own hunt."

You didn't speak.

"And then there's Ares," he went on, chuckling low in his throat, "grinning like your scars make you royalty. Athena, analyzing you like a riddle she hasn't solved. Dionysus—well, he's another story entirely."

His gold eyes glittered now. "So... tell me," he said, tilting his head again. "What is it about you?"

The air around you buzzed with heat and static.

Zeus smiled slowly.

"Because from up here... it looks like you're starting to become one of us."

Your lips pressed into a frown.

Not deep. Not obvious. Just enough that the soft line of your mouth flattened, the muscles in your jaw ticking faintly. You looked away again—eyes shifting toward the horizon, toward anything that wasn't him. That wasn't gold and lightning and ancient attention curling around you like a net.

You didn't even know why that comment unsettled you so much. It wasn't the worst thing someone could say.

Not here.

Not in Olympus.

Not when half the gods had already draped offerings at your feet or pressed promises to your lips. Not when every path you walked lit up with the weight of divine favor, whether you asked for it or not.

But still... something in your chest pulled back from it.

One of us.

Maybe it was the way he said it. Or maybe—maybe it was because deep down, in the part of you that hadn't forgotten the smell of portside air or the feeling of sleeping curled up beside Lady's warmth—you knew.

If you ever became one of them...

It wouldn't have been by choice.

It would've been carved into you.

Offered in pieces. Demanded. Sung.

Taken.

You blinked the thought away.

When you looked up again, he was staring.

Zeus hadn;t moved, not really. But his eyes were half-lidded now, gold gone sharp around the edges, like the sun narrowing through a stormcloud. His mouth was still tilted up in that not-quite-smile, but the warmth had cooled.

He must've taken your silence for something else.

Hesitation. Uncertainty—maybe even awe—because suddenly, he leaned in.

Close.

Close enough that you could smell the storm on his skin. That electric, charged scent that wasn't fire or rain but something between. A god's scent. Like static clinging to silk.

His voice dropped to a low, velvet murmur. "You know..." he said, dragging each word out like a secret, "Apollo... tries."

Your spine stiffened.

Zeus smiled wider.

"He's passionate, I'll give him that. Poetic. Obsessed, even. But..." he leaned in closer, his breath brushing the edge of your cheek, "he's still a boy playing with fire. Loud, eager. Sloppy."

You didn't move.

Couldn't.

"I don't fault him," Zeus whispered, the words coiling like heat in your ear, "but if you were the object of my desire..."

His hand lifted—not touching, but hovering—just beside your face.

"...you'd already have a palace by Helios' rise. A golden one. Carved with your name. Built for worship."

Your breath hitched.

"You'd wake up to ambrosia on your tongue," he purred, "and stars in your bed."

He tilted his head slightly, and you swore the sky behind him darkened for a second.

Then, a chuckle. Low. Cruel. Soft.

"But that's the difference between a king," he said, pulling back just an inch—just enough for you to breathe again—"and a son."

You blinked, your breath coming out slow and tight. Like your lungs had to remember how to work without the storm breathing down your neck.

The words clung to you. Not just the meaning, but the weight beneath them. That difference. That contrast. That unspoken offer glinting beneath every syllable.

And suddenly—your heartbeat knocked like a warning bell against your ribs. Fast. Too fast.

RUN! RUN! RUN!

Your fingers fidgeted without permission, brushing at the edge of your skirt, the ends of your sleeves. Anywhere. Something to do. Something to stop the heat rising up your chest.

You forced a breathy laugh—awkward—stuttering, "Th-Thank you, my lord. That's, um... generous of you."

You didn't look at him when you said it because if you did, you knew he'd see it.

The panic. The flicker of no behind your practiced smile.

But Zeus didn't speak again. Not right away. He leaned just slightly on the rail, the look in his eyes unreadable—but not gone. Still watching. Still calculating. Still deciding just how far this little conversation would go.

And before he could speak again—before his hand could close that last inch between you—a voice rang out like silver.

"Ah—____! There you are!"

Your name, spoken like a laugh. Like the punchline to a joke no one else was in on.

Your head whipped around, Zeus' did too—though slower.

There, hovering casually in the arched doorway of the balcony, was Hermes.

He was smiling. Not wide. Not warm. Tight. Too tight.

The cords in his neck stood a little tense beneath his collar. His caduceus rested lazily over one shoulder, swaying in an uneven tempo as if restless.

"You wander off like this again," Hermes said, still grinning, "and I'm tying a bell to your ankle. Or maybe your braid. So I hear you before you wander into Tartarus."

He chuckled lightly—but his eyes?

They were locked on Zeus.

And they didn't laugh at all.

He began to drift forward, his sandals barely brushing the balcony as he hovered, weightless and watching.

The clouds around you stiffened. Not by command. But by instinct. Because the king of Olympus was not used to being interrupted.

Zeus straightened as Hermes approached, his full height unfolding like a mountain pushing out of the clouds. The amusement in his face faded, just a bit, replaced with something colder. More... annoyed.

"Hermes," he said, flatly. The name left his mouth like a dropped stone. There was no warmth to it, no welcome. Only the faint scrape of irritation sliding beneath his tone. "So eager to interrupt your elders? I wasn't aware my conversations required a time limit," he added smoothly, though the sharpness in his golden gaze said something else entirely. "Or that you had taken up the habit of tracking my guests."

A pause stretched between them, but the silence was clear.

The warning. The annoyance. The possessive thread of displeasure, thick in the air.

Before you could even register how you were suddenly the subject, Hermes only gave a grin. It was sharp. Breezy. Dangerous.

And upside-down.

He twirled mid-air, flipping lazily until he floated belly-up, arms folded under his chin, legs crossed at the ankles like he had all the time in the world to drift above his father and act like none of this was serious.

"Oh come on, Father," he sang sweetly, giving you barely a glance before turning his eyes—bright and unblinking—back to Zeus. "You're hogging the guest of honor. And during a feast Apollo insisted hold? That's so unlike you." He giggled—soft and hollow, like it came from someone floating through something far away. "I mean, you've got her out here like a prize falcon. A golden cage, some cryptic praise, a few riddles and compliments—and you wonder why everyone starts calling you overbearing."

