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wildernessuntothemselves · 4 months ago

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Now See Them Burn in Fire | Part 1

Genre: dark fic, future smut, angst

Word Count: 7.1k

Chapter Excerpt: “Do you let him kiss you?” He asks you, face blank apart from a muted curiosity. He was so close you can see every individual eyelash framing his gorgeous dark eyes, every tiny blemish on his otherwise flawless skin, the elegant slope of his nose, the firm but soft pillowing of his lips.

You stay quiet, too scared to speak, too scared to unintentionally set him off. What if this is what the star meant? What if it was warning you of your untimely demise and that is why you were the only one to see it?

“So you have.” He takes your silence as affirmation, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. “Then it’s only fair if I get a taste too.”

Warnings: fem!reader, DARK FIC, FUTURE NONCON/CON, mentions of people being burned alive, iron age au, supernatural au, yandere beomgyu

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Your fingers strum along the chords of the sacred lyre, producing celestial tunes that rise up to the heavens to reach the ears of the gods you’re worshipping through your songs, words of revelation passing through your lips like a prayer as the people of your tribe gather to witness and take part in the ceremony, offering up their own silent prayers for the ones above, wishing for food, safety, a good harvest, an opportune marriage for their children… It all moulds together to encase your song as it moves up to the heavens.

Usually, you would be lost in it, surrendering yourself as a vessel for the will of the people to reach their gods. That is your role after all. As a priestess, you’re the link between the mortal world and the heavens above and you take your role very seriously. These people have entrusted you to carry their messages to the gods and the gods have entrusted you to deliver those messages, any distraction on your part could result in a failure of this process and the squandering of the people’s goodwill and the gods’ trust in your abilities.

That’s why you feel guilty right now. You can’t focus your full energy on your job, not when you can feel his heavy, suffocating gaze on you. You look up to the heavens, seeking to gather strength from the stars above to guide you back to that enlightened state of being you usually access when performing the ceremonial prayers, but as your eyes land on the stars, you’re startled to see one suddenly fall down from the heavens in a bright flaming blaze. Your heart stops as you follow the distressing demise, no one else noticing it, all too focused on the song and dance and liveliness that you and your fellow priests and priestesses are putting on for the tribe.

No one even notices your hands faltering over the strings, blasphemously ruining the perfection of the heavenly song. No one but one. And as the star heads to the earth, flickering its last flames of light as it approaches its demise, it disappears behind the trees, leading your eyes directly to the original source of your apprehension as if it had fallen merely to guide your attention towards him.

But you didn’t require such sacrifice to realise the burden of his scrutiny, you moved through every waking moment of your life entirely absorbed by the feeling of being watched and knowing whose eyes are upon you.

It’s those eyes that belong to the boy with the long dark hair and even darker gaze. He stands out from the crowd, not for his clothes or jewels or status, but for his attitude of somberness and stillness among the joyful festivities of others which is enough to raise the hairs at the back of the neck of anyone who has the misfortune of noticing him. He stands there unmoving, his heavy eyes locked on you and no one else, and you–under that singular watchful gaze–hit the wrong note, plucking your own heartstring in the process, before you stop playing completely.

No, this can’t be. You may not know precisely what all of this means but even the unenlightened can recognise such a glaringly bad omen–the star falling out of the heavens to point straight at the ill-fated boy.

You're jolted out of your spiral when your friend nudges you, shooting you a concerned but sharp look, silently urging you to keep playing, and with widened eyes you quickly pick up your lyre again, looking around to see the concerned and strange looks from the tribes people, and the angry looks of your family. You can’t take your role lightly, not even for a second. You have a duty to your people and every second you’re not joining in the collective song, you’re weakening the prayers and risking their failure.

You diligently join back into song, but you know your heart's not in it, not when you can still feel his cursed eyes upon you.

He’s been watching you for some time now, and it wasn’t making only you uncomfortable. Others have noticed it too, and rumours have already started to spread–rumours about his inclination towards you. Some are making fun of you for being the object of desire of the tribe’s outcast–as if it makes you deficient in some way to be wanted by him–while others have started to distance themselves from you because of it, not wanting to be adjacent to the troubling boy even if it’s through the most tenuous connection to you.

It makes you angry to be so unfairly burdened by the unwanted association with him but you can’t blame them too much. You know where their fear is coming from, and you wish he would stay away from you too.

It’s not that he’s uncomely. If any of you were to be fair, you would readily admit that he is one of the most beautiful humans you have ever laid eyes upon, his handsome features seeming to have been carved out by the hands of a god… but which one, you’re not sure. A trickster god, perhaps, for the boy’s unrivalled looks that are meant to entice and enthral clash harshly with the unsettling darkness that surrounds him and keeps others away despite that immense beauty that under normal circumstances would have made him one of the most popular eligible young men in the tribe.

The quiet orphan boy never quite fit in despite his parents having been formidable warriors and therefore much loved and respected members of the tribe. His father’s power and influence at one point even rivalled the current tribe’s leader, a fact that has undoubtedly been the source of the hushed and vile speculation by some of the tribe’s people asserting that that is precisely the reason behind the boy’s parents sudden and mysterious deaths when he was just twelve.

Of course none of it was true. These were just the ramblings of the bored and nefarious, gathered under dwindling bonfires and spouting their ignorant and hateful conspiracies. The leader is a kind and loving man. He would never deprive a boy of his family unjustly.

Just as unfounded are the rumours that the boy himself was at fault for his parents’ death. After all, they failed to bear a live child after him–his mother’s womb becoming a graveyard for multiple of his lost brothers and sisters until it eventually killed her.

After his poor mother died while birthing yet another departed soul, his father was never the same afterwards. He became cruel and vengeful. He took his grief and turned it to anger–an emotion a warrior was much more familiar with handling. Unfortunately when defending the land and killing the tribe’s enemies wasn’t enough, he turned that anger towards his only son.

You had felt sorry for the boy to be the subject of his father's anger and resentment. You even went out of your way to be kind to him every time you saw the marks of hate on his body or saw him crying to himself in the woods. For a very brief period, you may have even considered yourselves friends.

He didn’t appear evil from up close. He wasn’t so quiet and menacing. He was a child like all of you were. He wanted to play and laugh and enjoy himself, and you really enjoyed watching him do that. He was a silly child when you were alone together and for a short while it warmed your heart to see him let go around you. He had a beautiful smile and a tinkling honey laugh. You developed a minor addiction to it and you craved to see it more and more.

That is how you justify to yourself your traitorous indiscretion of secretly revealing to him some of the magic only those raised under the guidance of the gods should have access to. You couldn’t help it. He had shown such interest in it and you couldn’t refuse to indulge him in one of his very few desires. It wouldn’t do anyone any harm. It’s not like he could ever do anything with that knowledge. Only those chosen and trained by the temple could put that powerful knowledge into meaningful action.

And so you felt comfortable telling him secrets about the practice that even seasoned mages didn’t have access to–secrets you’d only known by eavesdropping on your own high-ranking parents, and he lapped it all up, pushing you for more and more which you happily provided.

Truth is, you enjoyed divulging such secrets about priesthood to him because despite it being a very respected and esteemed position to hold, it was also incredibly isolating by nature. The arts you’ve learned allowed you to tap into great power meant to help and protect your people, but also necessitated that you guard the secrets to it closely so they don’t fall into the hands of those who have not been taught how to correctly use them, or worse yet, those with ill-intentions.

Even amongst your fellow apprentices, each of you had your own area of study and weren’t privy to much else. That way each of you would only be skilled at a particular art and that art only lest you become too powerful and think yourself rival to the gods much the same way the great Gija did–an ancient priest so powerful he rejected the rule of the heavens and in his arrogance thought he could bring down the gods and take their place instead. His greed was like a sickness that spread through the tribe and corrupted your ancestors, convincing them that if they directed their duplicitous charges at the heavens, they could fell the gods and rule in their place, revelling in endless riches and heavenly desires, only for the gods to strike him down, leaving him to a fate worse than death and laying waste to your people–turning them from a once prosperous and opulent civilisation to one that is barely surviving amongst the wilderness.

Many of the secrets of that ancient power were lost then, only a few ruins from that time remain guarded in the heart of the sacred temple and even fewer taught to you and your fellow apprentices in bits and pieces that are intentionally scattered amongst you to prevent another Gija from rising.

That is why there are now so few priests and priestesses who have been allowed to learn more than one art of magic and why you’re forbidden from sharing secrets about your practice even amongst yourselves.

But no one in the tribe knew you were meeting him in the woods under the cover of darkness and therefore no one could stop you from divulging all your secrets to him. It was harmless. What would he even do with that knowledge? He’s a warrior just like his parents–not a very good one much to his father’s chagrin, but it meant that he wouldn't be able to do anything with the secrets you were exposing to him even if he wanted to. He did not have the gift.

Still, he understood your frustrated and disjointed ramblings well–a part of you secretly worried that he may have understood them too well for he would then make off hand alterations to incantations that would help you crack a spell you'd been struggling with for some time or bring you rare ingredients from the forest that were very hard to come by, maybe even dangerous, and would be the missing touch to a potion you’ve been slaving over to no avail.

You didn’t understand how he knew what was missing each time but you selfishly didn't ask because you didn't want to ruin it. Not when his help was setting you apart from your peers and enabling you to make a mark for yourself as the most promising young priestess of your generation.

For his part, Beomgyu's eyes would light up every time his help would cause you to advance further in your training. He never cared that he couldn’t claim credit for it in front of others. He would just smile and make you his special wildflower and mushroom soup to celebrate which tasted like nothing out of this earth and made you crave it almost as much as you craved his smile.

That smile–that cursed smile he would wear as he looked at you while you gushed or complained about your training. He didn’t care, seemingly happy to listen to you talk either way, and your foolish young heart liked to think you could see a special fondness in his gaze. It was a stupid passing fancy of course. You couldn’t possibly consider him seriously, not with the dark rumours surrounding him even then and especially not after his father too passed in a uniquely gruesome way.

As the story goes, he had been out drinking his sorrows as usual. At some point during the pitch black night, drunk and disoriented, he left the group of men he was drinking with to head towards his abode but he never made it back. He was found in the morning impaled on a spear that had gone through his eye and out the back of his head, his lifeless corpse suspended by it.

It was deemed an accident, an intoxicated man tripping and falling on top of an improperly stored weapon. There was no evidence of a struggle, and even his own men could testify he was not walking straight when he left them. There was no reason to think anymore of it, they said, but between themselves the people talked… yet another death around the dark child. It scared even you. You knew he hated this father. You knew he had an inexplicable knowledge about magic. You knew many have died around him. And so as the whispers grew stranger and more fearful, and stories of curses and dark magic swirled around, you silently stepped away from the boy, your friendship living and dying under the darkness of the night.

He tried to seek you out, tried to find out why you were suddenly gone, tried to win you back–but it was difficult for him to get to you when usually you were the one who would go out to meet him in the forest at night, away from prying eyes. He couldn't approach you when you put others in his path and so he tried to express himself through gifts and flowers that he would hide in your home, hoping they would help him gain back your favour.

His gifts were beautiful and precious–a stunning bouquet of wildflowers, an iridescent stone adoring a delicate ring, valuable ingredients for your potions… all carefully thought out and picked just for you which made you feel all the worse for rejecting them but you had to. This had gone on too far and for too long. You had both grown too attached to each other and you needed to end it. He must not think he has a chance with you. It was not fair to either of you so it was best to end it quickly, even ruthlessly.

And so you threw his gifts away–you cut up the bouquets, scratched the jewelry and burned the ingredients, leaving them out in the woods where you knew he would find them and get the message that you wanted nothing to do with them.

And he did get the message, for shortly after you stopped receiving any more gifts. The boy fading back into the unknowable abyss where he belongs. For years he stayed there. For years you knew peace–a guilty, lonely peace but a safe, secure one. He wasn't there to light up your nights anymore and you weren’t there to make him smile, but you were also spared the rumours and gossip that had long surrounded him and were threatening to infect you.

It hurt you more than you liked to admit to lose him but it was necessary. There was just no future for you together and he seemed to finally understand that.

Until now. Now it seems like those once familiar black eyes were watching everything you do once more, but you no longer had silly fancies about any imagined lost innocence in them. Instead they scare you the same way they scare everyone else, maybe even more. He has grown somber and serious without you. You haven’t seen his smile in years. He has abandoned his family’s legacy of fighting and heroism for the feared but respected path of foragers. It fit him. After all, he was always in that forest doing the gods only know what and now he has made a tenuous but necessary place for himself in the tribe by it, wading into that same forest to harvest or hunt for things and creatures unknown from treacherous regions that no one else dared to wade into.

As part of the mysterious foragers profession, he has made himself indispensable to your people as they depended on him and his few peers to bring them the rare and crucial supplies that numerous factions of the tribe–the priests included–depended on in order to do their job. And he was the best of them. He could get you anything you had need or want for, no matter how remote or dangerous, for the right price and as long as you didn’t ask any questions.

This, of course, caused more rumors to spread around him than ever before, the tribes’ people coming up with all sorts of tales about how he managed to find these things and what he had to do to procure them–whispers of dark pacts, evil ceremonies and dancing with demons dominated the imagination of your people, but no one dared to say anything directly to him. Not anymore. Not now that they needed him.

You on the other hand were scared, not just of him but for him. Every time he would disappear for days on end in that wretched forest, you would wonder if he would come back, wonder if this is the last time you would ever see him as he inevitably makes his last trip into its dreary darkness like many other foragers have done before him. It’s a perilous, lonely life and so many do not make it for long. Yet he does. He always comes back, and you’re always relieved and scared to be met with his handsome face, the shadows under his eyes taking on a new layer of darkness every time.

What does he see when he goes in there? What creatures does he encounter? What horrors does he face? How close does he come to death and how does he manage to outwit it?

You do not know for you could not ask him. He hasn’t even met your eyes in years following your pointed rejection of him. Even when he would drop off supplies at your temple, he would keep his eyes downcast as if meeting your gaze would reveal all his secrets to you.

Yes, he has avoided your eyes for years, which makes his recent unwavering stare all the more unnerving. Something has seemingly flipped in him overnight and now you’re the one hiding from his gaze that never falls off of you whenever you’re around him.

You think you know what he wants. It is the summer fertility festival. It’s a time when those like you and him who have just come of age are encouraged to reach out and start looking to find a companion. You have already received multiple gifts from other boys in the tribe, most of them loudly claiming them and boasting about what they have managed to buy or trade or hunt for you.

But one gift was unclaimed, the most precious of all, nestled in a nondescript wooden box with a delicately carved wildflower on top of it, and inside… inside was a night bloomer, a sacred plant that flowers only one night a year that the ancients would consume to aid in their divination. It is an integral part of your religion, a powerful tool that once upon a time allowed your people to peer into the future and speak to the gods, but after the great Gija rebelled against the gods and was smote down, the knowledge of where to find it and how to harvest it has been lost and so did the flower.

No one saw it for centuries until it became the stuff of legends to the point that some of your fellow priests doubted its very existence, preferring to view the mentions of it in religious myths as a symbolic tool to signify how close the ancients were to the gods through their strong belief and how they lost that connection when they betrayed them.

