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wildernessuntothemselves · 1 month 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 · 4 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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hwanchaesong · 10 months ago

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Greetings from,

The Tortured Poets Department

🖋️ In every word, a tormented heart lies / In every sentence, at the end of it are bland goodbyes / In every paragraph, a soul is in the brink of demise 📖

┗🖋️In between fights and smoke / Daydream collides with a poison cloak / Putting nightmares into a tight choke / Fixing it with a lust-filled stroke 📖

Read here

┗🖋️ Starry eyes lighting up the fire / The scorching palms of a squire / Ignites the sensations of ire / A storm, not in peace with a lyre 📖

Read here

┗🖋️ Tears drown you to the moon / A knight appears for you to swoon / He brings forth joy and fortune / Until gold turns into maroon 📖

Read here

┗🖋️ Mayhem, mayhem follows silence / Walks unto the middle a prince / Bringing luck out of fountains / In a vow of shielding the villains 📖

Read here

┗🖋️ A once in a blue moon chance / Sculpts a rose and violet romance / In an ivory and rings trance / Comes a tragic wound by lance 📖

Read here

┗🖋️ Fun, was it, when the poor smile / A wooden home has gone senile / Its soil is nothing but fertile / Yet the fruits are declared as an exile 📖

Read here

┗🖋️ Behind the victory is a spice / Ball tagged onto the prize / Then the touch is nothing but a vice / Inhaled not once, but thrice 📖

Read here

Sincerely,

Yours Truly

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girl4music · 10 months 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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spiritedstars · 10 days 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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lotmoon · 2 months ago

Text

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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katerinaaqu · 4 months ago

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What makes the Heart Beat (An Achilles and Antilochus one-shot)

Somehow a sequel to this:

Antilochus was walking fast. His feet seemed to have grown wings even if he was trying to appear like walking casually. He had no idea what was making his heart beat so fast but he knew he had somehow to hurry up. He had received a note with one of Achilles’s slaves that Achilles requested his presence in his tent. They had grown pretty close recently, especially since the day they had shared their sad fates with each other. Antilochus was even afraid all the time that Achilles still wished for death; he could see it in his sad eyes quite often, however the fact that he gained life every time he saw him was filling him both with joy and relief. Perhaps, the Noblest of all the Greeks would find a reason to live after all. He had promised to protect him and Antilochus believed him. He already felt safer closer to him. As he reached the tent he took one breath. It didn’t matter how many times he had been summoned there or walked in there; Antilochus always felt a bit nervous. Achilles was the greatest of all heroes among them; his idol, and yet he was now so casual with him. It felt surreal and amazing at the same time. He rubbed his chilly hands together as a shiver ran down his spine. Winter as in for good at the foot of Troy. He was wearing his warmer clothes today and he noticed that he would need potentially to wear a coat or a mantle soon. He breathed in and out one last time before walking in. The tent was specious and comfortable as always. Slaves and servants were moving about; they seemed to be setting the benches and the pillows in place. The fire and the coals at the bronze braziers were already creaking friendly and emitting much needed warmth in the tent. His eyes immediately fell upon the central part of the tent and he met the beautiful features of Achilles who immediately gained some life and color to his cheeks upon seeing him. Antilochus shyly brushed a rebellious lock of hair behind his ear.

“You asked for my presence…my lord” he said

“Yes” Achilles replied

For one second Antilochus would swear he seemed almost as nervous as he was for one second!

“I…” the Best of the Achaeans stared, “I got some wine from Pthia today. I was wondering if you wanna share”

The younger man smiled without being able to stop himself. Achilles indeed seemed in need of company.

“Sure” Nestorides replied, “I would be happy to!”

“Then…come! Please come near the fire to get warm!”

Yes, Achilles often did that too. He was a good host, that much he remembered. Whoever got to his tent would eat and drink to their fill while Achilles would play his lyre or talk to them on stuff to keep them entertained. Antilochus took the offer gladly as he approached the bench right next to the man he admired as the servants were already mixing the wine to the crater. Antilochus noticed then the covered object to the other end of the room. He almost smiled again seeing how Achilles was trying to heed his advice and stop having the golden urn in plain sight. He quickly lowered his gaze, feeling Achilles looking at him; not wishing to share more of that thought with him. He didn’t want to rub salt in open wounds. The slaves brought plates with cooked eggs and fish and seasonal fruit as well as golden cups for them to drink from. Achilles had prepared a whole feast! Antilochus half-regretted having a good breakfast that morning so that he could honor his host by appreciating more of his hospitality!

“Please…” Achilles said, fixing a fur cover over his shoulder, “Help yourself. Don’t be shy…”

Antilochus obayed. How could he refuse such an offer? He took an egg and softly chewed on it, feeling also the spice that were sprinkled over it to his tongue. Achilles mimicked the move by cutting a flatbread in half, offering him one half and then lazily biting at the crust but he seemed as without appetite as he could be more. Antilochus noticed that he had barely made himself presentable and that was because of him and his visit. He did seem down as he was that day they firstly talked heart to heart and he felt privileged to sense that his presence might have had some positive effect on him. As the wine was poured in the jug, Achilles made a dismissive move with his hand.

“I won’t need you anymore!” he said almost too harshly even if he wasn’t yelling, “I believe I can pour my own wine. I will entertain my guest. Leave us alone!”

The women did not object as they bowed their heads and left. Antilochus noticed the last to leave stopping and looking with sad eyes towards Achilles, who was busy serving the wine to pay attention to her. She was a beauty of brown eyes and wavy hair to the color of pinewood; she smelt of a fine aromatic oil. Antilochus remembered her around. She was Briseis; Achilles’s most priced woman; his status prize and a woman he had expressed his feelings so strongly for a year before. Briseis sighed sadly, covered herself with her warm vail and exited the tent.

“She’s beautiful…” Antilochus whispered absentmindedly.

Achilles looked up for the first time towards the direction Briseis had left.

“She is…” he whispered honestly, “She means so much to me…but…I have to confess you these days I feel like I cannot stand the sight of her…”

“Why?” Antilochus asked as if on an impulse, taking the cup Achilles had offered him

“You know why…” Achilles whispered

His voice was suddenly husky; raspy even. It was the voice he had when anger was boiling inside him but this time the anger was different. It was self-directed.