Zeus' nostrils flared faintly.

Hermes flipped again, landing gracefully on his feet, his winged sandals sighing into silence as they kissed the marble floor. He walked with that loose, casual saunter that made it easy to forget how fast he could move if he wanted to.

He strolled toward you—not toward Zeus. Not directly. Toward the faceless cloud-figures holding you aloft.

He gave them a once-over, eyes glinting, and tsked under his breath. "Hmm. Heavy-handed, don't you think?" he muttered, loud enough for his father to hear. "Father has so many rules about divine interference, but I suppose they bend differently when it's you at the center of it all."

The clouds around you shivered. You weren't sure if it was from his words or his presence.

Maybe both.

Hermes smiled wider, turning back to Zeus—but there was an edge now. Cold under the grin.

"Or is this another one of those do as I say, not as I thunder moments?"

Zeus' jaw ticked, and the sky rumbled—just once. Low. Quiet. Like Olympus itself was holding its breath.

The pressure between them sharpened—two gods, two storms, neither moving, both too old and too familiar to flinch first.

Zeus didn't speak right away. But his posture shifted, shoulders rolling back, jaw firm. His gold eyes darkened, flickers of lightning dancing faintly across his temples like a headache trying to claw its way through divinity.

His voice came like slow thunder. "Careful, Hermes."

It wasn't loud. It didn't have to be.

"This is not a game you want to win, Hermes."

Hermes blinked.

Then—he giggled—actually giggled.

He tilted his head, all airy innocence, the tips of his curls bouncing as he pressed his palms together like a child trying to look saintly. "Me?" he said, gasping softly like he was wounded. "I'd never, Daddy Dearest."

The way he said it—Daddy Dearest—dripped with the exact kind of mock affection that could drive gods to war or laughter.

"I'm your favorite," he added sweetly, winged sandals twitching with faux pride. "You know I'm a daddy's boy through and through. Even when I was stealing Apollo's cows and breaking into Tartarus with no shoes on. I mean, please—"

He stepped in just slightly, like he couldn't help himself—then reached up and flicked an invisible speck of lint off Zeus' shoulder. Real slow. Real gentle. Like he was doing him a favor, grin wider, eyes twinkling as he twirled his staff lazily in one hand.

"—all I've ever wanted was to make you proud."

Zeus didn't blink, didn't move, but the rumble in the clouds above you returned—quieter now, but meaner. Closer. Like the sound of a storm rolling over a field that's already burned.

Hermes' voice softened, curling at the edges like smoke. "Buuuttt," he continued, tilting his head again, "as much as I'd love to give you all the time in the world to... converse"—his gaze flicked briefly to you, then back to Zeus—"I can't help but wonder what she'd think..."

He didn't have to say the name, but he did anyway.

"...Hera."

The moment the name left his mouth, Zeus' expression dropped. The gold in his eyes dimmed—not with fear. But something colder. Annoyance. Calculation.

A man weighing consequences that stretched far beyond lightning and pride.

Hermes just smiled, sharp as broken marble. "You know how our Goddess Queen can get," he said lightly, as if talking about the weather. "So touchy about appearances. So prickly when it comes to..." he gestured vaguely toward the clouds still holding you, "...unusual displays."

He leaned in just a little, lips curling.

"She hates surprises. You remember that Father."

Zeus didn't answer, instead his jaw clenched. His shoulders stiffened. And for the first time since appearing on the balcony, the King of Olympus looked... inconvenienced.

A low growl buzzed from the sky overhead, and then—quietly, through gritted teeth—

"Fine."

He didn't shout.

He grumbled.

The clouds at your feet shifted immediately, beginning to lower you without hesitation. The faceless mist unwrapped from your legs and waist, placing you gently back on the balcony like you were something borrowed being returned too late. You gasped as your feet hit the floor again. Soft. Steady. Your knees almost buckling.

Zeus stepped back with a final glance toward Hermes, his mouth hard.

And Hermes?

Hermes just winked.

You barely had time to settle your feet back onto the stone—heart still rattling in your chest, knees buzzing from the pressure of being held by storm-borne hands—when you felt it:

That final look.

Zeus gave you one last once-over.

Slow. Heavy.

Like he was imprinting you into memory—carving your shape into the back of his eyes so that even when he left, you'd still echo somewhere behind his vision.

Then—without a word—he turned and began walking back toward the palace, every step causing the clouds underfoot to roll away from him like they were glad to be dismissed.

Hermes didn't flinch, didn't smile. He just watched.

Calm. Steady. Arms crossed loosely now, mouth twisted with the kind of practiced indifference that only barely masked how much he wanted to speak again.

"See you later, Father," he chimed, casual as ever. "I'll be sure to drop by soon."

He flipped his caduceus upright, twirling it once. "I've got a parcel that desperately needs your co-signature."

Zeus didn't answer, but his glare—the one he shot over his shoulder, sharp as a blade drawn mid-turn—said enough. Veins of lightning flickered faintly at his temples.

Then the god-king stepped past the threshold, and the doors of the palace swallowed him whole.

Silence fell.

Just you and Hermes now. The clouds were calm again. The sky felt lighter.

Hermes sighed and stretched his arms above his head, groaning just loud enough to be annoying. Then, softly—half under his breath, but very much meant for you to hear—he muttered,

"Like father, like son..."

You glanced at him. You weren't sure which he meant—but the way Hermes' mouth twisted, you had a feeling it wasn't a compliment.

The messenger god rolled his eyes dramatically, flicking an imaginary speck from his sleeve. "Honestly, everyone's always comparing Apollo to me, but he's starting to act more and more like him lately."

Then he chuckled—bitter and amused.

"And Ares?" He whistled low. "He might not be married, but I already pity whatever poor sap ends up having to call him a husband one day. You'd think all that growling would wear him out."

A beat.

Hermes leaned in slightly, whispering with mock scandal, "But nope. Still makes time for Aphrodite. Every. Damn. Week."