Yet there it was, a bloomed flower sitting in your hands. And there can only be one person who could’ve found it for you.

You should’ve rejected it. You should have given it back to him so he could give it to someone who will take him, but you were too selfish for that. How could you pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity? You would never get the chance to use a night bloomer again and you could not find it in you to do the right thing and return it to him. You needed to find out for yourself if it really was as powerful as all the legends described it. So you eagerly made it into a tea and drank it, ready to use its power to gaze into your future–another sin of yours. You were told over and over again not to use the powers gifted to you for your own gains. They’re meant to be used to guide and protect the tribe and not for your own selfish desires, but once again you couldn’t resist, and maybe that’s why you were punished so brutally.

The visions the flower brought you were horrific. They were twisted and bloody and demented–filled with death and gore and terror. In them, you saw everyone you knew and loved die in the most gruesome of ways. You saw them cry out to you for help as their skin melted off their bones and their eyes leaked out of their skulls. Their charred hands reached out to you, begging you to make it stop but you couldn’t. You could do nothing but stand there and watch–the smoke stinging your eyes and blackening your lungs. You couldn’t even look away or get yourself to wake up. You were trapped in the ugly visions for what seemed like eternity–none of them making much sense to you as visions usually don’t, but the smell of burnt flesh and the anguished cries needed no explanation, and throughout it all you felt watched, like someone or something was doing this just to see you suffer.

The visions went on and on in a loop until you felt you would be trapped in them forever–perhaps a punishment for your misuse of this onerous gift–but slowly your vision cleared up and you could see the world around you again.

You found yourself burning up, covered in layers of animal fur as your mother tended to your feverish body. You wanted to throw them off but couldn't spare any energy to move your arms. You couldn’t even speak, the only thing that came out of your mouth was dry deathly whispers that immediately got carried away by the wind before they could reach your confused mother's ears. You lay like that, sick and immobile, for days, your muscles stiff as if the fire had burned off all the water in them as your mother nursed you back to health. For weeks after you'd be caught out by a sudden whiff of smoke and your heart would pick up and panic would flood your body. You quickly had to make every effort to cover up your visceral reaction to anything fire or burning as it attracted too much attention and threatened your place in the temple. Nobody wanted a hysteric apprentice to train or a frightened priestess to protect them. You’re supposed to be the personification of calm and strength. You would lose everything if people found out that the mere smell of ashes secretly sent you into a ball of terror.

So you covered it up. You pretended that you didn't want to run and cower under your covers every time fires would be lit to warm up or make a simple meal. It was ridiculous. It was weak and laughable but you couldn’t help how your body reacted to it, and you could no longer stomach the taste of meat anymore–a bite of the cooked flesh would send you into a heaving and retching mess. You had sworn off it since then, much to the confusion of others and the irritation of your family. They never liked it when you did anything to draw the curious attention of others. You were not supposed to step out of line except to excel in your training. As their only child, your performance reflected directly on them, and they did not appreciate the strange way you've been acting since you had consumed that cursed night bloomer.

Did he mess with it somehow? That can’t have been what the ancients used. This can't be your future. You refuse to believe it. He must have tricked you somehow.

Your mother had attempted to enquire about what has happened to you–she pushed and prodded but you remained steadfast in your insistence about it merely being an illness brought about by eating spoiled meat which conveniently explained your newfound aversion to it. She didn't believe you, of course, but you also knew she preferred to be ignorant of anything that would indicate any brewing trouble, a crack in her perfect daughter, only telling you to get yourself together and not do something stupid to ruin your future. It was a clear order. Whatever it is that you had done, you better fix it–it meant.

That’s why you must stop whatever advances Beomgyu is trying to make on you. He can only bring you pain and trouble. Just like right now.

As soon as the prayer is done, you’re strong-armed back to your home by your chagrined family who were less than happy about your embarrassing performance tonight.

“What was that?” Your father hisses at you as soon as you are tucked away in your shared abode, away from prying eyes. “How could you disgrace us in such a way in front of the whole tribe?”

“I am sorry, father. I–I–” You hang your head down, hesitating for a moment as your tongue falls almost paralysed under the weight of what you were about to reveal. “I saw something fall from the heavens. I saw a star die.”

You choose to omit the part about the boy. Your family doesn't know about your brief secret friendship with him. They don’t know about everything you’ve told him. They don’t know about the blasted gift you have accepted from him. They can’t know. They might cast you out if they did.

“What?” Your mother whispers fearfully, a tinge of denial in her voice as if she does not wish to believe you–again hiding away from the ugly truth.

“It was big and bright and beautiful but–” You gulp, wrapping your arms around yourself to stop your body from shaking at the memory. “But I saw it flickering in the throes of death as it bled across the heavens and crashed to the earth.” You finish fearfully, and that fear latches onto your parents immediately.

Your father strides towards you and grabs you by the shoulders roughly, face pale. “Are you certain, child?”

“As certain as death. I saw it with my own eyes.” I saw it pointing straight towards him.

Your father casts you away as if you were stricken with pestilence and paces around the room, passing back and forth in front of the pale and ghastly figure of your mother.

“Father. Mother. Tell me the truth. Tell me what this means.” You ask hesitantly, not certain you even want to hear the answer. You knew it was bad, of course, but their reactions were heightening your anxiety to intolerable levels.

“The stars are supposed to be eternal watchers, the guardians of the heavens. If one of them falls then the ranks have weakened.” Your mother explains fearfully, “Something has managed to get in or out of the heavens.”

You shudder. What could that be? And what does it have to be with the boy who will forever be your one regret?

“Only you saw it?” Your father asks and you gulp. “I think so.”

“Good. We do not want to cause a panic unnecessarily, especially this close to the climax of the fertility season.” He proclaims, trying to compose himself but the pallor of his face gives him away. “The leader’s boy seems close to making a proposal for your hand.”

You frown. Is this really what you should be focusing on right now? Certainly, you have been more than delighted to garner Kai’s favour and, prior to tonight, you have not been thinking about much else, but surely this star issue trumps trivial earthly matters of marriage and ranks.

You know your family is pushing for this marriage to go through and you understand how monumental this would be for your position in the tribe–to marry into the ruling family would raise you to the top of the ranks and bathe you in the riches only available to them, but that does not mean you can neglect your duties as priests and priestesses. This fallen star could be fortelling a catastrophic future to befall the entire tribe and you need to set aside all your selfish desires to protect your people from this mysterious fate.

“But the star–”

“Make no mention of it to any soul.” Your father cuts you off sharply. “Not until we find out more about it. Your mother and I will consult the temple’s ancient inscriptions. You just focus on winning that boy over. And make no repeats of that disgraceful display today.”

You look down to your feet. You hadn’t meant to embarrass them. They would understand if they knew about your new shadow, but they must not know. No one must know. He is like a pestilence–anything he touches withers and dies and you will not let yourself be one of the ghosts hanging around him.

You may not know what this dark omen means but you feel in your heart that it is related to him and you have to stop him. Maybe then you can avert this calamity from occurring.

So you meekly accept their admonishment and warnings, keeping your head down and waiting until your parents are well on their way to the temple before you slip out yourself, following in the direction you know he would be, along a trek you should have never have allowed yourself to get familiar with and are now determined to sever from your life.

The path takes you out of the settlement and into the dark woods. The chill in the air didn’t suit a midsummer night, and it only grows more frigid once you spot the boy’s hunched over figure on the ground, digging for something with his bare hands. Your heart beats rapidly as you watch him pull weeds out of the ground as if he’s gutting the earth and for a second you consider turning around and running back to the safety of settlement. You don’t know what he’s doing out here at night–the once familiar, sometimes even welcoming forest now a strange and bizarre landscape of terror to you. He could be up to all manner of unsavoury things out here and there was no one around to protect you from him. Maybe you could find a way to speak to him in the morning…

But before your feet can move, he cranes his head back to look at you, his dark gaze rooting you to your spot, and just like that you cannot move a muscle.

“What are you doing out here, flower?” He asks softly, voice deep and saccharine, bathing you like a fly in honey so you won’t escape. You resent yourself for being so improperly affected by it–still feeling a silent pull towards him despite your better judgement, but how can you convince your eyes to deny his beauty? How can you get your ears to shut away his honey voice?

What you can do is contort your face into an ugly scowl. He doesn’t get to call you that anymore. You should have never allowed him to get close enough to have affectionate names for you.

“What are you doing here?” You throw the question back at him, needing answers to quiet your worrying mind and time to gather your courage for what’s to come.

“Gathering supplies for my soup.” He tells you readily, and your scowl loosens a bit at that. Of course, how can you forget his soup? You’ve tasted it many a times to the point that just the mention of it has a remnant of its memory tickling your tongue and making you salivate at the reminder. “Would you like to come home for a bowl? You haven't had any in ages.”

You curse yourself for how much you suddenly crave it which is then followed by a sinking feeling in your gut as you question why exactly you’re craving it so much. Yes, it was one of the most delicious things you have had the chance to taste in your short life but why was it so? Did he do something to it the same way he did to the last “gift” he gave you?

You shudder as you think about the countless bowls of soup he had made for you over the course of your brief friendship and what he might’ve slipped in them. No, you would not like to try strange soups from the strange boy, no matter how much your body craves it. “No, thank you.”

He frowns, looking upset–almost hurt–at the rejection. You would laugh if you weren’t so scared of him. “You don’t visit me anymore.”

You can’t, however, hold back your scoff at his whiny proclamation, as if you owed him that acquaintance. “It is not proper for an unwed woman to meet strange men in the night.”

“You meet Kai.” He retorts simply and anger and dread wrap around your cold form. What does he care about Kai? Does he really think he and Kai are on the same standing when it comes to you or anyone else for that matter? Has he forgotten himself?

“That is not your concern.” You hiss at him, scared that he might do something to ruin your tentative relationship with the leader’s son. He has expressed his interest in making you his wife by providing you with the most luxurious gift during this fertility festival. You would be crazy to turn him down and even crazier to let whatever delusional fancy Beomgyu holds for you ruin your chances with him.

“Why did that make you angry? Are you letting him do things to you that you know you shouldn’t?” Beomgyu confronts you, expression unnervingly blank. “Are you letting him under your skirts?”

You stalk towards him, raising your hand up and slapping him, then watching a red handprint bloom across his handsome face. You immediately regret it. You’re now within arms reach of the dark boy and he looks angry.

Before you can step back and run, he reaches out to grab the arm that you struck him with and pulls you to the ground with him. You try to fight him off, using all your strength to attempt to push him away but that just makes him climb on top of you so he can still your thrashing arms and pin them above your head, his body holding yours down as he presses you against the cold mud.

He was surprisingly strong despite his lean frame, though you suppose you shouldn’t be so surprised given his warrior background even if he quit that path years ago.

You stare up at him, his dark eyes almost swallowing up the stars above. You don’t dare speak or move. You just lay still as he uses one hand to keep your wrists above your head so he can free up the other to cradle your face, his muddy hand staining your skin.

“Do you let him kiss you?” He asks you, face blank apart from a muted curiosity. He was so close you can see every individual eyelash framing his gorgeous dark eyes, every tiny blemish on his otherwise flawless skin, the elegant slope of his nose, the firm but soft pillowing of his lips.

“So you have.” He takes your silence as affirmation, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. “Then it’s only fair if I get a taste too.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he leans down and meets your lips with his. They feel unfairly good against your own, fit you too well and you hate it. What is this inexplicable hold he has on you? What has he done to you?

In defiance, you command your body to stay still. You may not be able to fight him off but you won't give him the satisfaction of responding to his unwanted advances. So you just lay there and let him mould your mouth to his. He is incessant but surprisingly soft, pushing and coaxing until you unwillingly find yourself whining lowly, and when you open your mouth to let out a small gasp, he uses the opportunity to press his tongue in.

He tastes so sweet fruits, honey and milk–all things you remember he loves so much and that you always used to provide for him just to see that smile that you now have not seen in years.

How is it that he tastes this good? What unnatural magic is he using to entice you? He must be because you could not possibly be this inclined towards him.

Your doubts are further confirmed when you detect a hint of something bitter hidden underneath all the sweetness–a sharpness that prevents you from falling completely into him and keeps you on alert.

Beomgyu lets out his own small moan as his tongue caresses yours and you should be disgusted to be so engulfed by the dark boy, to let him force himself over the boundaries you have put up to keep him away, but the heat radiating off him feels so good against your goosebumps afflicted skin, his small stuttered breaths and whimpers make your body tingle and sizzle and you have absolutely no control over it. You begin to fear you will be trapped here forever under his spell.

But when his mouth leaves yours to make its way down your neck, you are allowed reprieve to gaze at the sky above and focus on something that isn't him. That's when your eyes stray to the spot where the fallen star was, naturally drawn to it like a tongue is drawn to a missing tooth, and with the phantom taste of iron in your mouth, you snap out of the spell he put you under.

What the hell are you doing? How can you lie there and let him slither his way back to you? You're a disgrace.

Disgusted at your weak self, you use that repulsion to fuel you as you gather all your strength and try once again to push him away, but all you could muster is enough power to unlatch him from your neck, exposing the wet freshly kiss-laden skin to the frigid air and making you shiver.

He gazes at you with a farce concern as he gently cups your cheek, his warm hand like the soothing touch of honeyed milk to your skin that once again compels you to let your guards down, but his blown-wide pupils and his laboured breathing keep them up.

“Hey, it's okay. I got you, my flower.” He tries to soothe you, bending back down to catch your lips again, but he only manages to freak you out more.

My flower? No! You must stop this.

You bite down on his lip harshly, tasting blood, and he reels back, cursing in pain. “What the fuck?”

In his shock, you’re finally able to push him off and scramble to your feet. “Stay away from me. I do not want you. I have chosen him so stop whatever the hell you’re doing. I will never be yours.”

He levels you with a dark look, the little bit of blood dripping down his chin making him look even more chilling. “Why not?” He asks bitterly. “I can do good by you. You don't have to pay mind to the rumours about me. You know me.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, I do not know and never wish to know you. You are unwell. Stay away from me.” You proclaim with all the conviction and strength you could muster, before you turn around and dart back to your home.

You didn’t want to give him the chance to challenge you. You do not know what he's capable of and you have disgraced yourself enough already.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you run, and you whip your head around constantly to make sure he isn't following you. You feel as though he is, gooseskin prickling at the back of your neck at the feeling of being watched, but every time you whip your head back, certain you'll meet his dark eyes, you find nothing there.

Your family is not back when you reach your home which is both a relief and a grievance. You’re glad they are not there to question your whereabouts or your dirty frazzled condition but you do not wish to be left alone in case he comes to find you.

In order to soothe yourself, you cast a protective spell on a powerful talisman and hold it to your chest, burying yourself under heaps of fur and praying that is enough to protect you from whatever evils linger around the dark boy.

_____________________________

A/N: so excited for this series, let me know what you think please!

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #kai smut #dark fic #tw noncon #yandere #yandere beomgyu #iron age au #supernatural au

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winxanity-ii · 6 months ago

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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 02 Chapter 02 | melody⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Knowledge of EPIC: The Musical isn't technically needed; this can be read with just common knowledge of Greek mythology and The Odyssey..