“I love her…I care for her but…because of her I…I…”

His hands clenched at his cup.

“Because I…”

“Achilles!” Antilochus whispered pleadingly, “Stop blaming yourself!”

“And who’s there to blame?”

Suddenly Achilles looked at him. His blue eyes were liquid with fresh tears.

“At first I wanted to blame the gods…then Hector…then I had no idea anymore! And yet nothing would have happened if I had listened to him! If only I never sent him in my place!”

“What’s done, it’s done” Antilochus said, “The gods have a weird fate for all of us”

“I…” Achilles wiped his newly shed tears, “I never expected to lose him! I always knew he would bury me! I always expected that I would die first… When we left from Skyros he was almost tearful…”

Antilochus realized how he strategically avoided to speak his name; he felt as if uttering the very sound of his companion’s name would tear him apart.

“He thought he would bid me goodbye…and he tagged along. He knew that I would die…and then…I saw his body…at my feet… I…I had no idea that I…that he…”

The youth saw his idol jerk by some unspoken sob. He had to bring his fist to his mouth to stop the new moan from arising.

“Achilles…”

The man he loved and admired suddenly forced a smile to his face.

“I am such an idiot!” he said, “I am collapsing again! I am here to entertain you not get you all sadder with the same repetitive speech of mine!”

“My lord…please…don’t you think for a moment-…”

“Taste the wine!” Achilles interrupted with a forced cheerfulness, “See the wine from my homeland and let me know”

For one more time Antilochus obeyed and brought the goblet to his lips. He tasted the rich wine to his tongue; it was light, lighter than what he expected and had a juicy flavor that reminded him of summer. He felt the eyes of Achilles on him. He felt like he should say something.

“It is exquisite, my lord…” he managed to utter, “Truly can see how much your homeland means to you”

That seemed to have positive effect for his loved idol smiled, this time genuinely, and took a sip of his own. Antilochus observed the lines of his face; he had the beauty of a woman and the strength of a man. How was it possible, even if he was not taking the same good care of himself?

“I see you started growing your beard” Antilochus mentioned as a matter of fact.

“I do?” Achilles seemed shocked as he touched the light, blonde hair that had started to grow to his chin, “I…didn’t notice…”

Antilochus raised a brow. For one second he remembered that Achilles would be now old enough to grow and take care of his beard but now he seemed genuinely shocked to discover its existence. That also seemed, Antilochus realized, that for one more thing he had abandoned himself.

“I don’t like it. Can you help me?”

“My lord? You don’t feel like taking care of your beard?”

“No” Achilles’s reply left no room for doubt, “P-…he liked my face as it was… I did too. I don’t need beard to tell me that I managed to survive this long! Can you help me?”

“I…” Antilochus rubbed the back of his nape in thought, taking another sip of wine, “I would be delighted to be of assistance but surely you can do it yourself…or one of your slaves can…”

“Right now…I don’t trust my hands much with blades close to me…” Achilles confessed, “And I do not want any of my slaves close now! You are the only company I need! Please…”

Color climbed to Antilochus’s cheeks at that remark. Surely Achilles would have many people to rely on and yet he chose him! Once again his lips curled to a small smile.

“I…I am not sure if I am the best candidate to assist with this, my lord, but I will do my best”

Achilles seemed satisfied. He stood up from his seat and went to a wooden box at the corner and took a dagger out. It was one of his most priced possessions; a dagger made of the rare blue iron of the east. Not many people had such weapons to their disposal. As he came back instead of sitting to his bench he curled upon the sheep rug he would have around the heath of fire. He patted a spot next to him.

“Come nearer the fire…” were his cheekbones painted pink because of the heat of the fire or maybe…? “It’s easier to see here…”

Antilochus gulped and for one more time obeyed. He sat and took the knife before carefully approaching the older man’s face. He focused probably way too much. He almost felt the slightest miscalculation would hurt Achilles’s tender-looking skin. The youth felt almost laughing at himself. Achilles had the fame of being invulnerable to any kind of weapon and yet here he was wondering whether he would scratch him with a blade. And yet his skin looked almost sensitive; as if a drop of rain could damage it! His complexion was pale and rosy, slightly sprinkled with light freckles along the shoulders and arms. Being so close to his face let him see with more detail his blue orbs reflected in the fire; the lips of his that were so soft and expressive all the time. Hands shaking he placed his free hand to the chin of the Son of Peleus trying to focus at how he would shave him better.

“You’re very good at this…”

Antilochus blushed.

“Y-You’re very kind, my lord…”

“I might call you to do it next time too!” Achilles teased him

“D-Don’t tease me, Achilles!”

“I’m being serious!” Achilles chuckled in response

“Y-You don’t sound serious!” Antilochus complained, “Anyway…I think I am done”

Achilles felt across his chin. He made a hum of approval but he didn’t say anything. The corner of his eye followed Antilochus’s movement as he attempted to return the dagger.

“Keep it” Achilles said softly, pushing it towards him

“N-No! I can’t possibly…!”

“Keep it…” Achilles repeated, “So you can have something to remember me…when…when I…”

“Achilles! Please don’t! Don’t say that! I told you-…”

“Let’s be realistic here” Achilles finally said, “That is my fate. Whether I stop talking about it or not will make no difference. I will do my best to protect you, Antilochus!”

It was the first time Achilles had actually voiced his name that day and Antilochus felt a shiver down his spine, feeling the syllables that consisted it running to Achilles’s tongue.

“You won’t die in Troy while I live! I promised you that! But I know I will not leave Troy…so, please, I want you to have this…to remember me…perhaps my spirit will be with you the time when…when your fate is to strike you, maybe this dagger will stop it from appearing…”

Antilochus clenched the deadly weapon to his chest, feeling his heart increasing a beat. What made this man’s heart beat, he wondered? How could he find that so that he would gain more faith that perhaps his own fate was not irreversible? Somehow he knew he sounded like a naive child by thinking that but he wouldn’t bear the thought of losing him either; for once he understood his other half, the name avoided all evening; Patroclus. Patroclus; a man he so much envied and felt sorry for but mostly the envy was that he could influence the heart of this great man so effortlessly, even if he was so far away now while he, Antilochus, had to struggle to make himself adequate to the situation! He felt ashamed of his jealousy and yet he couldn’t help himself. Perhaps that was what kept him going now.