He shuddered like it physically offended him. "Divine adultery is a full-time job around here, apparently."

You gave a weak, breathy laugh—still shaky from everything—but Hermes didn't press. He just stood there for a moment, letting the silence settle again. Letting the thunder fade completely from the sky.

Then—he turned to you, his whole demeanor changing. The sharpness that had danced behind his eyes while sparring with Zeus eased. The tension in his jaw melted. His mouth softened into something more familiar—still sly, still knowing, but... gentler.

Like the version of Hermes you'd met when he handed you your divine lyre. The one who smirked when you'd get flustered. The one who made a joke when you started overthinking it.

And now?

Now he looked at you like you were still here.

Still whole.

He stepped a little closer and tilted his head, scanning your face like he was checking for cracks.

Then—his fingers reached up.

You flinched, just slightly, until you realized what he was doing.

He brushed his knuckles along the side of your head, searching—then found it.

The ribbon.

That same one from earlier, still twisted slightly in your hair, knocked loose from all the wind and divine nonsense. Hermes clicked his tongue softly, smirking.

"Tsk, tsk," he murmured, carefully adjusting it. His fingers were deft but warm, moving with practiced ease as he smoothed it back into place. "Can't leave you alone for one moment without you getting nearly snatched up by thunder and arrogance in a toga."

You laughed—shaky but real this time.

He grinned at that, then leaned back just slightly, his hands dropping to his hips. "You know," he said, "the only way to curb Zeus when he's in one of his moods is to mention Hera."

He raised a brow, eyes twinkling like a boy who'd just gotten away with something and was already planning the sequel.

"Nothing makes lightning pause faster than the idea of his wife walking in with questions and a wine cup."

He shivered again, but this time in dramatic fear, mock-whispering, "Gods help the man if she actually shows up. I've seen Titans tremble less."

And something about it—his voice, his grin, the relief of hearing a joke that wasn't layered in threat—just broke something in you.

You didn't think, you just moved.

In the next breath, you surged forward and threw your arms around him.

Hermes froze.

For half a second, he stiffened like someone who hadn't been hugged in a while—or maybe just hadn't expected it. His staff knocked lightly against your side as your momentum carried you into his chest. But then—then he laughed.

Low and surprised and a little breathless. His arms came up, wrapping around your back, one hand rubbing up and down your spine like it was second nature.

"Well... hello to you too," he chuckled.

You didn't answer, didn't lift your head. You just pressed your face deeper into the fabric of his toga, your nose tucked into the space where his collar met his neck. It smelled faintly of cloud-swept winds and something older—like air that had been moving for centuries.

You didn't want him to pull away. Not yet.

Because seeing him—really seeing him, whole and safe and you again—made everything else come crashing down.

The feast. The lyre. Apollo's lap. The scrolls. The forge. Dionysus. Zeus. Melanion. All of it. Too much, too fast.

Your throat tightened.

You didn't want to cry. Gods, you didn't. But your chest was shaking in small, uneven jerks, and you could feel the sting start to crawl up behind your eyes.

Finally—finally—you pulled back, just enough to see him.

Your eyes were glassy. Wet around the edges.

Hermes clicked his tongue gently, brushing his thumb under your left eye. He wiped away the starting tear like it was nothing, then flicked the drop from his fingertip like it had offended him. "You're not supposed to make me look soft in front of the storm king, you know."

You gave a wobbly laugh, your fingers still curled slightly in the fabric of his toga. "I haven't seen you in forever," you mumbled, your voice cracking a little at the end.

He sighed dramatically, leaning his forehead lightly against yours for a beat. "Olympus does that," he murmured. "Turns time into something that slips between your fingers and calls it favor."

Then—he leaned back, flicking his brows up like nothing had happened.

"Anyway. You're being summoned."

You blinked. "Summoned?"

He nodded. "Apollo's looking for you. Said something about wanting another song—'Doesn't even have to be new,'" he mimicked in a pouty, sunstruck voice. "I overheard while delivering a message to Dionysus from one of his... many wine-soaked devotees."

He raised his brows pointedly, lips quirking into a smirk.

"So, imagine my surprise," he added, placing a dramatic hand on his chest, "when I arrive on business, only to find out there's a full feast happening. Candles, dancing nymphs, cursed wine pets, everything. And not a single invitation with my name on it."

You opened your mouth, but he just raised his hand like he wasn't done yet.

"No message. No scroll. Not even a courtesy dove. I'm wounded." He sniffed, eyes sparkling. "Truly."

You laughed, and he gave you a sly little wink.

"But," he continued, stepping backward now, toward the balcony entrance, "if I'm going to show up uninvited—" he gestured between the two of you, "—I may as well do it with the prized muse everyone's looking for."

His grin widened.

"Can't wait to see Apollo's face."

Then, without waiting, he reached forward and gently grasped your hands—cool fingers curling around your wrists with an ease that made you forget you'd been trembling minutes ago.

"C'mon," he murmured, tugging you along with that weightless, feather-footed step of his. "Let's go ruin someone's dramatic entrance."

But before you could cross the threshold—you stopped.

Just... stopped.

Hermes, still holding your hand, blinked. His steps stilled mid-float and he turned to look at you, brows pinched. "Hey," he said, light but cautious. "What's—?"

You weren't looking at him. Your gaze was on the floor, fixed somewhere near the edge of the balcony, just past the shadows cast by the torchlight. You didn't speak right away, and when you did, your voice sounded... far away.

Not angry. Not panicked.

Just low.

Almost dead.

"...That... That thing Dionysus was dragging around," you murmured. "That... thing in the chains."

Hermes said nothing.

You lifted your chin a little, just enough to look past him—past the palace's golden archways and back toward the memory you hadn't asked for. "That was him, wasn't it?" Your fingers curled faintly in his. "Melanion."

Hermes' expression didn't change at first. But his thumb brushed once across your knuckles, like he already knew what you were asking—and was weighing how to answer.

A long pause passed between you.

Then finally, quietly—

"Yeah," he said.

Your breath hitched and you turned away again, swallowing against the tightness growing in your throat. The cool air hit your face, but it didn't soothe. Not this time. Not like before.