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The sun shone brightly, a golden orb in a cloudless sky, casting warmth over the bustling marketplace.

The air was filled with the hum of activity—the laughter of children running around, their small feet kicking up dust as they giggled, weaving in and out between makeshift stalls.

Shopkeepers called out their wares, their voices blending into a melodic cacophony.

Stands made from old wood and vibrant fabrics offered fruits, spices, and handmade crafts, creating a colorful, bustling scene that felt almost like a miniature city.

Aleka moved through the crowd, her face beaming with a bright, content smile. A woven basket rested in the crook of her arm, filled with a few goods already purchased.

Her clothes were simple yet well-made, comfortable, and hand-knitted from good material—dyed in soft, earthy colors. Her long hair was pulled into a low bun, stray wisps framing her radiant face.

But what had the beautiful woman smiling most was the wide-eyed, joyful toddler clutching her hand.

"____," Aleka called gently, her voice filled with warmth as she turned to look at her child. The both of you stopped in front of a fruit stand, and she knelt down to your level, her hands reaching up to cup your soft, chubby cheeks. "What would you like, my sweet one?"

You turned your gaze from the bustling crowd to your mother, your eyes brightening as you grinned. You pointed to your favorite fruit—sweet figs, their dark skin glistening in the sunlight—your voice ringing out with excitement. "Figs!"

Aleka giggled at your enthusiasm, nodding. "Alright, my little dove," she said with a smile, rising to her feet to do the transaction with the older woman selling the fruits.

As your mother began to barter, you found your attention drifting away, your ears catching a soft, gentle sound—a melody drifting through the market.

There was something about it that pulled at you, a feeling you couldn't quite explain.

Your small hand slipped free from your mother's as you slowly wandered away, drawn by the enchanting tune.

The music led you further into the marketplace until you came upon a small crowd seated in a semi-circle around a young man who was playing an instrument—a lyre.

Your little form managed to squeeze its way to the front, giving you a close-up view of the musician.

The young man was slender, with a boyish face, his features gentle and kind. His hair was short, dark, and neatly kept, with a laurel wreath resting upon his head. His skin was tanned, sun-kissed from days spent outdoors, and his eyes were a light brown, glinting almost golden in the sunlight.

He strummed the lyre with deft fingers, his voice smooth and melodic, weaving an ode to Apollo.

"Apollo of the golden lyre, bringer of light and muse's fire, may your radiance never fade, and guide us through each night and shade..."

You listened, enraptured, your young heart swelling with an inexplicable warmth. The words were beautiful, filled with devotion and reverence, and something in the music seemed to speak directly to your soul, filling you with awe.

The melody wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, and you found yourself swaying gently to the tune, unable to look away from the lyre or the boy who played it.

As the last note of his song faded into the air, the small crowd erupted into applause, the people around you clapping enthusiastically as the young man gave a polite bow, a soft smile on his face.

He began to pack up his lyre, but as his eyes swept over the crowd, they landed on you, lingering for a moment.

A hint of confusion flickered across his features before his lips curved into a wider smile. He walked over to where you stood, bending at the waist so that he was at your level.

The young man hummed thoughtfully, his eyes studying you with curiosity. "You know," he said softly, "you must be favored, little one." His voice was kind, and there was something almost knowing in his gaze. He reached up, plucking the laurel wreath from his head before gently placing it on yours, the leaves brushing against your hair. "May Apollo's blessings follow you always," he whispered with a gentle smile.

Suddenly, a voice called your name, tinged with urgency and relief. "____!"

You looked over to see your mother standing a few feet away, a small bag of fruit in her hand.

Her eyes were wide with concern, but as soon as they landed on you, her shoulders relaxed. She hurried over, her eyes shifting to the young man, who had straightened up and was now watching her with a polite expression.

"Is this your little one?" the musician asked, his smile never fading.

Aleka nodded, her lips curving into a warm smile as you skipped over to her, wrapping your arms around her thigh and looking up at her with a bright grin. "Yes, she is," Aleka replied, her voice soft with affection.

The young man bowed slightly. "She is a special one. May Apollo continue to bless her," he said, his words carrying a weight that made Aleka freeze for a moment.

It was as if he knew something more—something he shouldn't know; but she quickly forced a smile, nodding in thanks. "Thank you, truly," she replied.

With that, the young man turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd, his lyre slung over his shoulder. Aleka watched him go for a moment before looking down at you, her eyes softening at the sight of the laurel wreath perched on your head.

"Come, my little dove," she said, her voice gentle as she took your hand once more, and the two of you began making your way back home.

The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink as you and your mother walked along the familiar path.

You chattered happily about the marketplace, the laurel wreath still sitting snugly atop your head.

Neither of you noticed how, as the sun dipped lower on the horizon, the wreath shimmered softly, the leaves turning a delicate shade of gold—glowing faintly, as if touched by a divine hand.

☆

Apollo's favor came in small, gentle ways at first—a gift that always seemed sweeter than it was meant to be and far more complicated.

Your favorite flowers always bloomed a little longer in the fields near your home, even when they should have withered with the changing seasons.

The fig trees that bore your favorite fruit remained lush and plentiful, giving you their bounty when others turned barren.

Even from a young age, it was clear that you were different—a prodigy.

Your mother would often take you to the bustling marketplace, letting you listen to the musicians who played their instruments with skill and passion.

You would watch, enraptured, until one day you finally plucked up the courage to pick up a lyre and sing yourself.

From that day forward, music came naturally to you; your fingers danced over the strings of the lyre without thought, and your voice flowed with melodies that had the power to still hearts and even bring tears to the eyes of Hades himself.

People whispered that you were a reincarnation of Orpheus himself, because when you played, your melodies held the power to stir even the coldest hearts, to make flowers bloom, and to soothe wild beasts.

But favor with the gods was a double-edged sword—fate had its own plans for those touched by divinity, and those plans could be cruel, even for someone like you.

The curse that had lingered over your family for generations had finally come.

A curse that began with Aphrodite herself, who had been slighted by one of your distant ancestors—a beautiful, radiant figure who had fallen deeply in love but failed to pay homage to the goddess of love, thinking that true love alone was enough.

Aphrodite had other ideas. She was vindictive in her beauty, jealous in her divinity. She cursed your ancestor and all their descendants: every family that dared to find happiness would inevitably face heartbreak.

The tragedy that was meant to strike your parents—losing their beloved child—had been prevented by Apollo. But fate could not be denied so easily.

An illness swept through your household—a sickness that drained strength, dimmed eyes, and stole warmth.

Yet, you remained untouched.

You had always kept your golden laurel leaf close; its soft glow and delicate form seemingly held some protective power. You would sit by their bedside, clutching the laurel, hoping its light could extend beyond you and touch them too.

But no matter how tightly you held it, you couldn't change their fate

So while your parents fell ill, you remained strong; the sickness passed over you as though repelled by the leaf's light.

And despite all their efforts, your parents were not as fortunate; they succumbed, leaving you alone in the world—an orphan with no one left to turn to.

☆

You wandered the countryside, your stomach empty, your feet aching, your heart heavy.

It had been months since your parents passed, and everything seemed to crumble after that. The clothes you wore were now nothing but rags—tattered, worn, and barely able to protect you from the elements.

Your once soft, comfortable dresses were replaced by frayed garments, hanging loosely off your thinning frame, stained with dirt and the remnants of long, restless travels.

Your feet were bare, the soles cracked and bruised, covered in cuts from the rough terrain.

The wind bit at your exposed skin, and the cold crept into your bones, unrelenting.

The melody that had once been in your heart felt distant, replaced by the hollow sound of emptiness.

The gods' favor seemed to have abandoned you.

You were alone, cold, and hungry—until you heard it.

A sudden melody drifted through the air, soft and haunting, a tune that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. It was the kind of song that made the heart yearn, tugged at the spirit, and it carried a warmth that wrapped around you like a comforting embrace.

You followed the melody, your feet moving as if drawn by invisible threads, leading you away from the barren landscape.

As you stepped closer, the music grew louder, guiding you over hills and past clusters of trees until the sight of a village appeared just over the horizon, bustling with life and movement.

It was Apollo's first favor since your family had died—a small sign, a chance to keep moving forward; the warmth in the melody was unmistakable—like a whisper from Apollo himself, urging you onwards.

The music pointed the way forward, leading you to a small village just over the horizon.

The people there were bustling around, merchants calling out their wares, food sizzling over open fires, the scent of spices and salt carried in the air; it reminded you of the marketplace back at home.

Among the bustling crowd, you caught snippets of conversation—a ship soon to depart for the island, Ithaca, carrying traders and travelers, a passage to a new beginning.

After overhearing this, you followed the murmurs, your feet sore and stomach rumbling; your eyes were wide as you spotted the ship at the docks, its sails billowing in the breeze.

You weaved through the crowds until you came across a group of men readying the ship—shouting orders, hauling crates, their voices loud over the creaking of the docked boat.

You slowly moved forward, attempting to slip between the stacked boxes, hoping to get closer unnoticed.

"Aye, little lad! Where do you think you're going?" The voice called out, deep and gruff. You froze, looking up to meet the gaze of a towering man, his brow furrowed as he stared down at you. You swallowed, your throat dry, stepping out from behind the crates with trembling hands.

"I-I was just... looking for something..." you stuttered, your voice trailing off, uncertain and nervous; you were pitiful, covered in dirt, your hair tangled, and your rags hanging loosely off your gaunt frame. Your face was streaked with grime, and your eyes—though bright—were hollow with hunger and exhaustion.

The man eyed you suspiciously, his brows knitting tighter. "Where are your parents, kid?" he asked, his voice now slightly gentler but still gruff.

You looked away, your gaze dropping to the ground as a sadness washed over your features. "They... they're dead," you whispered, your voice barely audible, the pain still fresh even after all these months.

The man was silent for a moment, his eyes softening. He glanced around, then back down at you. "Do you have a place to go?" he asked, his tone now a mix of concern and disbelief. "You look a little young to be wandering on your own."

You pressed your lips into a thin line, refusing to cry. Instead, you stared back at him, determination shining through the exhaustion etched on your face.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, kid," he began, "my ship is heading out towards Ithaca for some trading. I heard Queen Penelope's looking for some hands. She needs workers in her halls, people to help out. It ain't much, but it's something."

Your heart leapt at the chance, and you quickly nodded. "I'm a fast learner, sir. I can do anything, whatever you need. I promise I won't be any trouble." Your voice was earnest, filled with a desperate hope.

The man huffed again, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as if fighting off a smile. "Alright, alright, we'll see about that. Get on, then, but don't be causing any trouble."

Relief flooded you, and you nodded quickly, stepping forward towards the ship, ready to prove yourself—ready for whatever awaited you in Ithaca.

As you stood near the ship's railing, looking out into the endless distance of the sea, the waves shimmered under the sunlight, and the salty breeze whipped through your tangled hair.

You gripped the railing with your bruised and dirt-covered hands, the wood rough under your fingers.

Your heart skipped a beat. You had nothing left here, no family, no home, no future. But Ithaca—it offered a chance, however small, at a new life.

And perhaps, in the halls of Penelope, you might find purpose again—a reason to keep going, a hope to cling to amidst the uncertainty of the open ocean.

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dxrlingluv · 17 days ago

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Bound for Eternity

A/N : Imagine if someone draws my writings to life. Imagine……… Anyway! I had to redo this like 7 times because it keeps on saying error whenever I put it to drafts. Hermes art belongs to Zieru from YT! Heart divider credits to @cafekitsune. Thank you for requesting this, Nisha!

WARNING : Fem!Princess!Reader, angst with happy ending(?), friends to ???, bad father.

Word count : 2.5k

Princess Y/N was a vision, a beacon of strength and grace that shone even brighter under the weight of her royal duties. Hermes had seen many beautiful beings in his travels across realms, goddesses and nymphs whose allure was undeniable. But Y/N was different.

She possessed a fire that captivated him, a fierce determination that resonated with his own restless spirit. He was drawn to her not just by her beauty, but by the quiet power she held, the way she carried the weight of her kingdom with such dignity.

He pursued her, in his own chaotic yet charming way. He'd appear in her court with gifts – a shimmering scarf woven from captured starlight, a melody plucked from the lyre of Apollo himself – each offering a testament to his growing infatuation. He'd try to make her laugh with his witty banter, to steal a moment of her time amidst her endless responsibilities.

But Y/N was a princess, bound by duty. Her kingdom was a prize, and suitors came from afar, their intentions as polished as their armor. Powerful dukes with vast lands, charming princes with promises of alliances, and wealthy merchants with coffers overflowing with gold – they all sought her hand, their eyes fixed on the power she represented.

The pressure mounted, culminating in a grand ball where Y/N was expected to choose a husband. It was a gilded cage, a beautiful spectacle masking a heartbreaking decision. Hermes watched from the periphery, his usual confidence replaced by a gnawing anxiety. He saw the strain in Y/N's eyes, the forced smiles, the way her spirit seemed to dim under the weight of expectation.

He tried to express his feelings, weaving them into songs he performed at court, hoping she would hear the truth in the lyrics, a truth veiled in metaphor and melody. But Y/N, ever gracious, ever composed, would simply offer a polite smile, her gaze filled with a distant sadness that mirrored his own.

The night of the ball was a cruel spectacle. Y/N, adorned in a gown that shimmered like captured moonlight, moved through the throng of suitors like a marionette, her every step dictated by duty. Hermes, disguised as a humble bard, watched her from the shadows, his heart ached with a love that felt both boundless and utterly hopeless.

He saw the way the suitors looked at her, not with love, but with calculation, their eyes gleaming with ambition, and hearts filled with desire that makes his skin crawl from anger. He heard their empty promises, their boasts of power and wealth, and a wave of despair washed over him. He was a god, capable of moving between worlds, of bending time to his will, yet he was powerless to change her fate.

As the night wore on, the gilded cage tightened around Y/N. The King, her father, beamed with pride as powerful alliances were offered, vast dowries discussed. Y/N felt like a prize, a commodity to be traded, her own desires and dreams irrelevant.

In a stolen moment, she found herself in a quiet corner of the ballroom, the music and laughter a distant hum. Hermes, abandoning his disguise, appeared before her, his face etched with a pain that mirrored her own.

"Y/N," he said, his voice raw with emotion, "I can't bear to watch this. To see you forced into a loveless marriage, your spirit crushed under the weight of duty..."

Y/N turned to him, her eyes filled with a sadness that pierced him to the core. "What choice do I have, Hermes?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the music. "My kingdom needs this alliance. My people need the security these marriages offer."

"But what about you, Y/N?" Hermes pleaded, his voice cracking with a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. "What about your happiness? Your heart?"

He stepped closer, his gaze searching hers, his hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek. "Every time I see you smile at those suitors, a smile that doesn't reach your eyes, it tears me apart. Every time I hear them speak of you as if you were a possession, a prize to be won, it feels like a knife twisting in my gut. I know I'm a god, and you're a princess, and there are worlds between us, but Y/N, I love you. More than words can say."

The music of the grand ball swirled around them, a cruel counterpoint to the turmoil in their hearts. Y/N, trapped between the gilded cage of her duty and the wild freedom offered by Hermes's love, felt as though she were being torn in two. His words, filled with such raw emotion, such desperate longing, resonated with a part of her soul she had long since buried beneath layers of royal expectation.