“Thank you, my dear…” he finally said, “I will treasure it always”

“It’s yours…” Achilles whispered

The silence that passed between them was both awkward and tensed. Neither of them stood up to go back to their seats. In fact they continued getting warmed up by the fire and each other’s presence. It was as if the benches were too far apart; and this closeness was warm. He thought he should say something to break the ice but, unexpectedly, it was Achilles the one to smile again and speak.

“Do you want me to play something for you?”

“If that would please you, my lord…”

“I am asking you!” Achilles said with a light laugh, “You are my guest. You shall tell me how you want to be entertained!”

Antilochus drew one more sip of wine and smiled back. It truly felt amazing that he had the impact on him that he could make him smile.

“Then…I would be delighted to hear you play, my lord.”

Once more, the man dear to his heart smiled and rose only to fetch his lyre from the hanger he kept it. He sat back down and placed the fur blanket over his shoulders anew. After taking a few minutes to tune his instrument, Achilles began to play a light melody. Antilochus realized he could hear him play for hours. He would only stop to sip some wine and ask him if there was something else he wanted to hear. Eventually he grew tired and he needed to fetch more wine from the crater. He placed the lyre on the bench he sat before and rose to fetch the newly filled jug. Antilochus smiled, watching him. Everything was so out of the heart with Achilles! Achilles eyed towards his head; his hair, seeing the hairpin that was holding it together. With one move he pulled that hairpin out and Antilochus felt his hair cascade down his shoulders.

“Achilles!” he almost shrieked, “Give that back!”

“Not on your life!” Achilles chuckled, then turning serious again he whispered, “You have very beautiful hair.”

Antilochus felt blood climbing to his head again.

“I-I do? Never thought of it”

“Let me braid it for you…” Achilles suggested, “To return the favor for the shave”

Antilochus felt he couldn’t blush more but apparently he could!

“I-If that would please you, my lord…”

“It would!” Achilles replied playfully.

The young son of Nestor gulped a bit and showed Achilles his back. The prince of Pthia softly pulled all the locks back and combed the wavy, dark brown hair with his fingers. Antilochus’s long hair cascaded almost all the way to his hips. He had fathomed he should trim it a bit to stop getting in his way. Feeling Achilles’s light fingers work on the several pieces of hair, carefully already arranging it in small braids made his heart beat faster. Once more he wondered what made Achilles’s own heart beat because his had a pretty obvious reason!

“Your hair seem as if made to be braided!” he heard Achilles whispering

“I…” he stammered back, “I never thought of doing that before…I usually thug it high in my helmet”

“Shame” Achilles commented, “It really suits you”

Feeling the care in those fingers, Antilochus wondered; did he use to do that to Patroclus as well? Or Patroclus used to do that for him? He heard him hum as if trying to surpass a laughter.

“What?”

“Nothing” Achilles dismissed it, “It is just…I remember the first day you came here…”

“Y-You still remember that!?” Antilochus blushed

“Of course. You rushed in this tent asking for my support to your decision to fight; to make your father understand, you said”

“And you helped me…like nothing…”

“How could I refuse such a brave offering? Although…”

His movements stopped for one second.

“...Hearing the fate you had in store…I regret it…”

“Don’t!”

Antilochus turned around all of the sudden and he held Achilles’s hands in his.

“Don’t you ever say you regret it! It was my decision back then! It was my decision to stay even if I overheard the conversation of my father’s! I am scared, yes, but you have nothing to be blamed for! And I know you said you will protect me. That is enough for me! You do not need to apologize all the time for the games of fate that befall others! Please don’t do that, dear to my heart! Please!”

There was some silence between them anew but Achilles smiled.

“Yes…you are right. Forgive me…”

Forgive you! Forgive you! How can I forgive you and your heart big enough to fit us all! Antilochus wanted to scream and yet he remained silent. He let Achilles finish.

“There! I believe I did a decent job!” he approached the bronze spectrum to his face

Antilochus faced himself as he never saw it before; his wavy hair was half-arranged at some small braids Achilles had tied together with some colorful strings he had cut off the edge of his shawl, while Antilochus had his back at him! He was at loss of words.

“I-Is that me…?” he whispered feeling like an idiot for saying this

“It is!” Achiles chuckled, “I told you, you have beautiful hair!”

Antilochus eyed Achilles as well. His hair was cut short for the funeral of Patroclus. Now it had started to grow again but barely touched his shoulders. He lowered his eyes. This man knew how to love; he had loved with a passion he never saw in any other mortal! Achilles seemed to him like the expert to the matters of the heart!

“Achilles…” Antilochus hesitated, “Don’t get me wrong but…I have a silly question.”

“Hm? Shoot” Achilles drank some more wine

“How…how did you realize…you know…”

“Realize what?”

“You know…” Antilochus blushed again, “That you…feel something for someone. I mean…” he looked down in his cup, “You tell me sometimes on your wife and child and all…”

“Oh. That…”

Was that disappointment in his voice? Fatigue? New sadness?

“It’s hard to tell…I mean…Deidamia is a very good woman; a strong and kind woman. She bore me a son but I barely could see his first steps happening before coming to Troy. I care deeply for both; their well-being and safety. I guess that is a sign enough…”

He was strategically avoiding the subject again. He knew that if he had asked this man about his most intense emotions he would probably break down, cry and be much more descriptive than that. However the explanation he gave was good enough on its own.

“My father got me married when I was 13 too…”

“He didn’t!” Achilles banged his hand down the fleece

That look on his face was a genuine childish happiness Antilochus hadn’t see before! He was genuinely shocked in the most positive way; especially that he heard something new about his new companion! That gave Antilochus the boost to continue.

“I suppose he wanted us all to be able to have a family as soon as possible. He had always a big family and he was already getting older back then. I guess he wanted to make sure that we could start our family soon to be with them for as long as possible… I think I left my wife pregnant before embarking for Troy!”

“No!” once again the same look of childish enthusiasm and disbelief emerged

Antilochus wondered if the wine they had both drunk so far made him more cheerful, finally letting go of some of his sadness. In fact for one second he thought he had something in common that he didn’t have with Patroclus! They had the same fate with their spouses!And this new connection made him so happy; more than what he could express!