Hermes kept his voice even. Soft.

"You don't have to worry about him," he said. "He's not going anywhere. That's his punishment. Olympus-style. A little poetic justice, if you will."

You shook your head. "That's not why I'm asking."

He fell silent.

You looked at him—just barely—over your shoulder, eyes wide but tired. "How long?"

Hermes hesitated.

Then...  "Since the day you woke up... the day I brought you back from death."

You inhaled slowly, your chest catching on the drag of breath. Your arms crossed loosely around your middle. You didn't know if it was from the cold or the weight of the answer.

You should've felt something good. Relief. Triumph. Maybe even something righteous. The man who killed you—the one who laughed while you bled—was being punished. Still punished.

Just like you said he would be.

Even if your threat had been weak. Even if your voice had cracked and your hands had shaken. You warned him.

And the gods had listened.

They made it real.

So why did you feel sick?

Why did your heart crawl at the memory of his eyes—those broken, unfocused eyes, like something behind them had been ripped out and never returned?

Why couldn't you stop remembering the way he didn't fight back?

The way he just existed now. Dragged on a leash, head down, not even human anymore.

Just a hollow shell in a wine-soaked joke.

You pressed your lips together tightly, not wanting your mask to slip and allow Hermes to see what was written on your face because at this point, you didn't even know what it meant.

But apparently, you didn't hide it well enough because Hermes let out a loud groan through his nose and dragged a hand down his face.

"Oh, come on," he huffed, turning away for a second like he had to physically pace out the frustration. "Are you—? Seriously? This is the part you're hung up on?"

You didn't answer.

His wings twitched at his heels as he stepped back toward you, the usual levity in his voice starting to fray.

"He's not even human anymore," Hermes snapped—not cruel, but raw, like someone trying not to raise their voice at a friend. "And believe me, that's generous. I held back."

You looked at him, startled.

He gestured wide, motion sharp now, like the words were bursting out whether he liked it or not. "You know how many gods would've wanted him undone completely? Gone. Erased. Struck down before his soul could so much as shiver in the Underworld? Ares would've ripped him in half. Aphrodite suggested I even set his family tree on fire."

His voice pitched—tight, angry. Not at you.

But for you.

"He stabbed you," he said, his tone dropping low and flat. "He killed you. He dragged your name through mud and blood and didn't feel an ounce of regret doing it."

Your throat tightened. You couldn't look at him anymore. You turned your face toward the marble pillar, the glow of Olympus bleeding in from the arches, voice barely above a whisper. "...I know..."

Hermes stopped.

The silence that followed stretched a little too long. You expected him to pace again. To sigh louder. To push.

But instead... he exhaled.

Softly.

Quietly.

And when he spoke again, it was calm. "If you feel that strongly about it," he murmured, "then I suppose we can cut his sentence short."

Your head whipped up, stunned.

Hermes just shrugged—like it was nothing. Like altering the divine punishment of a cursed soul was as casual as flipping a coin. "Dionysus won't be thrilled," he added, smirking faintly. "He just got him broken in. He likes dramatic little accessories, and 'revenge pet' is very on brand."

That did it.

You didn't think—you just moved again. Your body surged forward, emotion crashing through you like a tide, and you wrapped your arms around him in another hug—tighter than before. Desperate. Grateful.

But this time... you actually cried.

Not just the tightness in your throat. Not just the sting in your eyes. Actual tears spilled down your cheeks as your breath hitched against his chest, quiet and shaky.

"I-I'm sorry," you mumbled, the words barely holding shape as your face pressed into his toga. "I just—I keep taking. You keep helping me, and I just take and take and I—"

Hermes laughed. Not unkindly. Not mockingly. Just warm and incredulous, his arms looping around you easily, one hand ruffling the back of your hair with a soft tsk.

"Gods, you're a crybaby," he said fondly, like it was an inside joke now. "What am I gonna do with you?"

You sniffled hard enough that your shoulders jumped, but you didn't pull back.

And Hermes just hummed, voice low and content. "If all it takes is doing a few simple favors to have you cling to me like this..." He gave your back a lazy pat. "...then I really don't mind doing them."

You finally pulled back—reluctantly, breath hitching once as you wiped at your cheeks with both hands. Your fingers came back damp, and you winced a little, sniffling quietly as you tried to collect yourself.

"I mean it," you mumbled, voice still a little wobbly. "I know gods aren't really in the business of... doing things for people."

You looked up at him, and the weight of everything you meant sat heavy behind your eyes.

"I... I know there's an order to things. Rules. Favor. Power. That you guys do what you want, when you want. Because you can. And no one really gets anything unless you feel like giving it."

Your voice cracked again, but you pushed through it, your words soft and breathless as you stared up at him. "But still... you help me."

Your lashes were wet, tears clinging to the edges like dew on string. You didn't even realize how tightly you were still holding onto him.

Hermes sighed. A long, quiet sound that felt more like surrender than anything else. Then—he smiled.

Not his usual grin. Not clever. Not cocky.

Just... real.

He reached up, brushing his knuckles along your cheek before gently wiping a tear from beneath your eye. His touch lingered—soft, steady, unspoken.

"You always look at me like that when you're about to break my heart," he said, voice low.

You blinked. But before you could ask, before the words could land, he was already stepping back—mask slipping gently back into place.

His hand dropped from your face, but he didn't let go entirely. His fingers found yours again, weaving slow between them with a gentleness that grounded you. Like he could smooth the last of the tremble from your bones if he just stayed close enough.

"Now," Hermes said, his tone shifting—lighter, mischievous, tugging you gently toward the doorway, "let's go remind Olympus who its favorite muse really belongs to."

But the way his thumb circled the inside of your wrist—absent, careful, like it meant something more—said what he didn't.

And with that, he led you back into the light. Back into the warmth. Back into the world of gods.