He had spoken of love, of a life beyond the confines of her kingdom, a life where she could choose her own destiny. And a part of her, the deepest, most secret part, yearned for that life with an intensity that frightened her. To be free, to be with Hermes... it was a dream more intoxicating than any ambrosia.

But the weight of her crown, the fate of her people, pressed down on her with an unyielding force. She was not just a princess; she was the linchpin of her kingdom's stability, the key to alliances that would ensure its prosperity and safety. To abandon her duty, to choose her own happiness over the well-being of her people... it was unthinkable.

Tears streamed down her face, a torrent of grief and despair. She reached out to touch Hermes, her fingers trembling as they brushed against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin, the strength of his jaw. It was a touch of longing, a silent farewell.

"No, Hermes," she whispered, her voice choked with sobs. "I can't. You ask the impossible of me. I cannot simply abandon my people, my kingdom. I am bound by oaths, by responsibilities that I cannot break."

Her words were like shards of ice, each one piercing Hermes's heart. He stared at her, his expression a mixture of disbelief and agony. "But Y/N..." he pleaded, his voice hoarse with pain. "There has to be another way. We can find a solution, a compromise..."

Y/N shook her head, her tears falling faster now. "There is no other way," she said, her voice firm, though her heart was shattering with every word. "My duty is clear. My path is set. And you... you must leave, Hermes. You must go away. Forever."

The words hung in the air between them, a death sentence to their love. Y/N felt as though she had just ripped her own heart out of her chest and offered it to him, bleeding and broken. The pain of saying those words, of condemning herself to a loveless future, was a physical ache, a wound that felt deeper and more irreparable than any mortal injury.

Hermes recoiled as if struck. His face, moments before filled with such desperate hope, now crumpled with a grief that mirrored her own. His eyes, usually so bright and full of life, were now dark pools of despair. He stared at her, searching for any flicker of hope, any sign that she didn't mean what she said. But all he saw was the unwavering resolve in her gaze, the heartbreaking certainty of her decision.

"Forever?" he whispered, the word a broken plea. "You want me to... to forget you? To erase you from my heart?"

Y/N turned away, unable to bear the pain in his eyes. "It's for the best," she said, her voice muffled by her tears. "For both of us. You are a god, Hermes. Your life stretches out before you, an eternity of possibilities. I am a mortal, bound to this kingdom, to this duty. We cannot be together. It was a beautiful dream, but it was just that... a dream."

She felt as though she were dying inside, withering away with every syllable. To tell Hermes, the god who had shown her such tenderness and passion, to leave her life forever, was an act of self-inflicted cruelty. But she believed, with a chilling certainty, that it was the only way. The only way to protect her kingdom, the only way to fulfill her duty, the only way to prevent a love that could never be from tearing both their worlds apart.

Hermes stood there for a long moment, the silence between them heavy with unspoken grief. He looked at Y/N, at the princess he loved more than words could say, and saw not the radiant beauty that had first captivated him, but a woman trapped, a prisoner of her own responsibilities. And he knew, with a heart-wrenching certainty, that he had lost her.

Without a word, he turned and vanished. Not with his usual flash of speed and light, but slowly, painfully, as if each step tore a piece of his soul away. He left Y/N alone in the shadows, the echoes of her cruel words ringing in her ears, the weight of her decision crushing her spirit.

Y/N stood there for what felt like an eternity, the tears streaming down her face blurring her vision. She wanted to call him back, to beg him to stay, to tell him that she didn't mean it. But the words remained trapped in her throat, choked by duty and despair. She had sacrificed her happiness, her heart's desire, for the sake of her kingdom, and the price was a loneliness that stretched out before her like an endless desert.

Time passed, each day a slow, agonizing march for both Hermes and Y/N.

Hermes, despite his divine nature, found himself unable to simply move on. The memory of Y/N's tear-streaked face, the echo of her heartbreaking words, haunted him. He wandered through Olympus with a heavy heart, his usual energy and playful spirit dimmed. He neglected his duties, his laughter was absent from the halls, and even the other gods noticed the change in him. He was a shadow of his former self, a god in mourning for a love he believed he had lost forever.

Y/N, on the other hand, was living a life that was a beautiful lie. She fulfilled her royal duties with grace and composure, attended to her people's needs, and even smiled at her suitors. But inside, she was withering. The vibrant princess who had once captivated Hermes was now a pale reflection, her laughter forced, her eyes filled with a perpetual sadness. She had made her choice, the "right" choice, but it had cost her everything.

The kingdom prospered under her rule, alliances were forged, and peace reigned. But Y/N found no joy in her achievements. Every success was a reminder of what she had sacrificed. She would often find herself in the quiet corners of the palace, gazing at the stars, wondering if Hermes was looking at the same stars, if he ever thought of her.

One evening, as Y/N stood on her balcony, the cool night air caressing her face, a familiar melody drifted towards her. It was a song Hermes used to sing to her, a song of longing and devotion, a song that spoke of a love that transcended worlds.

Her heart leaped with a desperate hope. Could it be? Was he here?

Following the sound, she found herself in the royal gardens, bathed in the soft glow of the moon. And there he was, Hermes, standing beneath the ancient olive tree, his lyre in his hands, his face filled with a mixture of sadness and a fierce determination.

Y/N rushed towards him, her heart pounding in her chest. "Hermes!" she cried, her voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming joy.

Hermes lowered his lyre, his eyes widening as he saw her. He looked different. Still achingly handsome, but there was a depth to his gaze now, a maturity that had been forged in sorrow.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You... you came."

"You came back," Y/N corrected, her tears flowing freely now, but tears of happiness. "I thought I would never see you again. I thought I had lost you forever."

Hermes stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup her face. "I could never stay away," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I tried, Y/N. I tried to forget you, to move on. But you are in my heart, in my soul. I belong with you."

Y/N threw herself into his arms, holding him tight, burying her face in his chest. "Oh, Hermes," she sobbed, "I've missed you so much. Every day has been an eternity without you. I was wrong. I was so wrong to let you go."

Hermes held her close, stroking her hair, his own tears mingling with hers. "I know," he murmured. "I know the burden you carry, the weight of your duty. But Y/N, you don't have to carry it alone. And you don't have to sacrifice your happiness for the sake of your kingdom."

He pulled away slightly, his gaze searching hers. "I've been talking to the other gods," he said, a hint of his old mischievous spark returning to his eyes. "And I've been doing some... negotiating."

Y/N looked at him, her expression a mixture of confusion and hope. "Negotiating?"

Hermes grinned, a genuine, heartfelt grin that lit up his face. "I've found a way, Y/N. A way for you to be both a princess and to be with me. It won't be easy, and it will require some... changes. But it's possible, thanks to my father."

He explained his plan, a daring, audacious plan that involved a complex web of alliances, a renegotiation of ancient pacts, and a little bit of divine intervention. He had convinced the other gods that true happiness, true love, was worth fighting for, even if it meant bending the rules a little.

Y/N listened, her eyes widening with each revelation. It was a plan that defied tradition, that challenged the very foundations of her world. But it was also a plan that offered her everything she had ever dreamed of: the chance to rule her kingdom with wisdom and compassion, and the chance to be with the man she loved.

#i love hermes marry me #zieru hermes #epic hermes #hermes x reader #hermes #epic x reader #epic apollo #epic fanfic #epic the wisdom saga #epic the musical #epic fanart #epic zeus #dxrlingluv

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girl4music · 1 year ago

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Xena’s the best off-the-wall fantasy show ever. Want to know why? Xena is a show that’s set in Ancient Greece. In one episode they had electric guitars and multi-coloured strobe lights without any explanation at all. This episode also happened to be a musical to popular 90’s music and Xena and the villain did a rap battle. Xena also played her theme on a guitar (lyre).

People stop asking for fantasy shows to be historically accurate. The whole fun of it is that it’s not. So stop.

#xena warrior princess #lyre lyre hearts on fire #xena #lucy lawless #gabrielle #renee o'connor #xena is self refrential fourth wall breaking campy fun #let it be!#nobody wants a historically accurate xena #what the fuck would that even look like?#no thanks #do not turn my beloved xena into a period piece please #I don’t like it #I don’t know her #xena was all over the map and that map was drawn by a 2 year old #north africa was in the netherlands #we didn’t question it #we just enjoyed it #camp

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kioflerkira · 2 months ago

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“ FIREWORKS ”

warnings: fluff, fire, kisses pairings: l.valdez x reader summary: during a camp celebration, leo builds a special firework show just for you.

━━━━ ⋮ ୨୧ ⋮ ━━━━

THE CAMP WAS ALIVE WITH ENERGY, the bonfire crackling as campers laughed and danced in celebration. the air smelled of toasted marshmallows and the ocean breeze, and somewhere in the distance, the sound of a lyre being played carried over the chatter. tonight was special—everyone could feel it.

leo had been acting a little off all day, disappearing here and there, muttering calculations under his breath, and avoiding your eyes like you were medusa herself. you figured he was just busy with another one of his projects, but you hadn’t expected him to be crafting something for you.

“alright, everyone, look up !” Leo’s voice rang out across the beach, filled with his usual enthusiasm but laced with something else—nervousness ?

you tilted your head, curiosity piqued, as the sky suddenly exploded into color. fireworks shot up, spiraling and twirling in dazzling patterns. they weren’t just ordinary fireworks, though. each burst of light seemed to shimmer in shapes—stars, hearts, intricate designs of gears and flames. and then, as the grand finale, a burst of golden light spread across the sky, forming letters that spelled out your name, followed by a glowing heart.

gasps and cheers erupted around you, but you barely heard them. your heart pounded as you turned to leo, who was standing next to you, rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at you.

“so, uh.. what do you think ?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically unsure. his usual cocky grin was nowhere to be seen, replaced by wide, hopeful eyes that betrayed how much he cared about your answer.

you didn’t even hesitate. without thinking, you grabbed the collar of his tool-streaked camp shirt and pulled him into a kiss. his lips were warm and slightly chapped, but they softened against yours almost instantly. the moment you touched him, sparks—not just metaphorical ones—flew between you. literally.

his hands, which had instinctively come up to hold your waist, sparked with little bursts of electricity, making you giggle against his lips.

when you finally pulled back, he blinked at you, dazed, a dopey smile spreading across his face. the fireworks were still sparkling above, but to you, nothing could outshine the way leo was looking at you right now—like you were the best invention he had ever built.

“well,” he said, voice breathless but teasing, “that was definitely not the reaction I was expecting. but I am not complaining.”

you laughed, leaning your forehead against his. “best firework show ever.”

leo grinned, his usual confidence returning as he pulled you a little closer. “yeah ? good. ‘cause I kinda hoped you’d like it.”

the rest of the camp was still cheering, but in that moment, it was just the two of you, standing beneath the sky leo had lit up just for you.

━━━━ ⋮ ୨୧ ⋮ ━━━━

#KioflerKira #leo valdez #leo hoo #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x y/n #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #hoo series #fanfic #fan fiction #writers on tumblr #writing #writeblr #female writers

77 notes · View notes

fryingpan1234567 · 1 month ago

Text

And They Were Roommates | 481 SMAU

a/n: the worms have consumed me. the brain worms. Don’t save me I’m exactly where I want to be

landoscar, background lestappen and brocedes, bearnelli and galex if you squint REALLY hard

All photos from Pinterest; I made the banners

Songs used:

Futureproof (the Rare Occasions)

Where the Light Is (Surfaces)

The Lazy Song (Bruno Mars)

Trendsetter (Connor Price)

Mona Lisa (Dominic Fike)

Babydoll (Dominic Fike)

Tear In My Heart (twenty one pilots)

Way Less Sad (AJR)

My Type (Saint Motel)

Came Here For Love (Sígala/ Ella Lyre)

Dear Future Husband (Meghan Trainor)

Sunshine (OneRepublic)

Warnings: slightly suggestive like twice, swearing

‼️these are real people and I’m not legitimately shipping them irl this is just a silly little serotonin boosting project‼️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lando

1,284,187 likes and they were roommates (I’m referring to my son, Muppet)

7,276 comments

❤️ by author

oscarpiastri: Don’t ever clock me like this again

> lando: it will happen again😇

> oscarpiastri: 😐

User: did McLaren really okay this??

User: A WIN FOR THE LANDOSCAR NATION

User: best friends core🧡🧡🧡

User: Lando you can’t just say that about your teammate😭

User: oh my god they were roommates

User: THE DOG’S NAME IS MUPPET

User: do you guys think he knows the gay subtext to that meme

> User: don’t let tumblr see this

❤️ by author

mclarenauto: Early bedtimes for you both

> lando: 😔

> oscarpiastri: 😔

oscarpiastri

928,183 likes Woke up to this weirdo in my house😐

5,287 comments

lando: our house*

> oscarpiastri: How did you get in here

> User: someone find and insert the Bugs

Bunny communism meme

❤️ by author

mclarenauto: Please refrain from receiving burn injuries before the race this weekend. Looks fire!🔥

> User: looks ON fire maybe

> User: I know damn well that ain’t in

their meal plan💀

User: not Lando burning their house down in the first week

> lando: I wanted to make pancakes😔

georgerussell63: mate you can’t let him use the stove we know this

> oscarpiastri: The ONE time he wakes

up early and this is what happens

> lando: bullying. I’m being bullied at 9 in

the morning

alex_albon: I don’t think pancakes are supposed to be on fire?

> lando: YOU’RE SUCH A HATER

carlossainz55: they look wonderful Lando!

> lando: THANK you finally someone who

appreciates my culinary mastery

> carlossainz55: ❤️

> lando: 🧡

> oscarpiastri: Why am I third wheeling

in my own comment section

> User: jealous Oscar?

> oscarpiastri: Yes

> lando: good

> carlossainz55: good

lando

726,287 likes and they say I have a sleep addiction

2,876 comments

oscarpiastri: STOP CLOCKING ME ON MAIN

> lando: NO

> User: 😭

User: he’s so sleepy cat coded

User: is that Lando’s hoodie?💀

❤️ by author

> oscarpiastri: It’s good merch

User: my soul is healing one Oscar pic at a

time

User: so we’re just not gonna address the one where he’s laying on top of him? no? okay

charles_leclerc: nap time for my son

> oscarpiastri: Dad don’t embarrass me

in Lando’s comment section !

> User: most emotion I’ve seen out of

Oscar all season

User: help why is he so tired😭

hattiepiastri: eepy boy

> oscarpiastri: This is NONE of your

business😐👎

> hattiepiastri: mom said to check on

you

> User: SCREAMING

oscarpiastri

2,287,506 likes Home sweet home. Thank you Australia GP and hello podium👍

10,335 comments

❤️ by author

mclarenauto: Mega job out there!

> oscarpiastri: 👍

lando: congrats on P2 mate. you know what’s better than P2? P1

> oscarpiastri: Me looking for where I

asked

> User: OSCAR????