“Well…” he started, “That’s what I think. I left for Troy soon after but I think that was what she was trying to tell me.”

“How are they?”

Antilochus shrugged.

“I don’t know, haven’t heard anything of them for five years ever since I came here…”

“Ah…good…” Achilles mumbled absentmindedly

Realizing what he said made him once more gasp and raise his hands in defense.

“No! I mean…not good! That is not good definitely!”

Antilochus chuckled lightly. Maybe he too was getting cheerful by the wine after all. But once more he realized how much better suited this smile to Achilles over sadness.

“No need to worry too much, Achilles.” he reassured him, “The reason I am asking is exactly because I am not sure of my feelings on them. I mean I barely knew them. Of course I care for their safety and all but if I am honest I still feel like a child now, yet alone back then. I was barely out of my childhood…and yet being prepared for a family…”

He turned the drink in his cup in thought.

“I am not sure how to feel about it…”

“I understand” Achilles said sincerely, “I know how that feels like…”

“Yes, you do, don’t you? I knew you would understand…”

“It will come with time, I suppose…” the prince of Pthia replied, “it is a matter of time till you can go back home and see them again and…catch up, you know…”

“Perhaps…”

For some reason that day seemed way too distant; almost unimportant compared to the present; to this closeness with the greatest of all heroes on earth. Achilles took a mischievous expression as he smiled.

“So…have you ever since…you know!”

Antilochus once more blushed. He had lost counting how many times he did!

“I-…of course I did…once or twice…here I mean. Some slaves my father gave me that is… Can’t say I am that much invested to it!”

He cleared his throat.

“What about you?”

“No…” the answer was again immediate, “Not ever since…”

“I understand!” Antilochus rushed to stop the train of his thoughts

The last he wanted was to let Achilles sink to melancholy anew; not now that he had experienced his happiness and laughter! Achilles seemed to take the cue and stop. However then he half-smirked again as if he was about to say some good gossip.

“And have you ever experienced…you know?”

It took him ten seconds to realize what the Noblest of all Greeks was implying and when he did, he swore all the liters of his blood had climbed to his face, almost making him explode. He had no idea why he reacted like that but the question resonated way too deep for his own good!

“N-No!” he replied, perhaps louder than what he intended, “Never…I mean I came here so…I never had… way too many experiences of that kind anyways!”

It was way too awkward for some reason; why was his heart hammering against his ribcage?

“Antilochus…” Achilles whispered drawing his attention

And he then felt the warm, slightly calloused from the sword palm against his cheek. His face slowly turned and then Achilles’s soft lips were against his own. He forgot how to breathe! It took him several seconds till his paralyzed brain realized it was the pair of lips massaging his softly. And then all his mind could think was; Achilles! Achilles is kissing me! His lips tasted of wine and spices, his body had a slight essence of sweat combined with the smoke of the fire…he was warm. Antilochus felt the warmth spread in him like a wave. Achilles was kissing him in a slow and methodical manner; like a person that knew what he was doing; a man far more experienced than what Antilochus was in affairs and intimacy…and Antilochus felt like flying; the touch against his lips and the ghost-touch of that thumb to his cheek…the magic of the moment had left him speechless and out of reality. The soft lip-locking lasted only a few seconds and those seconds seemed like eternity; like the Elysian Fields! All his contact with reality was lost for those few seconds! Achilles pulled back, massaging his cheek with his finger.

“That’s how it feels…” he whispered against his lips

He let him go and only then was the magic evaporating.

“Achilles!” Antilochus screeched, “Please stop playing with me!”

“I am not”

Was that sincerity in his look? Antilochus was way too embarrassed to speak!

“But…” the elder man smirked, “You make it irresistible not to tease you!”

His head seemed ready to explode. For one second he wondered what that proposal was all about and the second he felt like he was the one to misunderstand! Achilles was reserved as well. It was as if he was unprepared for the consequences of his own actions. He brushed some hair behind his ear.

“I-I..need to go…” Antilochus said standing up

“Of course. I understand. It’s late” Achilles replied numbly

“Y-yeah… Thank you very much for the wine…and the meal! It was great”

“Sure…” Achilles once more reply

For one second he seemed worried as he added;

“You will come over again, right?”

His eyes looked almost hurt; as if he was afraid his joke or not so much had ruined their relationship they built so far. Antilochus smiled a bit.

“Of course” that was said very easily. “I would be delighted…m-my lord”

“Good! Be careful on your way back!”

“I-I will!”

And he left the tent…

Antilochus was running like his feet had grown wings! He had no idea what had happened or why he felt so curious not to mention eager to see the next stage of this! All his accumulated emotions; admiration, sympathy, worry, fear, jealousy and now this weird new desire that arose made him feel ready to explode! He ignored several of the slaves that walked past him (daresay he must have bumped into several of them) or of several soldiers that tried to stop him or ask him what was wrong. Antilochus didn’t stop until his breath was cut off. He then halted and leaned against a wooden pike of a tent, breathing heavily; his breath coming in white clouds in the evening winter cold. He clasped the dagger to his chest; the dagger that touched the flesh of Achilles and now that was given to him as a gift or as memorial and he tried to put his thoughts in order; he couldn’t remember when was the last time someone kissed him like this! Was it is wife on their wedding night? He highly doubted it; they were both young, scared and unsure. It definitely was not one of the slaves he bedded at the camp; none of them had any reason to be passionate with him; for once he was not particularly experienced or daring as a lover and for second they were slaves; they were probably afraid of him deep down. Achilles was the first person to kiss him first! The first person to add so many emotions in one kiss and, by gods, it was just a soft and chaste touch!

“Oh gods…!” he mumbled, “Gods…!”

His heart was hammering against his chest at the memory; the lips against his; the hand on his cheek… His idol had kissed him…his hero had held him closer than ever before! He wondered what that meant; was it just a moment’s tease? A moment of weakness and loneliness…or was it maybe a promise? A potential promise for more? He shook his head violently at the thought, trying to pull his thoughts together.

“Focus!” he said to himself, “You have a war to fight! Achilles relies on you! Stop having weird thoughts like this! If Achilles means something like that…he will let you know!”

And yet his hand touched his hammering heart. And then he wondered maybe that was what made the heart beat after all and maybe that was the answer to his question; somehow he knew now…that he knew how it felt!