A/N: hey lovelies!!! sry for taking too long, my job realized school/college is out for then summer and they wasted NO time scheduling me 😭😭 luckily since it's thundering/stroming rn in Memphis i was sent home early so i thought: it's my fav weather AND i have no plans?? might as well update ahahah! also.... ZEUUUSSSS! i know a lot of you were anticipating his arrival (some didnt even want to see his name lolol) but it'll be kinda of a let down it i dont a least give a scene between mc and the king of gods (i mean all he knows is what he's heard, i feel like its in character for him to meet her hahaha) and i also know that mc tend to be a mary sue (as in she stuff seemingly gets fixed---like the 600 ithaca soldiers, adn now melanion), but tbh?? i kinda think it fits/think it's the point... for sure it wont be THIS easy for mc in the isekai fic cuz i want to be mroe experimental/showing how it feels to be a regular mortal/and not favored my a god... alright, sry for the rambles hahah! see you lovelies, nest update! plz take care and thank you all for the well wishess/reminders to take of myself, hehehe it makes me wanna just write all day and post non-stop but ya know.. life be lifeing 😩

also i've been blessed with more fanart, hehehe ❤️❤️❤️ (email: wattywriter04@gmail.com | tumblr: winaxity-ii) also because wattpad/tumblr is being a meanie, i can't show 18+ drawings on here, even if edited 😭😭 but don't worry i shall still sing my praises! but good news! i have them available on archiveofourown (ao3) and have my account/books to where guests can see so you guys don't have to make an account ❤️❤️ also, if you haven't seen my last update/PSA i'm no longer doing personalized notes under each art i receive 💔 i fully explained why in my last update/psa so plz read it to get full transparency....

from simp_0207 (p.s. i know you've sent me a few, but i'm goign down the list/order i received them, so no worries lovely~ i shall get to them all; p.s DON'T APOLOGIZE I LIVE FOR YOUR DRAWINGS/REFERENCES ESPECAILLY THE QUAN MILLZ 😭😭 okok sorry, no more notes, ❤️)

[MELANION]

[MC MEETS MELANION]

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[MOON AND SUN]

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[DRAGON!APOLLO & DRAGON!APHRODITE]

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[flowerandblood]

The Evening Star (1/2)

[ Hades • Aemond x Persephone • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, kidnaping, sexual tension, obsession, incest, toxic relation ]

[ description: When the god of the underworld comes out of his caves once a year to admire his beloved constellation, he accidentally meets his niece, whom he has never seen before. Moved by sudden lust and desire, he kidnaps her, despite her despair and his brother's anger. Angst, sexual tension, dark and obsessive Aemond. ]

Part 2: The Moonlight Ray

The Evening Star & The Moonlight Ray

Persephone Moodboard

*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*

My others works: Masterlist

_____

He never understood his brother, hurling his lightning bolts from the heavens at defenceless people in a rage − he did not understand his volatility, he did not understand his irrepressible desire, his unlimited emotionality.

He did not understand how he could desire and feel so many things at once, having his sister-wife haunt and take other goddesses, nymphs, or even human women, begetting bastards on earth and in the heavens.

He did not understand him, for he was emptiness, abyss, coldness, the opposite of his impulsiveness, his eternal volatility − he was like stone, like white marble, soul as well as body.

The only desire he had ever known in his life was the desire for power, and for this his brother deprived him of one eye before casting him into a dark abyss where not even the light of the stars could reach.

Although he was a god, his brother's blow could not be undone and he was forever disfigured, the dark hole in his face filled with a precious stone, sapphire, shining with a disturbing blue light.

Accustomed to the darkness of Hades, he could no longer bear the intense light of the sun and rarely appeared on Olympus itself; he would wander through his dark caverns in his long, black matted robe and gaze at the river Styx, at its pale light and the contorted terrified faces of the souls who swam in it.

When word reached him that his brother had mated with their other sister, the goddess of the field crops, and that she had bore him a daughter, he was neither surprised nor interested − he did not come to celebrate her birth on Olympus or congratulate his brother.

His brother had often suggested to him that he should take a wife, that he should not be alone in the darkness of the underworld.

He, however, felt no such need.

Even his sister, known as the Goddess of Love and Desire, was unable to seduce him.

She touched his naked body with her soft lips and hands, but he felt nothing but embarrassment.

He left Hades only once a year, when his favourite constellation emerged in the sky − he would then stroll through the old, dense forest looking up at the stars, breathing in the fresh air, listening to the rustle of the leaves.

When this time of year came, when he left his caves and looked up, he felt contentment at the sight of the twinkling dots in the sky, the pleasant night breeze enveloping his cold body.

He strolled slowly and aimlessly, looking upwards, all around him only the quiet rustling of his robes and the sound of dew-wet grass lingering beneath his feet.

He froze as he heard someone's footsteps break a twig not far from him – he knew he was not alone and he was furious.

He thought that whoever this mortal was, he would flow right down his river of the dead.

He tilted his head to the side and saw a pale figure illuminated only by shy starlight, her body pressed against the trunk of a tree as if she wanted to take refuge in it, her face expressing helpless anxiety.

Her eyes were big, warm and as dark as his robe, her hair long, partly loose, partly decorated with rich braids encircling her head, small blue flowers woven into her hair.

Her full, moist, fleshy lips were parted slightly in an accelerated breath, her breasts which he could see perfectly through the thin, transparent material of her robe were rising and falling restlessly, her skin glistening like moonlight.

He stared at her, unable to move or make a sound, unsure if he had ever seen a being so infinitely beautiful in his life, luminous as the stars above his head.

He swallowed loudly when he saw that she had taken a step back to retreat, to escape.

"Is it the beautiful Evening Star herself who has left the sky to enchant me with her company?" He asked lowly, impassively, his voice though assured and direct trembled, betraying his desperation.

She stopped in mid-motion and looked at him again, surprised and embarrassed at the same time by his words − it seemed to him that he saw perfectly well how her cheeks flushed, giving her skin a rose tint.

She pressed her lips together watching him carefully, lifting her chin slightly as if probing him closely from afar, assessing whether he was a threat to her, whether he would hurt her.

He was unable to take his eyes off her.

"I will tell you who I am only if you tell me who you are." She whispered in a trembling, gentle tone.