> User: HE COOKED LANDO

> User: ATE HIM UP

> lando: ☹️

> oscarpiastri: 🧡

georgerussell63: I’ll get you next time

> oscarpiastri: You can try😎

❤️ by author

charles_leclerc: dethroned by my own son

> oscarpiastri: 😎

maxverstappen1: I let you past me on the last lap

> lando: jealousy isn’t a good color on

you mate

> maxverstappen1: me looking for where

I asked

> User: AGAIN

> User: Lando: 0, everyone else: 2

> oscarpiastri: 😎

> User: Oscar there’s other emojis

lando

892,156 likes back home again, got up to some tomfoolery. anyways #/softlaunch

528,512 comments

User: so are we all gonna ignore the tag or

User: THAT LOOKS LIKE AN OSCAR BACK TO ME

> User: stalker behavior

User: ??????

User: EVERYBODY STAY CALM NOBODY MOVE

User: that’s a man

> User: a brilliant observation

mclarenauto: 👀

> User: ADMIN WHAT DO YOU KNOW

> mclarenauto: 👀👀👀

georgerussell63: tomfoolery is quite a big word for you mate

> lando: I hate you

alex_albon: not you running back home so you don’t have to lose to me at padel?? come back??

> lando: I would’ve won I just had

somewhere better to be

> alex_albon: I don’t believe you.

maxverstappen1: why haven’t I heard about this?? respond to your phone you twat

> charles_leclerc: amour be nice

> lando: yeah be nice you twat

> charles_leclerc: I don’t know why I try

❤️ by author

oscarpiastri: 😐

> User: jealous Oscar makes another

appearance

> User: unless it’s him

> User: don’t be weird

> lando: hi osc!

> oscarpiastri: Hi Lando👋

> User: OMG

> User: THEY LITERALLY JUST SAID HI

TO EACH OTHER CALM DOWN

carlossainz55: mi amor I thought we promised to wait to tell the public💔

> lando: I’m sorry Carlos, I just couldn’t

wait any longer😔

> User: here for the soap opera

> oscarpiastri: Me too

> User: OSCAR????

author deleted comment(s)

oscarpiastri: 🧡

> lando: 🧡

oscarpiastri

1,397,176 likes How does a #/softlaunch work again? + Lando and Koala because I live with them

286,751 comments

User: OSCAR AND LANDO SOFTLAUNCHING IN THE SAME WEEK????????

User: WHAT PLANET HAVE WE LANDED ON

User: I’M SCREAMING

User: wtf is going on

User: matching songs…

User: so is no one else wondering when either of them had time to meet people outside of race weekends

> alex_albon: I did it

> pierregasly: I did it

> georgerussell63: I did it

> danielricciardo: I did it!

> User: damn I stand corrected

❤️ by author

mclarenauto: 🧡

charles_leclerc: use protection

> oscarpiastri: What🤠

> charles_leclerc: you heard me

> User: LMFAOAOAOAO

> maxverstappen1: 💀

lando: copied me

> oscarpiastri: Bold of you to assume I

even look at your Instagram

> georgerussell63: as if we don’t see

you liking all of Lando’s posts and

stories

> alex_albon: I love stirring the pot

> lando: my goats🙏

> georgerussell63: what happened to

hating us?

> alex_albon: PLAY PADEL WITH ME

f1gossip

386,108 likes Following his crash at last week’s GP, Oscar Piastri is sat out of this one to rest and recover. He’ll be back in his seat next weekend, but for now, their reserve driver’s got it covered. On the bright side, OP81 appears to be in his WAG era for a certain Lando Norris!

48,187 comments

User: that was so scary I’m so glad he’s okay

User: I didn’t know WAG!Oscar was something I needed in my life until now

User: Lando seems to be okay with this arrangement

User: they’re so sweet to each other

lando

982,176 likes

taking care of this loser so I can beat him again in Silverstone

552,176 comments

oscarpiastri: I’m pretty much back to normal now?

> lando: TAKING CARE OF YOU

BECAUSE YOU’RE A LOSER

> oscarpiastri: You’re a loser

> lando: 💔

> oscarpiastri: 🧡

> lando: 🧡

> maxverstappen1: get a room

> georgerussell63: no don’t I’m

entertained

User: what in the domestic life

User: they’ve both been softlaunching for months now PLEASE CONFIRM SOMETHING

User: landoscar hugs>>>

❤️ by author

mclarenauto: Rest up! We’ll see you both at the track!

lewishamilton: And you think either of you are winning Silverstone because…?

> lando: because we’re better than you

> oscarpiastri: Because we’re better

than you (:

> maxverstappen1: none of you are

winning it’s mine

> georgerussell63: not if I have anything

to do with it

> User: the girls are fighting

oscarpiastri

2,297,176 likes Being back in the seat feels pretty good😎

176,486 comments

User: right so they’re helmet kissing? is nobody else seeing this?

User: THIRD SLIDE HELLO????

User: I FEEL LIKE I’M LOSING MY MIND

User: CONFIRM THE RELATIONSHIP ALREADY PLEASE🙏🙏🙏

❤️ by author

mclarenauto: Welcome back 81!

lando: damn standing ovulation or whatever the saying is🥵

> oscarpiastri: It is 8 in the morning

> User: LANDO???????????

> User: BEING HORNY ON MAIN IS

CRAZY

> lando: sorry I was fighting demons

when I wrote that

> oscarpiastri: Pick up your phone.

> User: WOAH

charles_leclerc: looking good son

> maxverstappen1: not good enough to

beat me

> oscarpiastri: @/charles_leclerc 😎

> lando: @/maxverstappen1 🖕

hattiepiastri: imagine having to wear that goofy looking onesie all the time

> oscarpiastri: I’m telling mom

> nicolepiastri: Leave me ALL the way

out of this.

> User: 😭

> lando: hi mama Piastri!😁

> nicolepiastri: Hi Lando!🩷

> User: LANDO MET OSCAR’S MOM

lando

2,297,917 likes second place at home and celebrations afterwards! winning doesn’t feel nearly as sweet as being with you my love🧡

927,186 comments

❤️ by author

oscarpiastri: Podium looks good on you

User: we know who it is just hardlaunch already

User: he can’t possibly think he was slick with this one😭

User: Oscar in the comments is NOT helping😭🙏

User: “my love”🫠🫠🫠

User: them winning each other’s home races is making me feel things

❤️ by author

lewishamilton: I did give you a fight

> oscarpiastri: That you did

> lando: guess we know who the best

Brit on the grid is!

> georgerussell63: unless the answer is

me no the fuck we do not.

> lando: sorry I can’t hear you from P5

> olliebearman: ??

> georgerussell63: the adults are talking

> kimi.antonelli: @/georgerussell63

rude !

❤️ by author

mclarenauto: Mega race today, Lando! See you next week!

maxverstappen1: how’d the wall taste

> lando: well I still beat you so it tasted

pretty good I’d say

> maxverstappen1: GO BACK TO BEING

A RED BULL FAN GODDAMMIT

> redbullracing: Concur.

> mclarenauto: Sorry, he’s ours now!

> oscarpiastri: Yeah, he’s ours!

> lando: yours*

> oscarpiastri: 🧡

> User: Oscar only uses four emojis and

they’re all to flirt with Lando

alex_albon: cringe caption what is this a hallmark movie?

> lando: never beating the hater

allegations

❤️ by author

> alex_albon: you’re right it’s cute I’m ngl

I’m just being a hater

oscarpiastri

2,196,497 likes I could get used to winning in your country, sweetheart. ANYWAYS SILVERSTONE DUB WOOHOO😎😎😎

497,187 comments

User: IT’S SO FUCKING OBVIOUS

User: this is JUST BARELY not enough of a confirmation I’m fuming

User: STOP TORMENTING US

User: so what I’m hearing is he’s British

> User: OF COURSE HE’S BRITISH IT’S

LANDO

> User: WE DON’T KNOW THAT YET

lewishamilton: Disrespectful caption

> oscarpiastri: Wasn’t addressed to you,

hope this helps!

> User: CLOCKED

> User: Oscar gets feisty after a win😭

charles_leclerc: if you pull this kind of stunt in Monaco, you’re grounded.

> lando: lighten up dad

> oscarpiastri: Yeah dad jeez

> maxverstappen1: we don’t like being

shown up by our own family!

> oscarpiastri: Skill issue? Just get good

> charles_leclerc: that’s it! hand over

your Xbox!

> oscarpiastri: NO

> pierregasly: someone get me popcorn

hattiepiastri: why isn’t your dumb boyfriend in any of these pictures

> lando: rude??

> hattiepiastri: SO YOU ADMIT IT’S YOU

❤️ by author

> lando: I’m defending Oscar and his

anonymous partner’s honor. that’s not

a crime

> hattiepiastri: not a crime just mega

suspicious

> oscarpiastri: Hattie it’s past your

bedtime little sister

> hattiepiastri: KYS

> nicolepiastri: Hattie…

> hattiepiastri: congrats on the win, dear

brother!

> alex_albon: everyone be quiet my

show is on

lando: another race well run Osc, I’ll get you next time

> oscarpiastri: Can’t keep up?🧡

> lando: oh I can🧡

> User: STOP BEING HORNY ON MAIN

❤️ by author

mclarenauto: Another victory in the bag for OP81! Mega work this weekend!!!

> oscarpiastri: 😎

f1gossip

928,156 likes Lando Norris was seen kissing a tall stranger in Monaco this week— could it be his famed anonymous partner? Someone we haven’t met yet? Maybe even Oscar Piastri? Stay tuned!

58,287 comments

User: I swear to god if that’s not Oscar

User: I NEED them to hardlaunch

User: the height difference is killing me

User: you can’t even tell it’s Lando💀💀

User: through a window is low.

User: feels like a violation of privacy!

mclarenauto: See no evil…

> User: WHAT.

> User: HI ADMIN????

> User: WHAT DOES THIS MEAN

> User: McLaren after dark

lando

3,197,487 likes I suppose I’d be an idiot to not post about you on our one year, so here it is: I love you, my weird little nerd, my favorite person, my teammate, my love, my Oscar. you make my world brighter and I couldn’t think of someone better to share podiums with. happy anniversary🧡🧡🧡

982,186 comments

User: OKAY STAY CALM STAY CALM

User: EVERYONE RELAX

User: I SCREECHED OUT LOUD

User: WE FUCKING KNEW IT

User: GOD I SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE FOR OTHERS

User: I CAN’T BREATHE

User: THE SONG????

❤️ by author

oscarpiastri: Hello gorgeous🧡 happy anniversary

> lando: hi handsome

> User: SCREAMING

❤️ by author

carlossainz55: congratulations cabron❤️

> lando: I’ll miss you pookie

> oscarpiastri: Wtf

> carlossainz55: oh, you must be the

other girl😒

> oscarpiastri: Excuse you I’m the

original WAG so

> lando: please don’t fight over me💔

❤️ by author

> oscarpiastri: I don’t have to, you’re

already mine

> carlossainz55: 💔😔

maxverstappen1: @/charles_leclerc remember when we hardlaunched and they filled my car with rainbow balloons? hm…

> charles_leclerc: mon amour at least

let them settle in first

> maxverstappen1: they’ve been living

together for over a year they’ll be okay

> lando: are you conspiring against us

> maxverstappen1: congratulations

mate I’m ordering confetti as we speak

> lando: for my next podium right

> lando: right

> lando: @/maxverstappen1 RIGHT?

> oscarpiastri: you’re on vacuum duty

❤️ by author

georgerussell63: fucking FINALLY. if I had to stand in front of any more cameras to block your PDA I was gonna lose my shit

> lando: appreciate the support mate

> georgerussell63: anytime mate

> georgerussell63: I’m still gonna

pummel you this weekend though

> lando: you can try!

❤️ by author

alex_albon: retiring from being a professional hater, you guys are cute asf🙏

> lando: it’s a miracle

> alex_albon: I’m going back to being a

hater

> lando: 💔

kimi.antonelli: 🏳️‍🌈

> lando: 🇬🇧

> kimi.antonelli: 🏳️‍🌈❓

> lando: 🏳️‍🌈🤝🇬🇧

> kimi.antonelli: 🙂‍↕️👍

> olliebearman: ‼️

> oscarpiastri: I feel like I just read the

revival of hieroglyphics

> User: that was unironically the funniest

thing you’ve ever said

> User: LMAOOO

❤️ by author

nicolepiastri: 🩷

> lando: 🧡!

❤️ by author

hattiepiastri: welcome to the family. you still have time to run

> oscarpiastri: Hattie.

> lando: you know what you’re right I’m

having second thoughts

> oscarpiastri: HATTIE??

> lando: @/hattiepiastri about being in

laws with YOU

> hattiepiastri: CLOCKED

> hattiepiastri: I know when to cut my

losses and call it quits🙏

> lando: love you sis

> hattiepiastri: love you bro

> oscarpiastri: I hate everything about

this conversation

❤️ by author

mclarenauto: Congrats! We might need to have another talk about professional workplace relationships, but we’re happy for you both!

> lando: it started professional I swear

> oscarpiastri: I don’t think you’re

helping our case sweetheart

> User: oh my god

oscarpiastri

2,972,276 likes Well, sweetheart, it’s been the most eventful year of my life, that’s for sure. I love traveling the world with you even if you won’t eat fish in any coastal city we go to, which is a lot of them. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Happy one year🧡🎉

826,197 comments

User: GETTING CLOCKED ON YOUR ONE YEAR AND HARDLAUNCH IS DIABOLICAL

User: THIS IS REVENGE FOR ALL THE OTHER TIMES

User: WE’VE WAITED ONE THOUSAND YEARS

User: THEY’RE SO🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

❤️ by author

lando: okay so my caption was sweet and cutesey and you make fun of my phobia. rude asf

> oscarpiastri: I considered writing

about bugs instead

> lando: I’m breaking up with you

> oscarpiastri: I could make fun of your

fear of fish in a loving and affectionate

way. Would it help if I called you baby

and reassured you the dead sea

creatures weren’t going to get you?

> lando: yes.

> oscarpiastri: Anything for you baby

> User: they make me SICK

❤️ by author

charles_leclerc: my son all grown up!!

@/lando please report to the Ferrari garage immediately for a mandatory conversation

> lando: conversation?? like a shovel

talk??

> charles_leclerc: 🥰

> lando: OSC HELP

> oscarpiastri: No this is funny

❤️ by author

hattiepiastri: do you know how difficult it was to keep this a secret

> oscarpiastri: Yes actually you called

me to complain about it at least once a

week

❤️ by author

nicolepiastri: proud of you Osc🥰

> oscarpiastri: Thank you mum🧡

❤️ by author

lewishamilton: Now where have I heard this before…

> nicorosberg: stop making people think

we’re divorced

> lewishamilton: Sometimes I can still

hear his voice💔

> nicorosberg: stop

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2 coming soon🥰

drop your thoughts

78 notes · View notes

xprinceling · 3 months ago

Text

╰┈➤ enhypen as greek gods °˖➴࣪ ִֶָ☾.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺

• heeseung - apollo ּ ֶָ֢.๑ˎˊ˗

⋮ heeseung embodies a radiant muse of melody and light, his voice a golden thread weaving through the tapestry of sound. with every note, he commands the sun to rise, his presence an eternal harmony of grace and power. he’s a god of artistry, who dances on the strings of creativity, his melodic laughter echoing the warmth of dawn. in heeseung’s eyes, the fire of inspiration burns, and in his hands, the lyre of perfection rests.