Achilles was left alone in his tent after Antilochus left. He couldn’t find his voice not even to call the slaves back in and gather the remains of their meal… The silence was chocking him and yet he couldn’t feel himself break it! He was shocked at himself; the reaction that started as a joke, potentially pushed by the wine they had consumed; a mutual teasing about their love life made him move fast and taste the boy’s lips! And that chaste touch had awoken something inside him he had thought frozen ever since he gathered the ashes of his other half from the funeral pyre! That young man who apparently could understand him in every shape or form had somehow awakened this new or rather the old and forgotten feeling inside him; had awakened his need to live, his will to protect and now this… He clenched the hair pin he had somehow forgotten to return to Antilochus. It still bore one or two of his brown hairs on it. He clenched it against his beating heart. And now there was another feeling he knew well; guilt… He eyed the cloth that was hanging like a silent ghost. He had not even the strength to stand. Only he crawled to the spot and grasped the piece of linen, pulling it down. The golden urn came back on sight. Achilles then felt his throat burn; tied in a knot.

“Forgive me…” he whispered

His trembling hand touched the cold, golden surface.

“F-Forgive me…heart of my heart…I can’t do this anymore!” he whispered

Tears arose from his eyes, streaming down his cheeks. The pin was clasped in his hand against his chest; like a sinful proof of a criminal action.

“I can’t bear this anymore…! The loneliness…the longing! Forgive me…! Please try to understand! I can’t keep pushing people away…f-for you…!”

He moaned in desperation.

“Oh gods…!” he mumbled, “Forgive me for my words! My beloved! Soul of my soul…dear as my own life and heart! Forgive me! But I cannot do this anymore! I am alive! I am not a corpse! I cannot keep going like this! Forgive me…forgive me! Please! Try to understand…”

He had no idea what made his heart beat more;

The past the present or the nonexistent future?

****

Soooo it has become colder around here so I got inspired for another fluffy thing after also a conversation with @ellilyre about these two and I just couldn't help but explore a bit more the possibility!

So yeah fluffy stuff!

Antilochus according to some versions of the myth he was too young at the beginning of the war but at the 5th year he arrived to Troy and asked for Achilles to support his decision to fight because Nestor had objections being terrified by the prophecy

Once again I wanted to create some more tragic climate for Achilles because I so agree with people who say he was not prepared to lose Patroclus but he loses him. Now he makes a promise that he will protect Antilochus but as we know Antilochus would die by the hands of Memnon

According some myths Antilochus was also married and left an heir behind so I wanted to include that here!

I based Antilochus's description on his depiction at a vase.

The detail with the iron dagger was inspired by a conversation I had with @captnbunnie Homer mentions Iron as anachronism in his poems however iron was not completely unknown (although not widely used) so yeah decided to sneak it in as well and make it a bit more "period accurate" by making it some luxury item.

And decided to add the emotional conflict here. What do you think? Let me know!

Once again special mention to @ellilyre and of course my dear friend @artsofmetamoor because most of my work reflects a lot stories we work together with!

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ameagrice · 1 year ago

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chapter thirty | fine line

percy jackson x fem reader

There are silver streaks shared by Annabeth and Percy, scattered through their hair.

It’s something that will connect them forever, you know for certain. It’s a symbol of a shared strength.

It’s just one more thing to make your heart melt.

Realistically, you should feel nothing but proud of them both, and in your own way, you do. But there has been too much loss to feel any sort of good from the ending, and you can’t get Zoe Nightshade’s death from your mind.

“I can see the stars, my lady,” she whispered, so gently you’d barely heard her at all. The wound on her side gaped, and bled, the golden ichor of an immortal on her way out. An inch of a smile appeared on her face, struggling, before it dropped, and the light faded from Zoe Nightshade’s eyes. A wisp of silvery light lifted from her lips, drifting up into the air, before it, too, faded.

In the sky, the stars showed an image of a girl, running across the sky. Zoe Nightshade had, finally, found her peace.

Atlas was in his rightful place. His daughter had been stolen from the world. Luke Castellan was kicked to his death by Thalia’s action.

Except, they couldn’t find a body.

Body, upon body, upon body. They just kept piling up.

Bianca; Zoe; Luke. Lost lives; people who could have had so much more than they were given.

But Gods who couldn’t care any less.

And if you had to, you’d bet they didn’t even know their names.

You could see now, just why Luke was so angry. Because you felt it too. And it was terrifying.

“You don’t believe me about Luke,” Annabeth said, sounding faded amongst your thoughts. “We’ll see him again. He’s just under Kronos’s spell.”

Thalia jolted away, somehow seemingly unbothered by the height at which you travelled in the sky, Artemis in the lead. “There it is,” she pointed, sitting up. “It’s started.”

“What’s started?” Percy leaned forward, catching your hair between his hand on the seat he held onto. You didn’t say anything.

High above the Empire State Building, Olympus was its own island of light. A mountain ablaze with torches and braziers.

“The Winter Solstice,” she breathed. “The Council of the Gods.”

In the early-morning darkness, torches and fires made the mountainside palaces glow twenty different colors, from bloodred to indigo. Apparently no one ever slept on Olympus. The twisting streets were full of demigods and nature spirits and minor godlings bustling about, riding chariots or sedan chairs carried by Cyclopes. Winter didn’t seem to exist here. The scent of the gardens in full bloom, jasmine and roses and even sweeter filled your senses. Music drifted up from many windows, the soft sounds of lyres and reed pipes.

Towering at the peak of the mountain was the greatest palace of all, the glowing white hall of the gods.

You touched ground outside towering, silver gates, just inside the courtyard. Pegasi travel was rather terrifying, and you were much more than glad to be alive and on the ground. Olympus glowed with warm, the kind that settled in your bones. The warm wind, blowing from nowhere, shifted your hair when you clambered down to the ground.

“Yeah,” Percy muttered.

“Huh?”

Percy froze. “Uh—the horse. Sorry! Pegasi.”

A laugh escaped you, startling in the night. Thalia turned, eyebrow raised. “Why are you talking to a horse? It didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t I tell you? Haven’t I told you?” He averted his gaze.

“What,” you landed your hand on your hip, waving the other to the pegasi. “You talk to animals now, too, like Grover?”