A smirk appeared on his face at the thought that maybe she was a nymph who had ventured too far from her friends, and that she was at his mercy now.

He hummed under his breath and moved ahead, putting his hands behind his back, looking under his feet, moving unhurriedly towards her.

"They call me many names." He said with mischievous amusement, throwing her a piercing, disturbing look from which she shuddered all over, taking a step back again.

"My river, though water is a life-giving gift, brings death." He whispered once he was a few steps away from her, wanting her to solve the riddle herself, to exert herself.

She swallowed loudly, her eyes widening suddenly, as if she had just realised something.

"− uncle −" She whispered, and he froze, stopping in mid-step; for the first time in the thousands of years he had walked the world he felt his own heart pounding hard.

He looked at her in disbelief, and it was only at close that he saw that she did indeed have something of his brother and sister in her, though it was her she resembled more − he felt himself grow even paler than usual, his hands clenched into fists behind his back.

She, however, seemed not frightened about who he was, her face took on an expression full of contentment and warmth. She moved closer to him and now it was he who took a step back feeling a strange heat in his lower abdomen, his manhood throbbed suddenly as he caught a glimpse of the outline of her soft breasts.

"My mother told me a lot about you. About the sun hurting your eye." She said softly, and he swallowed loudly seeing that she was staring at his scar, at the stone placed where his eye once was.

He thought he was like Hephaestus, hideous, disfigured, and that she would never desire him.

He felt his jaw clench tightly, his body tense, hard as granite when she tentatively placed her soft hand on his shoulder, he felt the warmth of her flesh through the thin material of his robe.

He didn't know what was happening to his body, he felt tickling and tension in his lower abdomen, a strenuous need for some kind of relief that he didn't understand.

"Stay with me to watch the sunrise. Don't sink into darkness yet." She whispered as if in worry − he couldn't tear his eyes from her face, from her warm gaze.

He was unable to comprehend how any living being could be so beautiful.

"No." He said coldly, and then grasped her in his arms, his hands clenching on her soft, hot flesh like steel tongs.

For a moment she couldn't make a sound, terrified and shocked − she didn't scream when he threw her over his shoulder and headed towards his underworld, cold, dark, damp.

It was only when she realised what he was doing that she began to struggle and cry, calling loudly for help from her mother and father, begging him not to do it, to let her go, that she would not tell anyone about it.

He, however, decided to follow his brother's advice and take a wife.

The marriage required the oaths from both of them, but this did not prevent him from acknowledging her as his wife even though she refused to speak the words.

Even though he had given her his most beautiful chamber, on whose ceiling precious minerals shimmered like stars, in which streams of water hummed, in which she could lie on a great, soft bed, she did not want to see him.

He was not his brother.

He had no intention of taking her against her will.

It was enough for him that he could look at her every day.

Only him.

He bestowed new gifts on her every day, but she still cried.

He gave her a beautiful long gown of dark, translucent material embroidered with stones in which the warm light of the sun was encased after she said she longed to see it, but she didn't even look at it.

The blue flowers in her hair withered as did the warmth in her eyes − she was slowly becoming as pale as he was and was constantly shivering from the cold.

She would not let him embrace or touch her; she covered herself with the thick furs he had given her and turned away from him.

Occasionally something would awaken in her − she would then run up to him when he visited her and beg him to let her leave to see her mother.

"I promise you that I will come back and that I will be your wife. Please, let me see the sunshine and the fresh grass one last time." She begged, touching tenderly his cold cheek with her fingers, almost as if she loved him, and he almost gave in to her every time.

"I can't, Persephone." He replied coolly, feeling some kind of pain seeing the despair on her face, hearing her helpless sobbs again, her small hands clenched on his robe, her cheek hugged to his chest.

"My name is Kora." She mumbled with difficulty, as if enraged. He hummed at her words, lifting slowly his large, cold hand, taking unruly strands of her hair from her face, all red from crying.

"Persephone, this name, is my gift to you. For my sweet wife." He whispered, and she trembled, struggling to breathe, shaking all over.

"− please −" She babbled as he embraced her uncertainly and stroked her hair, relishing its soft texture, letting her draw on this substitute of comfort.

He walked with her through the interiors of Hades, wanting to show her that besides death, there was also beauty in the underworld − underground streams and lakes with crystal clear water, his three-headed, beloved Cerberus, who in his presence turned from a monstrous beast into a gentle, docile animal.

Sometimes it seemed to him that a smile adorned her face for a moment, but then the sadness came over her again − she shuddered with cold and fear hearing the wailing of souls floating in the Styx, she glanced nervously in that direction, swallowing loudly.

"Are they suffering a lot? Can they be helped?" She whispered, and he hummed under his breath, walking beside her with his arms folded behind his back.

"They are paying for what they have done in their lifetime. Their merits and transgressions have been weighed by Temida, who has issued a judgment on them. There is nothing I can do." He admitted with a glance at her, and she lowered her gaze, looking down at her hands.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked her at last, and she lifted her large, frightened eyes to him, her lips parted but no sound came from her throat. He pressed his lips together, feeling a sting in his chest.

He asked her if she was afraid of him after he had kidnapped her and held her against her will.

What did he expect?

The wrath of his brother and sister was quickly getting to him − her mother distraught at her disappearance had fallen into a state of utter agony, people were being starved to death by the land's failure to yield crops, there were more souls flowing in the Styx than he had ever seen in his centuries-long life.

He felt a kind of satisfaction when his brother descended into the underworld for the first time since time immemorial; he hated to think about dying and passing, and could not grasp the meaning of such a short life, knowing only the meaning of infinity himself.

He came out to meet him sitting proudly on his black marble throne, thousands of skulls at his feet.

For the first time he looked down on his brother, a gigantic cave all around them, Styx surrounding them on all sides except a small bridge.

"Brother. I warn you for the last time. If you don't give me my daughter..."

"Then what? I should take a wife at last – those are your words, aren't they?" He asked with a sneer, sitting stretched out comfortably in his seat.

"I want to see her." He demanded, and his lips tightened at his words. "Or I'll take her away from you myself and you'll never see her again."