• jay - hermes ༄.°

⋮ jay, like hermes, is a swift-footed enchanter, weaving charm and wit into every step he takes. the words he speaks are winged, carrying laughter and warmth like a gentle summer breeze, while the presence he carries is magnetic, drawing souls with effortless ease. a master of many realms, truly - he moves through the world with a clever spark, a messenger of glee, leaving trails of light wherever he goes.

• jake - eros ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

⋮ the man is a bearer of tender pink-colored flames, his smile a spark that ignites the hearts of many with effortless charm. his voice resembles a soft, yet stirring melody, that carries the warmth of affection, wrapping listeners in a cocoon of comfort. with each glance, he weaves invisible threads of connection through souls, his presence a gentle reminder of love’s innocent, sugary pull. jake is playful yet profound, embodying the duality of the greek deity - both the flutter of a first crush and the depth of enduring devotion.

• sunghoon - artemis જ⁀➴

⋮ sunghoon glides through the world with a quiet moonlit grace, just like artemis, his movements as precise and fluid as an arrow in flight. his poise, born from years on ice, mirrors the goddess’ untouchable, infinite elegance, resembling a blend of strength and serenity. with a gaze as sharp as the huntress’ aim and a presence as calming as the night sky, he commands attention to himself without uttering a single word. his being is a blend between mystery and radiance, forever tied to the waltz of the moon and the wilderness.

• sunoo - dionysus ❦

⋮ he is a complete burst of joy, his laughter a flowing melody that dances through the air like the clink of dionysus’ wine glasses. his smile - one that blooms like the first light of dawn, brings warmth to every moment in the nychthemeron. sunoo’s energy is intoxicating, a whirlwind of teasing and charm, yet beneath it lies a depth of emotion that connects souls. he is a bringer of celebration, a weaver of bonds, who turns every space into a garden of delight and pleasure.

• jungwon - athena 🀢𓍼ོ

⋮ jungwon, like athena, holds the quiet strength of a leader, his wisdom shining through every decision and gesture. carrying a mind as sharp as her spear and a heart as steady as her shield, he guides with calm precision, which is a beacon of clarity in the surrounding chaos. the presence of his takes both a commanding and nurturing role, a carefully curated balance of intellect and care, much like the goddess who champions those very qualities. he embodies thoughtfulness and resilience, protecting those he holds dear by any means.

• ni-ki - hades ♱

⋮ ni-ki dances with moves of quiet intensity, his presence resembling a shadow of utter power and mystery. on stage he gracefully commands the underworld of performance with movements sharp and deliberate, drawing eyes like a magnet to his realm. beneath the man’s cool exterior lies a deep void of passion and resilience, truly a king of his craft who rules with unwavering dedication. his presence is darkly captivating, fiercely talented, and a force that cannot possibly be ignored.

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lunette-png · 1 month ago

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Waves of Ithaca

Chapter 7: Unmoored in a Silent Storm

art used: zeiru (hermes) and neal illustrator (apollo)

The sea had always been a part of her. But now, as (Y/N) stood at the shoreline, she wondered if she had ever truly been a part of it.

She waded in, expecting the same welcome she had always known—the water had once felt like an extension of herself, responding to her with an almost sentient grace.

But today, it was simply water.

It wasn’t cold or unkind, but it no longer seemed to recognize her. It did not push or pull as it once had, did not shift with her steps in the way she had always taken for granted.

A wave rolled in, and she moved to meet it, adjusting her footing—but she was just a fraction of a second too slow.

It was subtle. So subtle.

But she felt it.

Her stomach twisted. Was it always the blessing?

Had she ever been truly skilled, or had she only been wielding something that was never really hers?

The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

She turned back toward the shore, her movements slower now, as if stepping onto unfamiliar ground.

And for the first time in her life, the salt on her skin felt heavier.

The rhythmic click of the loom filled the chamber, steady and methodical. (Y/N) lingered in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside, drawn toward the familiar sight of her mother weaving.

Penelope glanced up but said nothing as (Y/N) took a seat beside her, fingers absently tracing the edges of an unfinished tapestry.

“I went to the shore,” (Y/N) murmured, her voice quieter than usual.

Penelope paused. “And?”

A hesitation. Then, (Y/N) continued—

“It felt different.”

There was a silence between them, thick with unspoken things.

“I’ve always believed I was meant for the sea,” (Y/N) added. “But… what if I was wrong?”

Penelope set her hands in her lap, studying her daughter carefully.

“When you were a child,” she began, “you used to stand at the cliffs, staring at the horizon as if waiting for something to call you.”

(Y/N) looked away.

“Your father always said you had a heart meant for the water.” There was something softer in her voice now. “But I always wondered… was it because you truly felt it? Or because you needed to prove something?”

(Y/N) inhaled sharply, but the words settled deep.

Penelope reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her daughter’s face. “You are more than the sea.”

(Y/N) swallowed. “Then why does it feel like I’m losing a part of myself?”

Penelope didn’t have an answer.

And (Y/N) wasn’t sure she wanted one.

The silence stretched, broken only by the faint whisper of the wind outside. Then, finally, (Y/N) stood.

“I need to clear my head,” she murmured.

Penelope watched her go, hands tightening around the threads of the loom.

(Y/N) walked without direction, letting her feet carry her through Ithaca’s winding paths. She needed space, somewhere quiet—somewhere away from the weight pressing down on her.

Her steps led her to the temple, the scent of incense thick in the air. It was nearly empty at this hour, save for the flickering light of the torches and—

Music.

A lyre, its melody threading through the air like gold spun in the fading light.

She followed the sound, rounding the corner to find a lone figure seated at the temple steps, fingers moving across the strings with effortless grace.

The song was unfamiliar, yet it settled into her bones, filling the hollow spaces in her chest.

The last note faded, and he finally spoke, his voice as smooth as the melody.

“You’ve been lost in thought all day.”

(Y/N) frowned. “You’ve been watching me?”

A knowing smile. “Only enough to know you needed a song.”

There was something about him—something warm. Not in the way the sun was warm, but in the way a fire still burns long after you’ve stepped away from it.

She sat beside him, folding her arms. “Do you always play for wandering souls?”

“Only the ones who look like they’re losing their way.”

Before she could stop herself, (Y/N) exhaled. “I don’t know if I belong here anymore.”

He plucked another note, letting it linger. “And yet, the world has never seemed more drawn to you.”

She scoffed. “That’s not true.”

He turned to her fully then, and for a moment, she felt utterly seen.

“Isn’t it?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

(Y/N) had no answer.

He stood, the lyre now silent. “Perhaps you’re asking the wrong questions.”

Before she could respond, he was gone—disappearing into the temple’s shadowed halls.

(Y/N) stared after him, the warmth of his presence lingering long after he had vanished.

The marketplace was still alive with the hum of voices when (Y/N) stepped through its streets, the earlier conversation with the musician still weighing on her mind.

She nearly missed him at first, leaning casually against a stall as if he had always been there.

“Still troubled, little storm?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “You have a habit of appearing when I least expect you.”

“And you have a habit of looking like you need a distraction.”

(Y/N) exhaled sharply, not in the mood for his games. “If you came just to tease me—”

“Not tonight.” His voice was different.

They walked in silence before he finally spoke again. “Be careful where you step, princess.”

(Y/N) frowned. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“The sea has a long memory.”

A chill ran down her spine. “And what of the gods?” she asked carefully.

“Oh, always.” He met her gaze, something softer beneath his usual amusement. “And sometimes, they watch a little closer than you’d like.”

She swallowed. “Is that a warning?”

“A thought,” he murmured.

Then, before she could react, he reached forward and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Her breath caught.

The merchant grinned, playful once more. “Don’t let the world swallow you up, little storm.”

And then he was gone, like a whisper on the wind.

Far beneath the surface, where the ocean stretched vast and endless, two figures sat in the depths of the palace of the sea.

“She wears the gift well,” Amphitrite observed, watching the currents shift in the great hall.

Poseidon did not look at her. “She has always wielded it with skill.”

His wife’s gaze flickered toward him. “And yet, you are taking it back.”

Poseidon’s grip tightened on his trident. “It was never hers to begin with.”

Silence.

“She is not the one you should punish,” Amphitrite said softly.

Poseidon’s jaw clenched. “She is his kin.”

A pause. Then—

“She is also herself.”

Poseidon did not reply.

The ocean, vast and knowing, churned around them.

AN: helloo— wow, another chapter, who am i?(i am procrastinating). i'm not really proud of this chapter, but i really wanted to write y/n's identity crisis and her interacting with apollo and hermes

#🌊 waves of ithaca #epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #epic apollo #epic hermes #epic penelope #hermes x reader #apollo x reader #epic poseidon

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lotmoon · 4 months ago

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Dancing under the stars.

Venti x reader| fluff!

İt was the windbloom festival in mondstadt. You could breath in the dazzling scent of the flowers filling the streets to it’s brim, you could hear the beautiful melodies coming from the strings of the lyres bards held. And it was your anniversary with your beloved archon.

After having fun and enjoying the festival with your friends, you decided to meet up with your long time boyfriend at the end of the festival. But what you didn’t know is that he had a little surprise for you.

You were wearing a long white flower patterned summer dress, your hair blowing in the soft breeze as you made your way towards the forest you two will meet.

You entered the forest and walked through the tall trees. When you reached your meeting point, you saw your lover sitting on the tree trunk, a picnic basket in front of him, a lamp next to him and a picnic blanket on the ground.

he continued on playing with his lyre as he smiled gently with his eyes closed. Humming softly to the tune he was playing.

“venti? What’s all of this?” You asked in disbelief, looking around you in awe as you didn’t thought he would prepare somethings and make this a picnic date.

He stopped humming and playing with his lyre then opened his eyes to look at you with a playful look. “Well, my cecilia I called you here but never said that I didn’t prepare something. Come, sit beside me!” He squeaked cheerfully. Patting the spot next to him for you to sit.

You walked closer to him slowly. İt was as if the ethereal night sky was humiliating the wonders of the world as you sat next to him. He turned towards you with a beaming smile and prepared his lyre in his hands.

“Let me serenade you with the newest song I wrote just for my beloved!” He said with excitement and began to play with the strings of his lyre. Creating a comforting tune while his lips began to move for a song filled with affection.

“Once they’re wondered, the god of the sky.

Walked in his land as years passed him by,

His shoulders were heavy, mind always busy,

Adored by his children, as the crown felt heavy.

Everywhere he went, he felt alone,

The praise was all his, but he never held someone close.

Then came a day, a soul lit the gods heart on fire.

The intimacy he avoided, now something he wanted. Even though he thought being in love would be a disaster.

Despite this fact, they still captured his heart and well, that was that. They reminded him, to himself, he could be kinder.

With love he finally let someone in. Not only a lover, but a friend. And in case it wasn’t clear. My love, my windblume…it was always you.

Now so you and me together in a song. İt’s because of you my love, that my heart is home.”

He sang wholeheartedly, once the song over he grabbed your hands and pulled you into a dance before you even complimented his song. Singing another tune this time, an adoring smile on his face as he spoon you around yourself. He chuckled as you blushed slightly and giggled at his gesture.

“The song was beautiful!” You said happily as he continued the slow dance with you. He smiled gently and hugged you close to him, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“I write songs much better when you are my muse, my love.”

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊⁺⊹⋆₊˚⊹ᰔ

#venti x reader #genshin venti #venti x you #venti x y/n

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spiritedstars · 3 months ago

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Spirit Meets the Bones XXXVIII

Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama Warnings: physical abuse/triggering language. Author’s Note: In case you missed it, I commissioned an art of Iris here! Thank you for reading, we're gearing up for the end soon!!!

thank you @riorsonxaden for always being my cheerleader <3

tagging: @climb-the-mountian / @vanserrass / @positivewitch / @animezinglife / @zenkindoflove / @rosewood-cafe / @clockwork-ashes / @carnythian / @secret-third-thing / @runningwiththeoceans / @that-golden-lyre / @thedarkinmansfield / @readychilledwine / @goldenmagnolias / @mali22 / @readthelastpaage / @maidr-00 / @electromagnetic-waves / @eastofatlanta / @moobell55 / @bibliophiliaxvignette / @devilsfoodcake22 / @weesablackbeak / @ladywhilemia / @alohaangels / @feysandfeels / @corcracrow / @dawneternal / @gracie-rosee / @mage-neve / @illyrianvalkyrie / @saint-stella / @carolynmezzosoprano / @rainbowsnowflake / @queenoftheworld1998 / @wolvesnravens / @lalaluch / @moonfawnx

Find it all here.

Eris barely had a moment to breathe through the effects of the faebane when his father’s fire slammed into him and propelled him through the glamour hiding them, straight across the room. He landed with a grunt among the startled crowds as they gasped – even screamed at his sudden appearance.

He didn’t give himself a moment to let his father catch him in this vulnerable position and quickly twisted on his knees, slowly standing and trying to get a sense of his magic; the deep well he had been storing for months – all of it in was empty.

Eris had deeply miscalculated.

He should’ve drank his antidote sooner and now he didn’t have time to grab it as the High Lord began his casual stroll down the dais, his eyes never leaving Eris as the crowd slowly parted in shock, backing away from father and son.

“In the last few days something truly harrowing has come to my attention.” the High Lord said, addressing the room as he walked toward Eris. “And it pains me to share this news with you all on what should be a celebratory night.”

The High Lord spoke in an airy tone and Eris bared his teeth as he braced himself against his father. “Why did you bother standing? Traitors kneel.”

And his father had certainly been holding back earlier because when he slammed his magic into Eris, it made him double over in pain that he hadn’t felt in a long time as the High Lord forced him to his knees. “Father.”

Beron stood before his son, grimacing down at him then glanced at the crowd around them. “I can see how confusing this must be, to watch your High Lord bring your crown prince to his knees.” the High Lord continued. “But you see…my sons have betrayed me and the people of this court. There has been a plot for my demise.”

Eris struggled against the force of his father’s magic, his muscles straining as he glared at the High Lord. “Do not twist the situation!” Eris seethed. “You are the only one who betrayed this court.”

Beron scowled, waving his hand as his magic wrapped around Eris’s throat and squeezed. “As your High Lord, it is my duty to protect this court from those who try to undermine its stability. My sons have threatened to do just that,” he said, still in that light tone that made Eris’s blood boil and glanced at the crowd. “They have plotted against me and in doing so, broke my heart and cast light on the unfortunate reality of traitors amongst us. And as you all know, I do not take treason lightly.”

Whispers traveled among the crowd as they watched this unfold in shock and disbelief, unease spreading but Eris paid them no mind. He only gritted his teeth, his mind racing for a way to break free of his father’s hold but didn’t dare glance at the archers or his sentries who should’ve been infiltrating the room.

Beron raised a hand, silencing the hall with a single gesture. "My loyal subjects," he began, his voice carrying across the room. “It grieves me to reveal the betrayal that has festered from within my family but rest assured, no one is above my law, not even my own flesh and blood and I will purge this court of their poison.” His gaze swept the room before landing back on Eris who was panting, fighting to escape the contained bubble his father had him in. “Starting with my eldest son.”