“Just sea creatures. And horses. Pegasi, sorry!”

“Yeah, you’ll really have to explain that later,” you trailed off. “We’ve got more important matters at hand.”

The Pegasi flew off, leaving yourself, Percy, Thalia and your sister together. You liked to think, years later, laying on the glass floor of a ship, that you were all trying to gather the courage after everything to step inside the giant building, and face gods you had once only ever heard about in stories.

Side-by-side, you walked into the throne room.

Twelve enormous thrones made a U around a central hearth, just like the placement of the cabins at camp. The ceiling above glittered with constellations—even the newest one, Zoë the Huntress, making her way across the heavens with her bow drawn.

All of the seats were occupied. Each god and goddess was about fifteen feet tall. Under their judging eyes, despite your own mother being one of them, you were uncomfortable.

“Welcome, heroes,” Artemis said.

“Mooo!”

That was when you noticed Bessie and Grover, the latter standing at the side of a pool of water which Bessie swam in.

“Grover! You made it.”

He started to run towards your friends, then stopped, and looked back at Zeus, who up close, felt a lot scarier than he looked. You only realized then, that there was a major difference in terror of humans, and the intimidation of gods. You could deal with this kind.

“Go on,” Zeus nodded once. But he wasn’t looking at Grover—he was looking at Thalia.

None of the gods spoke. Grover’s hooves echoed on the marble floor, Bessie the Ophiotaurus mooing warmly at your arrival.

You took the time to observe the gods up close, because you might never get the chance to again. Artemis, looking as if she hadn’t ever even been hold hostage, watched the exchange between Percy and Grover. Percy’s father, Poseidon, dressed so casually you might have laughed in other circumstances, had this sort of barely-there smile on his face, bright eyes shining just the way Percy’s own did, too. Apollo, sunglasses covering his eyes, had his earbuds in, golden head of hair tilted back to the ceiling. And…

Ares. It was impossible to not feel him looking at you. Why the special interest, you wanted to ask. Do you see yourself in me? You wondered. Do I see myself in you?

Your eyes met his dark ones, a stark difference, between the extreme fatigue, and the colors. Your eyes burned with exhaustion and the tears you had shed since yesterday. He wore his signature black leather jacket, dark, dark hair being tousled by Aphrodite’s touch. When it was obvious her husband wasn’t looking at her, perched at his side, her love-ridden smile slowly fell away, and those sparkling eyes fell on you as well.

Or maybe it’s you, I see myself in. Too romantic. Too caught up in feelings. After all, you only had so much love to spare between friends, and the dead ones.

What do you see in me? You were desperate to ask, curiosity clawing at your chest. Why am I the way I am?

Gods sometimes took a special interest in heroes. All the tales told you so. You just had to wonder, what would come of this.

Ragged and bruised, you felt as though you were being picked apart under the watchful eyes of so many olympians.

You hadn’t realized Grover was doing the rounds until he yanked you into a hug. You found it in yourself to hug him back—at least he was still alive.

“Glad you made it,” you whispered.

“You too.” He nodded. Neither of you smelled amazing after this quest, but it went uncared for. A trouble shared is a trouble deeply understood.

“You have to convince them,” he said to the remaining four of you. “They can’t do it!”

“Do what?” You blinked.

“Heroes,” Artemis called. The goddess slid down from her throne and turned to human size, a young auburn-haired girl, perfectly at ease in the midst of the giant Olympians. She walked toward your little group, her silver robes shimmering. There was no emotion in her face. She seemed to walk in a column of moonlight.

“The Council has been informed of your deeds,” Artemis spoke loudly, addressing everyone in a steady, clear tone. “They know that Mount Othrys is rising in the West. They know of Atlas’s attempt for freedom, and the gathering armies of Kronos. We have voted to act.”

There was some mumbling and shuffling among the olympians, as if they weren’t all happy with this plan, but nobody protested.

“At my Lord Zeus’s command,” Artemis said, “my brother Apollo and I shall hunt the most powerful monsters, seeking to strike them down before they can join the Titans’ cause. Lady Athena shall personally check on the other Titans to make sure they do not escape their various prisons. Lord Poseidon has been given permission to unleash his full fury on the cruise ship Princess Andromeda and send it to the bottom of the sea. And as for you, my heroes…”

She turned to face the other immortals.

And that, was the moment you saw your mother for the first time.

Dressed in a beautiful white dress, draped over one shoulder, her eyes, as gray as your own, as gray as Annabeth’s appeared lost in thought. You took the chance to just look at the woman you never thought you would meet.

“I gotta say—” Apollo cleared his throat. “These heroes did okay.” He began to recite. “Heroes win laurels—”

“Um, yes, first class,” Hermes interrupted with a side-eye in his brother’s direction. You were unable to help the smirk. “All in favor of not disintegrating them?”

A few tentative hands went up: Aphrodite, Demeter, Apollo—waving his iPod.

“Hang on a minute,” Ares growled, sitting up on his throne. He pointed at Thalia and Percy, on the other side of Annabeth. “These two are dangerous. It’d be much safer, while we’ve got them here—”

Don’t say anything, you begged yourself. Even Annabeth elbowed you.

“Ares,” Poseidon interrupted. “They are worthy heroes. We will not blast my son to bits.”

“Nor my daughter,” grumbled Zeus. “She has done well.”

You leaned forward around your sister, who visibly shook, pale, in need of a lie down from the looks of things. Thalia blushed—you grinned wickedly. All the things you could do with this moment in the future.

Athena cleared her throat. Annabeth sighed. The goddess leaned forward. “I am proud of my daughters, as well. But I agree—there is a security issue with the other two.”

Annabeth elbowed you a little too late, this time.

“Mother!” You exclaimed.

Your heart dropped and splattered on the ground. Never had you addressed her as such. And never had she looked you in the face the way she did now.

Too late to back out, now.

“How can you just—”

Athena cut you off with a girl, but calm look. “It is unfortunate that my father, Zeus, and my uncle, Poseidon, chose to break their oath not to have more children. Only Hades kept his word, a fact that I find ironic. As we know from the Great Prophecy, children of the three elder gods…such as Thalia and Percy…are dangerous. As thickheaded as he is, Ares has a point.”