"I poured water from my river into the honey she drank. Like any soul who has already bound herself to the underworld, she will not leave Hades without my permission." He said calmly, and his brother's face flushed red, his angry low voice echoing around him so that the ground shook around them.

"I WANT TO SEE HER!"

He hummed under his breath and nodded to his servant to bring her in.

His wife came out of her chamber a moment later − when she saw her father she immediately beamed, ran to him and threw herself into his arms.

He looked at them coolly, feeling his heart pounding fast, his stomach twisting with rage.

"My sweet daughter. Did he hurt you?" He asked as if the welfare of any woman mattered to him, as if he hadn't raped an endless number of innocent girls, forgetting them quickly because they were dying in what seemed to him to be just the blink of an eye.

He swallowed loudly when his Persephone shook her head, tightening her lips, lowering her head.

"He's good to me." She whispered and he felt a squeeze in his heart, a pain he had never known before.

His brother looked at him accusingly, trying to contain his aggressive, abrupt nature.

"People are suffering hunger because of you. Her mother has gone mad with despair, the flowers are not blooming, the grains are not yielding. Let them be together at least a few months of the year and I will recognise your marriage in the eyes of Olympus." He suggested, and he furrowed his brow.

"No." He hissed coldly, his gaze icy, piercing, furious, his hand clenched into a fist. "She is my wife. A wife's place is with her husband."

His brother moved in fury, wanting to lash out at him, the ground shook around them again, but his daughter's hand stopped him.

"Let us speak alone, father." She said softly; his brother backed away, panting heavily, his jaw clenched tight.

He hummed under his breath when he saw his wife move towards him, climbing the black, cold stone steps to finally stand before him − his brother snorted and turned, walking away, furious.

He looked up at his Persephone massaging his chin, delighted to see the outline of her body shapes beneath her thin white robe.

He shuddered and swallowed loudly, shocked as she sat on his lap, his manhood throbbed suddenly feeling her body so close, her fresh scent like a cool morning breeze.

"− husband −" She whispered with a soft click of her pink tongue, her hips innocently rubbing against his hardness, his body shivered at the sound of that word.

She had never called him that before.

She touched his cheek with her soft fingertips so gently, tenderly, slow strokes of her hips teasing him so innocently, that he parted his lips, breathing with increasing difficulty, his palms tightening on his cold stone armrests.

He could feel his length pulsing and swelling with every motion she made, he didn't understand what was happening to him.

He didn't stop her when she reached up to tie of his matte black robe, he drew in a loud breath and closed his eyelids when her delicate hand tentatively touched what was underneath.

"I am yours. I will give myself to you of my own free will." She whispered in a sweet, warm, trembling voice, her gaze misty, her lips full, swollen, red from emotion.

A quiet, low groan broke from his throat as he felt her hand direct the fat head of his manhood between her thighs with a gentle movement, he could see through the translucent material as she slowly began to sink him into her body.

He tilted his head back with quiet moan, licking his lower lip, feeling her hot, fleshy insides squeeze him wonderfully from all sides − she was surprisingly moist and warm, her core throbbing with arousal.

He felt her put her hands on his shoulders, lowering herself onto him with a loud, sweet gasp, her plump lips parted wide.

His hands involuntarily gripped her hips as she began to move, rising and falling against his length so painfully slowly that he had to close his eyelids shut, panting louder and louder along with her.

"– gods –" He exhaled with difficulty as she accelerated, the loud, sticky slaps of flesh against flesh echoing through the dark cavern, his manhood throbbing and twitching inside her, all hard and swollen with pleasure.

Involuntarily, his cold fingers clenched on the hot skin of her hips − he rooted his manhood into her tight, moist insides with his desperate, pathetic thrusts, her sticky moisture dripping down her thighs.

"– for our marriage to be valid you must fill me with yourself, my husband –" She whispered, pressing her forehead against his, droplets of sweat glistening on her body like little diamonds, her sweet moans of pleasure, her slick walls sucking him inside made him loose his temper.

He gasped weakly at her words, he had never felt a woman's insides before, had never desired anyone before her.

He felt like his manhood was going to explode with desire and lust, his thrusts became faster and more brutal, her soft breasts bouncing in front of his face − he lifted his hand and squeezed it tentatively, a soft mewl of delight erupted from her throat.

"– Persephone –" He breathed out pleadingly, imploringly, and then she kissed him, her hot, swollen, moist lips clinging to his, cold, dead, the tips of their tongues licking each other.

"– please –" She mewled although he didn't know what she was actually asking him, and then he heard her cry loudly, as if surprised, her hot insides clenching against him greedily, her tongue deep in his throat.

He felt with each thrust of his hips that he was getting closer and closer to something he'd never experienced before in his life.

Fulfilment.

The wave of heat and pleasure, his seed that spilled inside her surprised him so much that his voice stuck in his throat, and then again and again a low, helpless groan broke from his mouth − both of them were panting as they looked at each other with their lips open wide, his hands clenched painfully tight on her hips.

"I'm yours." She whispered softly, sweetly − he was looking at her feeling only peace, only love. "I am only yours, so please, let me see her."

He felt the heat in his heart replaced by coldness, his brow furrowed in a sense of anger, of pain, of betrayal.

"No." He hissed, wanting to lift her up, but she shook her head, cupping his face in her warm, soft hands.

"I will never truly be your wife if you won't trust me. If I don't come back to you of my own free will." She said helplessly, pain, fear and suffering in her eyes again, his lips tightened into a thin line at her words.

"Nine months with my mother so I can enjoy the sun, and then three here, just with you, every night, every day, I swear." She whispered tenderly pressing her face against his cheek, her scent overpowering and stupefying him, her warm insides still pleasantly enveloping his already soft manhood.

He swallowed loudly at her words, his palms digging firmly into the soft skin of her thighs.

"You're lying. You will never come back to me." He hissed and groaned low when he felt her hips begin to move up and down again with a loud click of her wetness and his spend, his manhood pulsed involuntarily with pleasure, betraying him.

"I'll come back. I promise I'll come back."