Eris’s gaze was livid as Beron stepped closer to him. “After everything I have given you, you still conspired against me and dragged your mother and brothers into it, breaking this family apart.”

“That is not –”

His father’s magic slammed into him and Eris groaned as the High Lord gripped him by the collar and slammed his fist in Eris’s face. “I hereby strip you of your title as crown prince.” His father’s fist slammed into his throat and Eris wheezed as he felt his airway close. “Your assets.” Another fist slammed into his chest. “Alongside any and all privileges you had as my son.”

Eris knew just how personal this moment was for his father to use his own fists to beat him. To try and break him in front of the court. He knew just how angry the High Lord was as blood clogged his throat from the fist of fire his father landed to his gut and he wheezed a breath as Beron pulled him up by the front of his shirt. “You are no son of mine and will rot as a traitor in our dungeons. Your wife will share your fate and so will whichever of your brothers side with you.”

The High Lord dropped his son and Eris felt himself sag on his knees, breathing heavily as he braced himself on shaky arms. It was fine. He’d taken beatings. He’d bled like this before. He would be fine.

Especially because his father’s magic had released him and Eris spat blood, his ears ringing as the High Lord continued to give his speech. He blinked his watery eyes, every inch of him in pain, wheezing another tight breath through his achy throat and he raised a shaky hand to his jacket, patting for the antidote. If he took it now, he would be fine. He could get back on his feet and launch his attack.

“Ah, my other sons.”

Eris’s head snapped to the side and he watched as Finn and Izak staggered to a halt, both slightly battered as though coming back from a fight themselves; Izak’s sword was coated with blood as were Finn’s twin blades.

“You come with raised weapons and expect me to believe you haven’t betrayed me.” The High Lord mused but there was no light in his eyes as he observed Izak and Finn slowly walking around him to reach Eris; only hatred shown in the High Lord’s dead gaze – only promised violence.

“We were attacked by soldiers that were not our own.” Finn spat. “Who would’ve ordered that hit, Father?”

The High Lord merely lifted a brow. “If you weren’t slinking around like thieves, this wouldn’t have happened to you.”

“Enough is enough.” Izak snarled. “You need to –”

“Ah, I see even my beast has turned on me,” Beron said, chuckling lightly and Eris felt his vision go red as Izak flushed deeply, anger rolling off his brother in waves. “I can’t count on you to gut your brothers for me now, can I?”

Before Eris could force himself to take a breath, the High Lord’s magic lashed out and threw him into his brothers, the three of them staggering back. Izak quickly straightened and shielded them. “The only person I am itching to gut here is you.”

“You threaten your High Lord so easily,” Beron said quietly, yet that promised violence in his tone carried throughout the room. “You are what I made you and yet, you bite the hand that fed you after all these years.”

Eris mustered his rage and again, tapped his jacket quickly. He needed that fucken antidote now and before his father noticed.

Finn carefully stepped in front of him, next to Izak as Eris’s hands shakily closed around the vial. Carefully uncorking the antidote, he swallowed it in one shot and felt his whole body shudder as his magic coursed through him almost explosively, awakening through his veins. Eris panted, gave himself a moment to be overwhelmed then rolled his head back as he slowly rose, turning to face his father, moving in front of his brothers who flanked him.

Eris’s glare was a fiery branding standing before his father, his chest rising and falling as he tried to continue his breathing. “How can you stand there and say everything you’re saying in front of the court and think they won’t see you for who you are?” he snarled.

Beron spared a glance to the crowd that was still watching this all unfold with bated breath. He let a heartbeat pass for a moment before glancing back at Eris. “And who am I, Eris?”

“A plague that’s rotted this land for far too long.” he spat and finally allowed his fists to burst into flame. “Tell me where the fuck my wife is.”

Beron watched his sons stand together and tilted his head, seeming to weigh his next steps – his next words, and Eris’s chest tightened when a dark smile formed on his lips.

“Ah, yes. My surprise.” the High Lord said and Eris’s heart sank. “Take a look. We are about to begin.”

Turning back to the crowd still helplessly watching this unfold, Beron waved a hand, his eyes never leaving his sons. “So that you all know that I am fair in my punishment, I want you to bring your gaze towards the dance floor and see for yourselves what becomes to those who even think to challenge the High Lord.”

Eris whirled and nearly choked as everything in him stilled.

He felt his magic snuff out.

He forgot where he was. He forgot everything that was happening. His wrath. His father. His very breath.

Everything before him slid away and he felt nothing but that thread at his ribcage. It ached. It burned.

His wife.

His mate.

His worst nightmare was unfolding before him and Eris felt his body begin to shake at the sight – his wife and three others had appeared battered and bruised.

He felt Finn’s rage behind him. He heard Izak’s sharp intake of breath.

But Eris felt nothing but sheer agony at the sight of his wife strung up on that fucken flogging pole and her bastard of a father standing beside her, smirking, a bloodied whip in his hand.

“No.”

The word slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it and if Eris had thought he had felt desperate before, it was nothing to the desperation clogging his throat right now.

“No.”

Eris barely had the chance to take a step when his father’s magic slammed into him yet again, forcing him once more to his knees and he roared against it. He knew his brothers were right by him and Eris strained to crack it – to break against it as he desperately tried to get to Iris.

His father came into view, smiling his cruel smile, yanking his head back. “Should you try to fight against me, your wife’s skin will continue to bleed.” he sneered quietly. “Remember how powerless you are against me and how every bit of pain she will receive – and she will receive much more of it – is all your fault.”

Eris snarled as his magic tried to burst out of him but his father only chuckled, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him so he could face his wife.

He felt bile rise in his throat at the sight of her unconscious body, sagging against the flogging pole, his eyes cataloging the skin marred with bruises – the blood was trickling down her temple.

“Iris.”

His call was as frantic as he felt and Eris shuddered as his magic rolled through him but his wife didn’t move. He wasn’t even sure if she was breathing and Eris wanted to die.

But the bond – surely if she had — if something had taken her away —

His gaze snagged on her dress and how it slipped down her shoulders, exposing the skin of her back but the thought left his mind as his father dropped him to the floor and then walked towards his wife. Panic unfurled in his chest as he tried to adjust himself, watching Beron observe Iris with a predatory look and that panic increased tenfold when his father met his gaze across the room.

“She’s so pretty tied up like this, is she not.” he taunted and Eris’s vision went red, steam rising from his hands.

“Don’t fucken touch her.” His demand was guttural, forcing himself not to lash out. His father was too close to his wife – he was too close to touching her –

The High Lord chuckled and Eris let out a wheezing sound as his father’s magic tightened on his windpipes, dread pounding beneath his skin. Because Beron took another step towards Iris then another, and Eris watched furiously as his father, as though he had all the time in the world, slowly ran a finger down Iris’s exposed back.

“How exciting is it to ruin what once was such soft skin.” the High Lord said quietly, glancing at the blood coating his finger and then smiling at Eris. “How lovely she will be with scars.”

“I said don’t fucken touch her.” he snarled wildly then choked as the High Lord squeezed hard enough, black lined his vision. “I will kill you I will —”

Even across the room, the High Lord’s magic tightened his grip on Eris’s throat as they watched each other and the High Lord tsked. “Don’t be selfish, Eris. Your wife isn’t the only one here. Think of how your brothers must be feeling.”

The rage of a thousand suns rushed through him and he knew his glare was spitting fire as his father smirked at him, knowing how badly the bastard had crossed a line.

Because Eris saw how Theo was barely breathing and knew Finn was frozen in place watching in disbelief. He knew the kind of thoughts that had to be crossing Izak’s mind watching his father-in-law lying lifeless. He could only imagine what Emil would do to see Cosette trembling in tears, blood coating her skin.

The urge to kill kill kill kill pounded through him like a symphony.

And Eris’s whole being began to shake again as the High Lord’s fire held him in place, forcing him further to the ground. Eris struggled against it but something was different about his father’s magic this time. It was more vicious – more brutal and it seemed to attack him with every breath he made as the High Lord waved a hand to Aron who stepped back.

“I knew you were a coward,” Eris spat venomously. “I didn’t think you’d need to have us held down to overpower us you filthy piece of shit. I will –”

“Did you know?” Beron said, ignoring Eris’s rant, his eyes darkening as he stared down at his son. “Apparently your wife so graciously volunteered to take all the lashings for the other three,” As his gaze returned to Iris’s bloodied back, the cruelty of his smile boarded on mania. “And just for your lip, I’ll begin the punishment myself.”

Eris lost whatever air he had left. “Don’t you dare –”

“Unless of course, you’d like me to begin with the others? Spare your wife a little longer at the expense of your brothers watching people they care about suffer?” Beron asked mockingly. “We can make you dread the anticipation of what’s to come, hm?”

After all this already, his father had the nerve to toy with them even more. Despite how badly he was shaking, Eris felt just how tense Finn and Izak had gotten next to him. Ash clogged his throat and just as he was about to open his mouth, his father beat him to it.

“But no. I’ve longed to make her bleed. To give her scars twin to yours,” he said and let out a chuckle that made the hair on Eris’s body rise. “I will finish what your father-in-law started and I will enjoy it.”

“You so much as touch that whip –” Eris threatened, panting, sweat pooling as his fire boiled beneath his skin and his father made the mistake of smiling.

Beron made his second mistake by taking another step toward Iris and Eris finally let himself detonate, consequences be damned.

Every bit of self-restraint he’d had, every bit of calm and logic he had held to, came unloose — his roar sounding through the hall as the ground shook.

Beron’s magic tried to latch onto him again and he felt the High Lord’s power slam into him but Eris was too angry, too lost in his own rage – his magic held, shielding him.

He had enough of thinking logically – holding back for the sake of avoiding collateral damage. He would not stand there and let his wife take any more than she had already taken.

Without a second thought, his magic flared and Eris sent a wave of his fiery magic straight for his father’s chest, and in the same breath, his hand lifted to give his archers their signal, sending ashwood arrows tipped in faebane for his father.

Then Eris paid it all no mind. He didn’t hear Finn’s roar or see him finally charging at their Father. He wasn’t truly aware of Izak’s bellow at their sentries to move forward.

Everything around him was hazy. Eris felt detached from himself as he turned back towards his wife. He saw nothing but her – his fucken mate strung up and bleeding and Eris ceased to feel anything at all.

His head had never been quieter even as the world around him was so loud.

People were yelling. There was rushed movement and the clashing of swords. But Eris heard none of it. He couldn’t focus on anything but Iris.

His Iris.

His wife.

The – the love of his wretched life. His light at the end of this very long tunnel.

What was the point of him and all his planning if she still ended up here? Hurt? Strung like a lamb for sacrifice?

What was the point?

He wanted the sound of his dagger to sing with his father’s blood but first –

Eris took a step, then another, trying not to run as flame licked each footstep, tugging on the mating bond. He tugged and begged her to move, to look at him, to even shift her fingers as he moved closer.

His hands began to shake as he kneeled before his wife and as gently as he could ever bring himself to touch her beautiful face, Eris lifted her chin.

The sight nearly broke him.

The bruises on her face...gods they were far worse than he could have imagined up close. They peppered her beautiful face in splatters of dark reds and purples from the corner of her temples to her jawline and what parts of her face weren't covered in bruises, were covered in ruffled tendrils of hair. Gone was the tiara he had given her – Eris had no clue where it was and didn't care as he gingerly brushed her hair to the side, his palm brushing along a swollen cheek and the ugly warmth that accompanied it. Her beautiful dress had tattered edges near where the whip had touched and Eris didn’t want to look too closely at what he’d find on her back. He didn’t know if he could handle it. Even if it was all his fault this had happened.

It was his fault for bringing this kind of pain into her life. He should’ve let her go sooner. He should’ve forced her to leave.

He should’ve done so many things differently and now she was paying the price.

So he forced himself to take a step around her and bile rose in his throat again at her exposed back, his shaking hands fisting at his sides.

His father hadn’t given an empty threat; her bloody scars would certainly match his own.

The silence that had been in his head was now filled with roaring. Anger surged through him, his vision blurred, and the dormant volcano he had kept on his magic was thumping violently in his veins. He was primal fury and if Iris didn’t wake or move or react to him in some way, he was going to kill everyone in this room then himself, starting with his fucken father. He tugged on the bond again and returned to her side, kneeling once more.

“Little gazelle,” he whispered and everything in him ached – everything hurt. She had been going through this while he had been here. He had left her to this fate. “Please tell me you can hear me.” He begged softly. “Please tell me you haven’t left me.”

But Iris didn’t respond and Eris’s hands started shaking again. “Iris, love. Please.” he pleaded. “Anything – give me anything, Iris. I can’t do this without you, please –”

“He – he went hard on her.”

Eris whipped his head to the voice that had spoken and found that it was Theo on his knees, chained a few feet from his wife. “What.”

Theo licked his lips and Eris noted the blood dripping from a cut on his cheek and how roughed up he looked, bruises all over him. “Her father. He wasn’t supposed to touch her until we got here but he – he enjoyed it too much. The fucker wouldn’t stop.” he said hoarsely. “She did it to save us. She took the brunt of it so Cosette and I wouldn’t.”

And Eris could see the shame in Theo’s eyes at the thought that he couldn’t have stopped the pain she was going through. “I’m sorry, Eris.” the blacksmith rasped. “I’m so sorry.”

Eris didn’t have it in him to do more than shake his head, sending a burst of his magic to cut through Theo and Cosette’s chains. “Take Cosette and Marcus and try to get out of here while they’re distracted. For Finn’s sake. Leave now.” he commanded then turned back to Iris and forced himself to swallow, taking in her state.

Gods, he had never hated himself more.

“Wife,” he whispered and desperation clogged his throat, fighting at the anger even as he started to feel his body go aflame. His voice was guttural as he begged again, “I need you to come back to me so I don’t kill everyone in this room. Please answer me.”

Eris tugged on the bond again, trying to send his love – his affection – his adoration for her, anything to get her —

She needed a healer, badly and his gaze filtered around the room. If he could find Nevien. If he could even try to heal her himself – his hands already brushing against her face and sending whatever healing magic he had to lessen the bruises.

But her back – his gaze drifted to the wounds he found there and the urge to vomit returned in full force. This was all his fault. He had done this to her.

He shouldn’t have let her stay. He should’ve shipped her to Lucien weeks ago –

The thought had barely left his mind when he heard a tiny whimper and Eris nearly fell over as his head snapped back on his wife and relief washed over him as she tried to open her eyes.

“Iris.” he breathed, his hands gently touching her face and again, he watched her with bated breath as Iris's eyelids fluttered, her consciousness waning as she struggled to focus on Eris's voice. The pain radiating through her body threatened to pull her back into the depths of unconsciousness, but his voice, the desperation in it reached her through the haze.

He needed her and Iris had to answer him.

“Eris…” Her voice was barely a whisper, raw with agony. Each breath felt like shards of glass against her lungs and everything fucken hurt as the echo of her father’s laugh rang through her ears – the sound and sting of the whip made her involuntary shudder. The movement caused a groan and another whimper slipped from her lips as she felt Eris finally release her from where she’d been strung. His hands warmed her lifeless arms with soft touches and Iris tried not to cry, tried to hold back tears at the sheer amount of relief that washed over her as Eris held her, his nose in her hair.