“Right!” Ares said. “Hey, wait a minute. Who you callin’—”

He started to get up, but a grape vine grew around his waist like a seat belt and pulled him back down.

“Oh, please, Ares,” Dionysus sighed. “Save the fighting for later.”

Ares cursed and ripped away the vine. “You’re one to talk, you old drunk. You seriously want to protect these brats?”

Dionysus gazed wearily. “I have no love for them. Athena, do you really think it wise to destroy them?”

“I do not pass judgement,” she said. “I only point out the risk. What we do, the Council must decide.”

“I will not have them punished,” Artemis cut in hotly. “I will have them rewarded. If we punish heroes who do us such a great favour, then we are no better than the titans, are we not? If this is Olympian justice, I will have none of it.”

“Calm down, sis,” Apollo scoffed. “Chill. Jeez, you need to lighten up.”

“Don’t call me sis! I will reward them!”

“Well, perhaps. But the monster must be destroyed. We have agreement on that?”

“Bessie?” Percy burst out. “You want to destroy Bessie?”

Your heart swelled. Gosh, he cared. It was lovely.

And then you wanted to slap yourself.

What was up with the emotions lately?

Poseidon frowned. “You have named the Ophiotaurus Bessie?”

“Dad,” Percy said. “He’s just a sea creature. A really nice sea creature. You can’t destroy him.”

Poseidon shifted uncomfortably, a trait Percy shared with him, you noted. “Percy, it’s power is considerable. If the titans were to steal it, or—”

“You can’t,” Percy insisted.

Zeus opened his mouth, looking as though he was getting antsier by the second. But you had experience with this sort of thing that needed a good negotiation, so you cut in.

“Controlling the prophecies never works. Isn’t that true?” You tried, stepping forward. All eyes landed on you, and you swallowed. “Have we not just experienced it? Are we not experiencing it now? The Ophiotaurus is innocent. Killing something like that is wrong. It’s as wrong as Kronos eating his children just because of something they might do.”

Zeus looked to be considering it. You breathed heavily, in a mild panic after consulting the king of the gods head on. If he wanted to, you could be zapped out of existence in less than a second.

“And what of the risk? Kronos knows full well, if one of you were to sacrifice the beast’s entrails you would have the power to destroy all of us. Do you think we can let this possibility remain? You, my daughter, will turn sixteen on the morrow, just as the prophecy says.”

“You have to trust them,” you tried, pleading with your eyes. “Please, you have to trust them.”

Zeus scowled. “Trust a hero?”

“She is right,” Artemis nodded slowly. “Which is why I must first make a reward. My faithful companion, Zoe Nightshade, has passed into the stars. I must have a new lieutenant. And I intend to choose one, but first, father Zeus, I must speak with you privately.”

Zeus beckoned Artemis forward, leaning to listen as she whispered to him.

“Annabeth,” Percy whispered from behind you. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Look, I need to tell you something. I couldn’t stand it if—I don’t want you to—”

Artemis turned. “I will have a new lieutenant, if she will accept it. Thalia, daughter of Zeus, will you join the Hunt?”

Your jaw almost dropped. Stunned silence filled the room.

“I will,” Thalia said firmly. She moved to your side, and then a little bit further ahead. Confident.

Zeus rose, his eyes full of concern. “My daughter, consider well—”

Don’t let him change your mind, you prayed. Hold your ground.

“Father, I will not turn sixteen tomorrow,” she shook her head. “I will never turn sixteen. I won’t let this prophecy be mine. I stand with my sister Artemis. Kronos will not tempt me again.”

She knelt down before Artemis, and repeated the same words Bianca had uttered what felt like years ago at the cliff side in the snow and weary sunlight.

When she had finished, she hugged each of you and said a few words. You felt awkward, putting your hands into your coat pockets, when Thalia stood in front of you. For once, there was no spiteful comments from either one of you. She smiled small, looking rejuvenated the same way Bianca had, as if the quest had never happened.

“You’re a good friend,” she nodded. “You’re brave. You’ve got what it takes to help them with this prophecy.” And then she leaned in, and hugged you just as she had with Annabeth and Grover and Percy. “Trust yourself.”

Thalia went and stood with Artemis, and the atmosphere changed instantly.

“Now, for the Ophiotaurus.”

“The boy is still dangerous,” Mr. D. opposed. The beast is a temptation to great power. Even if we spare the boy—”

“No.” Percy said firmly. “Please. Keep the Ophiotaurus safe. My dad can hide him under the sea somewhere, or keep him in an aquarium here. But you have to protect him.”

“And why should we trust you?”

“I’m only fourteen. If this prophecy is about me, that’s only two more years.”

“Two years for Kronos to deceive you,” Athena uttered. “Much can change in two years, young hero. It is only the truth. It is bad strategy to keep the boy alive. And the animal.”

Poseidon stood. “I will not have the creature destroyed if I can help it. And I can, help it.”

He held out his hand, and a spear shimmering with blue light appeared. “I will vouch for the boy and the safety of the Ophiotaurus.”

“You won’t take it under the sea!” Zeus stood suddenly. “I won’t have that kind of bargaining chip in your possession.”

“Brother, please,” Poseidon sighed.

Zeus’s lightening bolt appeared in his hand, and the whole room filled with the smell of ozone.

“Fine,” Poseidon nodded. “I will build an aquarium for the sea creature here, with the help of Hephaestus. The creature will be safe. The boy will not betray us. I vouch for this on my honor.”

Zeus thought about it. “All in favor?”

A dozen hands went up, besides Mr. D, your mother’s, and Ares just sat looking bored.

“We have a majority. And so, since we are not destroying these heroes, I imagine we should reward them.”

—

There are parties, and then there are Olympian parties. And Olympian parties are filled with gold and beautiful colours, exotic flowers and the Muses music, braziers of fire, and delicious food and drinks. It became busy very quickly, and before you knew it, you found yourself stumbling into a corner to get yourself together. All you wished to do was go to your cabin and cry. To let it all out.

“This doesn’t look like you’re partying.”

“What the hell are you? A spy? Just leave me alone.” You shoved yourself further into the corner just away from all the partying, a quiet corridor devoid of anything but cold marble and tall, golden ceilings.

Ares hummed lowly. You didn’t have to see him, shoved into the corner like a child, but you knew he was just on the other side of it.