As much as she wanted him to lead her away, he didn't want to watch her disappear beyond the borders of Hades never to return.

He didn't want to watch her run merrily towards the light, thanking the gods for his weakness and naivety, for how every woman in history had been able to exploit a man's desires.

He did not want her to see his expression, his suffering and all the other feelings he did not want to feel.

The day after she left, he went to her chamber and lay in her bedding, sinking his nose into her scent.

He found, with regret and pain, that with each passing month her scent grew fainter and fainter, her silhouette in his mind becoming more and more blurred, as if he had never really met her.

He touched himself thinking about her, experiencing both wonderful and painful fulfilment with the knowledge that he would never feel her again.

He preferred to explain to himself that it was just a dream.

That he had never met her.

He knew she would not return.

She would not return to her captor, to the man who had kept her in a dark underworld for months, deaf to her pleas and sobs, a man who was crippled, who was cold, frightening and empty.

Despite this, despite knowing it, when the day came he could think of nothing else − he watched as the sand shifted in the great hourglass constructed of bone and glass as he lay in his chamber, drinking wine, feeling like a demented madman, listening for her footsteps amidst the groans of the dead.

She did not come.

He stared at the empty hourglass, which turned and the sand began to shift again, counting down the time of the new day; he wondered how he could have been so naïve to wait.

For the first time in ages he felt an embarrassing, burning wetness under his eyelids − proof that he really loved her.

He shuddered when he heard the quiet rustling of robes − he glanced sideways and saw her standing in the doorway of his dark chamber, in her hair beautiful small yellow flowers, her face bright and warm.

She wore the gown he had given her, black, decorated with sun rays stones.

"My mother kept me. She couldn't let me go." She whispered, and he felt his throat tighten, his body freeze, unable to make a sound or make any movement.

He breathed hard, looking at her with wide eyes, his lower lip and hands trembling involuntarily as she approached him slowly, as her hands untied the bindings of his robe with a light, easy motion, revealing what was underneath, how much he wanted her, how much he waited for her.

"I have been counting down the days when I will see your face again." She whispered, running her fingers over his scarred cheek, sitting on top of him, gently taking his hard length in her palm, lowering herself onto the fat head of his cock as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He wanted to tell her that he didn't believe her, but instead a surprised, throaty groan of pleasure burst from his mouth − he tilted his head back, panting loudly, his hips involuntarily beginning to root his manhood into her fleshy, moist insides, her hands clenched on his shoulders.

"– fuck –" He gasped out looking at her with his lips parted, synchronising his thrusts with the rhythm of her body − he swallowed loudly as she slid the material of her robe off her shoulders, exposing her soft, plump breasts to him.

"– touch me, husband –" She cooed, and he lifted himself, immediately pressed his lips to her breast, sucking on it greedily, licking and teasing her nipple with his tongue, all hard with desire.

She sank her fingers into his long white hair and pressed his face against her chest, rising and falling on top of him with a loud click of her moisture, moaning so sweetly and loudly that he felt like his manhood was about to explode.

"– were you touching yourself? – did you touch yourself when you weren't with your husband? –" He hissed out in a trembling voice between flicks of his tongue, she kissed his hair in an attempt to soften his question and her answer.

"– forgive me, husband – forgive me, I've missed you so terribly –" She mumbled helplessly as he ran his fingers down her hips, twisting with her so that she fell on her back.

He gripped her thighs in his hands, looking down at her − her face all red with exertion, her hair scattered in disarray around her head, her body all bare before him, hot, beautiful, his.

"– I think I should remind you to who this body belongs to –" He growled, ending his sentence with a deep, brutal thrust, a loud, surprised moan escaping from her throat.

"– you are mine –"

Thrust.

"– mine –"

Thrust.

"– mine –"

Thrust.

"– repeat –"

"– I – I'm yours – I'm yours, forgive me, uncle –" She mumbled out with difficulty and drew in the air loudly as he spread her thighs shamelessly in front of him, looking down at the place where their bodies joined, her entrance clenching against him steadily, leaking with her wetness.

"– I forgive you, sweet wife –" He gasped, recognising this act of grace as an expression of his love and gratitude that she had not betrayed him, that she had returned, that he held her in his arms again.

"– I'll fill you with my seed and it'll be just as it should be –" He exhaled as he watched the perverse sight of their bodies slamming against each other with a loud slaps, his thrusts deep and sure, each time opening her wide on his thick, swollen cock.

He couldn't believe that she had come back to him, that he could smell her wonderful, floral scent again, that she was allowing him to possess her of her own free will.

Her fingers grasped his hand and sank it between her thighs − he felt her direct him to the small bud between her soft folds, she moaned when he touched her there.

"– here, husband – please –" She mewled and moaned loudly, throwing her head back as he began to rub her there, simultaneously caressing her inside and out, her core beginning to pulse greedily against him.

"– gods – stop clenching –" He exhaled with difficulty, rooting into her with quick, brutal thrusts of his hips, stretching her fleshy walls apart with the sticky click of her moisture.

He felt that if he went on like this he would simply come inside her, when he wanted to torment her, to prolong the moment of this immense pleasure and encounter after so many months.

"– I can't – I can't –" She sobbed loudly and he saw her fulfilment in all its glory, her hot, soft flesh went through convulsions, greedily sucking him inside, her lips parted wide in pleasure, her gaze misty and warm.

He cursed loudly, coming inside her so painfully hard that he clenched his eyes shut, panting loudly, rooting into her for a moment longer, the relief and delight that surged through his body was indescribable.

He looked at her beautiful face, her hands on either side of her head, her expression nothing but fulfilment and peace, her breathing uneven and ragged, her breasts rising and falling rapidly.

She looked up at him after a moment and smiled sleepily, raising her hand slowly − her soft fingertips ran over his scarred cheek and he closed his eyes, feeling pleasant, hot squeeze in his heart.

"What is my wife's name?" He asked in a whisper, kissing her warm, small hand, smelling of fresh grass and flowers. He heard her sigh sweetly at his question, her fingers sliding lower, running over his cold lips.

"Persephone."

_____

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