“I’m here, love," Eris murmured, his voice trembling with contained rage, letting his fire warm her clammy skin. “I’m here now. I’ve got you, little gazelle.”

Iris struggled to swallow – struggled to say more. She had tried not to scream, had tried not to give her father the satisfaction of knowing how much the whip had hurt and her throat felt too raw from holding back. But Eris was here with her. It was his tender touch on her body and Iris wasn’t sure which of them was trembling.

“It’s okay –” she whispered and tried to shift to meet his gaze. “Are you – are you okay? W-what’s happening?”

“Too much is happening. Everything went to shit and I –” he began then growled, every stress weighing on him. But she was awake. She was talking to him. She was alright. “I’m sorry, Iris. I should’ve sent you away sooner – I’m so sorry –”

“Eris, no.” she immediately chided hoarsely and struggled to sit up in his arms. Her back felt on fire, her arms felt useless and she tried to focus on her own healing magic, letting it work but gods, everything ached. “Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong. Look at me –”

“I should’ve sent you away sooner.” he mumbled again, his gaze finally meeting hers and at her wince, his anger returned in full force. “You’re hurt.”

“I know but it was worth it – it –Theo! A-and Cosette!” ”she rasped and swallowed, hissing slightly as Eris shifted her. “We have to – and Lord Marcus! We can’t let them –”

“I already released them.” he said and cupped her face. “Wife, I need to focus on you. You’re hurt.”

“What about you?” she whispered. “Look at the bruises on you. Let me –”

“Iris.” he begged. “Focus on healing yourself, please. Take whatever of my magic you need –”

“No.” Her tone offered no argument as she forced herself to sit up even though every inch of her was screaming in agony. “You will not use any of it on me. You need it.”

He wanted to argue with her but he took in her disheveled appearance and what Eris really wanted to do was get her out of here. He ran his tongue over his teeth, his hands gently on her body even as they shook. “Fine, but let me help you. Let’s get you out of here.”

“And go where?” she breathed. “You think after all this I’m going to leave you?”

His expression hardened. “You think after what they already did to you I’d let you stay?”

“I have a score to settle,” she said and despite every inch of her skin screaming, she straightened in her husband’s arm. “And you will not deny me of it.”

Eris’s mouth went into a hard line. The sounds of fighting continued around them and yet, he could only focus on her. “You know I wouldn’t deny you anything but you can barely heal yourself, Iris.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Don’t be stubborn about this, wife.”

“I don’t care –”

“You’ve already been hurt enough for me – for others –”

“And I’d do it again.” she seethed. “Do not take this away from me. I couldn’t let them get hurt. I had to protect them.”

“Iris.” he said and couldn’t even chide her when he saw the earnest expression and her lip trembled.

“I never had people to protect or who would fight to protect me.” she whispered. “This is my family too now. I don’t care that I’m hurt.”

“I do.” he snapped then worked his jaw as he softened his tone. “This is my worst nightmare, Iris. I’m watching it play out and my father was about to start doing more.” he licked his lips. “Do not put me in a position to worry about you. I don’t even know what happened to my mother or Emil and –”

“I do. Before my father took me, they had been cornered by him in the guest wing but I healed them.” she said quickly. “They should be fine but I don’t know what else –”

“Eris!”

Izak’s roar had both of them turning and a shield of fire burst out of Eris to stop the attack of arrows that were aimed at his head. His eyes narrowed, assessing the chaos in the room.

He watched as Finn’s twin blades sank into every enemy that passed, trying to make his way to their father, who observed it all unfold in relished amusement. Eris watched as Izak shoved a group of five grunts off him, the swing of his sword sounding across the room. The blur of uniform colors fighting against each other and as more of his father’s bribed soldiers descended into the room, Eris knew the only way he could focus was to get Iris out of there.

“I need you to be safe, Iris. I can’t –”

He had barely turned, his body still facing the chaos and his distraction had cost him. Before Eris could move another muscle, the High Lord’s magic had shot out, hitting him square in the chest.

“Eris!” Iris shrieked, trying to move to get to him, wounds be damned. The High Lord only chuckled and Iris let out a groan as his magic slammed into her, pinning her where she sat.

He staggered back, clutching his chest at the assault but forced himself to stand between Iris and his father, and without waiting for his father to continue, he lashed out with his magic. His father met his flame with his own and Eris fumed at having to be further distracted from getting Iris out.

“Did you think you could sneak away, boy?” Beron snarled quietly as his flames surrounded them, cutting them off from their surroundings. “Slither away without paying the price for your treason?”

Eris’s eyes remained on his father and he allowed himself a breath then another and then, he let his mind go blank. He let his emotions cease. All his emotions except for his rage.

What was the point if he didn’t let go?

People thought him a monster anyway. Perhaps the only way to take out a monster was to become one.

For his mate. For his mother and brothers. For himself.

Eris straightened as he stood before the High Lord. The fire beneath his skin was scalding as it bubbled to the surface and slowly Eris let his wildfire reach his eyes.

“I will give you one chance to release my mate and step out of the way.”

“Or?” the High Lord taunted. “Are you finally working up the courage to kill your dear old father?”

Eris smiled humorlessly. “Killing you has always been the endgame, High Lord.” he said. “It was a childish dream to have hope for you.”

“Ah,” the High Lord mused. “And I suppose now that all of you have suddenly become knights in shining armor, you think to be better than I was?”

“We were always better than you,” Eris said, lifting his chin. “Our mother saw to that.”

“I left your mother for dead so a great deal that will do her.”

Eris forced himself not to flinch. “Or so you say,” he replied curtly. “Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time things have slipped out of your control or right under your nose.”

The High Lord flushed, anger overtaking his expression, as he glared at Iris and then back at his son. “You mock me and yet, you are barely holding it together because of a good-for-nothing female.”

Eris felt his magic thump beneath his veins. “You will not speak of her that way. Release her at once.”

“She will be the reason for your demise if you stay so focused on what happens to her.”

“You will be the reason for yours if you do not stand down.”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment or maybe a lifetime – Eris wasn’t sure. All he knew was that the male who was supposed to be his protector had died years ago and it was about time the walking corpse that had replaced him be gone.

Eris allowed himself a moment to mourn what could’ve been. He allowed himself just one – to feel sorry for himself, for the male that was once someone he admired and loved.

For indeed, Eris would take the bloody crown and put an end to it all.

But Eris had barely moved when the High Lord did a double take, his expression shifting. Eris’s eyes narrowed, refusing to take his eyes off his father, not trusting that it wasn’t a trick even as Iris took a sharp breath behind him.

Instead, his father seemed to be staring at a ghost. In one breath, Eris saw the High Lord standing. In the next, his father was now on his knees, clutching his throat, the air ripped out of his windpipes. A knife was protruding from his right shoulder.

Eris’s shoulders slackened as Lucien appeared out of the flames behind Beron, his hand gripping the handle of said knife with a small smile.

“Quite rude of you to leave me out of yet another family reunion.”

“Lucien.” Eris breathed and spared Iris a glance to see that she’d been released from her hold and shakily trying to stand. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Lucien shot Beron a look full of loathing before turning back to Eris. “No one showed. We knew something was wrong and if I didn’t show up, Helion would’ve come and raised hell.”

Beron finally seemed to snap the leash Lucien had on his throat. “You.” he snarled. “How dare you show your face here.”

“I’m so handsome, it would be a waste if I didn’t,” Lucien said, waving a hand almost mockingly.

“I banned you from –”

Lucien waved his hand again and his magic seemed to be silencing Beron once more. “My father says hello,” he said with a smile that was anything but kind, and Beron’s glare intensified. “And by hello, he means he would love to lodge a spear in your chest.”

“How the fuck are you doing that?” Eris asked, grateful for the momentary pause, rushing over to Iris and slowly helping her stand, trying not to let the paleness of her skin worry him. “How did you even winnow within the walls?”

“I am a Spell-Cleaver, after all. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” Lucien said and this smile was more genuine if not a little smug. “The binding spell won’t hold him for long but it helps that I had the element of surprise.”

“Will you be able to stay and help?” Iris asked breathlessly. “Your mother –”

“I’ve come to help in any way that I can.” Lucien answered. “Helion is waiting to –”

“Lucien. Take Iris and go.” Eris commanded. “Take her out of here and have her healed then find mother.”

“Eris, no –”

“Non-negotiable.” he snapped and at the furrow in her brow, he cupped her face, meeting her gaze. His touch was gentle, to not aggravate the still-healing wounds and Iris’s grip tightened on his arm as she shuddered.

“Eris.”

“Please.” he only whispered and Iris’s expression tightened despite the tremble in her lip but she knew what that word cost him in front of others. She knew she couldn’t argue with him, not as her shaky legs barely held her up.

Eris glanced at Lucien who was still watching the High Lord with that small smug smile. “Lucien. Take Iris to the healer's wing,” he commanded again and reluctantly eased Iris into his brother’s open arms. “Then find Mother.”

Lucien’s gaze hardened as he nodded at Eris then gave Iris a thin smile as he carefully held her. “Ready?”

“No.” she answered honestly and her eyes stayed on Eris who couldn’t look away from his wife, a muscle flexing in his jaw. It would be better this way. Let her be safe. Let her be away when he finally cracked.

But the sound of the High Lord roaring behind him, had the three of them turning and Eris put up a shield that Lucien reinforced as they watched his father pant, yanking the dagger out of his shoulder and tossing it to the side.

“So fucken weak.” Beron spat. “With your words and your feelings. You embarrass yourself in front of me and then wonder why I always tried to beat the softness out of you.”

Eris only lifted a brow at the High Lord’s fury. “Tell me how you really feel, father.”

“You allowed that bastard to set foot in my court.” Beron snarled and Eris schooled his expression into calm.

“He’s a son of Autumn whether you accept him or not,” he said then tilted his head, his tone taunting, watching as his father’s face nearly turned purple in anger, sparing Lucien a glance. “Isn’t it fascinating that he’s now powerful enough to overpower you with a single spell?”

“And I haven’t even started the real fun.” Lucien added, with that smug smile of his.

“Your little party trick won’t save you when I get my hands on you.” Beron promised and Eris couldn’t help the way his body straightened, taking a step in front of Lucien and Iris.

Enough was enough.

“Your hands will hurt us no more.”

Never taking his eyes off his father, Eris let himself take a breath and then opened his hands, allowing him to finally unleash his own party trick. Slowly, his fire began to leak out of him and his father watched with narrowed eyes as full-fledged fire creatures started to form.

His well of magic was something he’d very carefully cultivated and nurtured over the years. He’d had to keep it well hidden but Eris had never shied away from experimenting and testing out his limitations until he settled on a way to keep himself safe at all times.

Inspired by his smokehounds, Eris had played with his magic until he could shapeshift it the way he wanted and now twelve firehounds stood surrounding him. Judging by the sharp intake of breath from both his wife and brother, his firehounds were just as breathtaking as his smokehounds were.

Beron blinked in the silence as he observed the fire creatures then met his son’s gaze again.

“You seem surprised, father.” he said and Eris couldn’t help but find it poetic that despite the sound of carnage around them and his mate still in harm’s way, he was so very calm.

Beron’s lip curled. “Surprised that you’ve resorted to making up cheap tricks to win a fight?”

Eris shook his head with a chuckle and knew as he took another breath, his whole body was now aflame, a hand petting his fire creature next to him as he watched his father, feeling Iris and Lucien take a step back. “Your imagination has always been limited. Despite being a High Lord, you never took the time to figure out how to push the boundaries of your mind and create with your magic. You let yourself get comfortable, despite knowing I grow in power. You let yourself stay like this. You knew I’d come for your throne one day and yet, you let yourself rest easy thinking my mother was the only person you had to worry about. Thinking that after what you did to her, she wouldn’t have the courage to fight fire with fire.”

“Your mother is –”

The firehound at his side snarled, taking a step towards the High Lord and Eris’s smile turned deadly. “I suggest you watch your mouth. Your breaths are already so numbered.”

Beron watched his son with calculating eyes then straightened and it seemed the High Lord had finally reached his limit. “As you wish, boy. You want to try and kill me? Let’s make sure your demise has witnesses.”

Unsheathing his sword, the High Lord slammed it into the ground and the hall shook with the force of it. A line of fire burst from his hand down the blade and Eris watched as the wall of flames that had been hiding them from the crowd disappeared and fire spread through the fissures of the floor, Lucien moving Iris out of the way.

He watched and waited as the High Lord took deep breaths, rage emitting from every inch of him but Eris only smiled and addressed his firehounds.

“You know who to kill. Leave no survivors.” Eris muttered, eyes ablaze and his firehounds scattered through the screaming crowds.

“Your fire won’t save you, boy.” the High Lord said and though his tone was quiet, Eris heard him loud and clear. “Nothing will after I run my blade through your chest.”

“Your threats no longer mean anything to me, father. And I’m tired of your words.”

Unsheathing his own blade, Eris ran a hand down at the length of it, his fire coating the blade. Without breaking his father’s gaze, Eris sliced his palm, gripping the blade until the scent of fresh blood filled the air. Slowly, he then raised the blade in front of him and slashed the air twice, two lines of fire appearing in the air before him.

The world seemed to still, the room going silent at the signal. A breath, then another as Beron straightened, holding his sword and gazing at Eris with a look filled with raw hatred. Eris was vaguely aware of Iris’s beating heart, of Lucien ready to pounce, of both Finn and Izak close by, blades out and coming to stand behind him.

“You know what that symbol is announcing, don’t you, boy?”

“I do.” Eris answered quietly. “Your reign of terror is coming to an end, High Lord and I’ve been waiting to challenge it for a long, long time.”

He took a step and lowered his blade, scraping the tip across the floor in front of him, a line of fire bursting before him.

“As a Prince of Autumn, a son of this court, and with the fire running through my veins, I challenge you to a blood duel till death,” he announced, his voice ringing across the hall. “You have dishonored the throne you sit on and its people you were meant to protect. You have dishonored the Lady of this court and your family. Most importantly, you have dishonored and brought harm to my wife, my mate and for that alone, I will have your head.”

Beron only tilted his head, watching his sons stand before him with narrowed eyes before pulling his sword from the ground and slicing his own palm then scraping his blade across the floor, mirroring Eris’s movement and a line of fire appeared before him. “I accept your challenge.” the High Lord replied coldly. “You have chosen death, Eris. I hope your false sense of justice will be worth it.”

Eris spared his wife and brothers one last look, jerking his head for Lucien to leave before meeting his father’s gaze once more. “Feeling my blade pierce your flesh and watching you take your last breath?” Eris murmured. “I’ve been dreaming of it.”

And there were no more words as Eris and Beron each took a step towards each other, the frenzied energy in the room increasing tenfolds, like a rope tightening around each of their windpipes.

Lucien’s grip tightened gently on Iris, and she could only watch in horror as Eris roared, launching himself at his father before he finally winnowed them out.

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x oc #eris vanserra fanfic #eris x oc #smtb chapters #gfics #acotar fanfiction #The end is near y'all lol.#I am going to reach my goal of publishing it all by the end of the month and i am very emotional about it.#Sorry if you no longer want to be tagged. I assume if you haven't said anything I've kept you here.#thanks for reading :)

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