“I’ll let you off just this once, demigod.”

You rolled your eyes. The marble edges dug into your back uncomfortably from how hard you were trying to disappear for a few minutes. “What do you want? Spit it out.”

“If you weren’t her’s, I would say you’re one of mine. You’ve got the fire, I’ll give you that. And my wife has taken a special interest in you and that boy. Her business is my business, you’ll understand. Since you’re her business, now, you’re my business, too.”

You wanted to scream at him to leave, to go away so you could breathe for five minutes. But…you really wanted to know what he had to say. Curiosity always got the better of you.

“I don’t want to be anybody’s business,” you settled on, weakly. “I’m my own person.”

“Whatever, kid. I’m just here to pass along a message.”

“Which is?”

“She says, you’re doing exactly what you should be doing.”

“Oh, really?”

You shoved away from the corner, and paused.

He’d already gone.

—

Making your way back into the crowd was the last thing you wanted to do, but it would be best to show your face for a little while. Eventually you made your way back to Percy. He smiled as you popped up next to him, and then slowly frowned. His green eyes glistened under all the lights.

“You’ve been crying,” he reached up, and then lowered his hand, unsure of what to do.

You laughed pitifully. “Yeah.”

Because, really, what more could you say? It was rather obvious. And you sounded as if you’d just developed the world’s worst cold and stuffy nose.

Percy still stared at you, concerned. It was touching, really.

“I’m just tired.” You nodded. “I promise. When we get back to camp you might not see me for a couple weeks. I’m about to fall off the face of the earth in sleep mode.”

He smiled, tight-lipped, those eyes dancing across your face. For the first time ever under Percy’s eyes, you felt self-conscious.

“I’ll clean up later. My dad always says I look like I’ve just done thirty rounds of coke after crying. It’s funny because it’s true,” you tried lightly.

Percy’s dark curls shook. “No,” he denied. “I think you look…I think you look pretty—uh—I mean—”

Your heart jumped into your throat, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. Because AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

“Uhm—” you frantically tried for something to do; hair behind your ears, leaning back and forth on your heels. “Thank you. Thanks.” Heat flooded your cheeks. Percy was already scarlet in the face, nodding frantically, avoiding your eyes.

When you looked up, Athena watched from a distance, and then looked away, as if she hadn’t been interested at all. But you weren’t about to let her ruin what just happened—Percy called you pretty.

“I was thinking,” he shoved out. You turned your head, blinking expectantly. “I owe you a dance, don’t I? We got interrupted at Westover Hall, right?”

This time, you allowed yourself to smile, your heart and lungs expanding.

“Right.” You took his hand, shaking.

The music played on, a gentle tune of the future, the past, and the present.

—

Chiron greeted you all at the Big House with hot chocolate and toasted cheese sandwiches. Grover went off to his satyr friends, telling them all about his brief experience with Pan.

Annabeth, Percy and yourself sat with Chiron by the fire. A couple of others joined you, too—Clarisse, back from a quest of her own it seemed. Her hair was cut short, like somebody had hacked it with scissors without a care, and there was a jagged scar on her chin. For once, she kept quiet.

“I got news,” she said glumly. “Bad news.”

“I’ll fill you in later,” Chiron said with forced cheerfulness. “The important thing is you’ve prevailed. And you’ve saved Annabeth!”

The Stoll brothers were there, too. You hadn’t even looked Travis in the eye. The high of the short dance with Percy had worn off, that tiny spark of normality had gone, and left you with the sadness you’d been feeling before it. You struggled with getting Bianca and Zoe’s deaths from the front of your mind, and Thalia’s moving on. Everybody was leaving, it felt like. And everybody was too happy for what had happened along the way.

Percy, sitting next to you in front of the fire, felt the same. You could tell by the sheer look of something bordering on a deep sadness he had.

You didn’t speak.

Annabeth talked about Atlas, and where she had been kept. She yawned the whole way through, still shaking with weakness even after some ambrosia.

Chiron’s positivity spread a little bit to you tired campers, but in the end, the unwavering need to go somewhere and cry won. You set down your mug of hot chocolate, and walked away. Another chair scratched the floor behind you, as you walked away toward the fields.

“Let her be,” you heard Chiron utter. “She needs time.”

You heard happy babbling just as you wandered away, boyish, childish talking. You looked to the left, and there was Nico di Angelo, two figurines in hands, talking to himself the way children tend to do. Every organ in your body twisted painfully, and you got away before he could see you. You couldn’t be the one to tell him Bianca was long gone. You still didn’t want to believe it yourself.

The air was bitter cold, your fingertips numb already. Snow fell lightly as you wandered into where you probably shouldn’t have been. You didn’t get far until his voice caught you up.

“Scout?”

You stopped, the snow crunching quietly. Behind you, Travis grew closer until he was right in front of you. You hadn’t even realized how tall he’d gotten until you saw him again, like seeing him in a different light.

Bundled in a red sweater and jeans, a coat and scarf atop of that, he still shivered.

“I just need to go for a walk. I’ll be alright later.” You shrugged.

Silence captured the air. Until he said, “Chiron…mentioned what happened to Nico’s sister. And the Hunter girl. Zoe. I’m—I’m so sorry.”

The first tear fell without any effort. And then you grew too cold too quickly. And crumbled.

He enveloped you instantly, as if without thought—like the action would be unknown, to hesitate in your arms. Against his warm, soft chest, Travis’s heart beat gently against your ear, his hands coming up carefully to your back, to your shoulder.

Safety.

And at the end of it—Travis.

You allowed yourself the tears. Your hands scrunched at his shirt. He smelled of the outside weather, of wind

of life.

—

PAIN. So, we’ve reached the end of Titans Curse! How are we feeling so far about relationships and eve thing? Feedback is always appreciated!

taglist: @bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @lantsovheiress @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky @emu281 @charlesswife @jessiegerl @crackerphobic20 @mata0-0mata @jccc1000 @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @nothankyou138 @i-love-books-and-the-bible @obxstiles

if they’re not highlighted, it wouldn’t let me tag you!

this chapter’s quite short. I didn’t want to drag it out too much.

aaaaand I’ve added a few more songs to the playlist (on my profile if you don’t have it saved!) if you want to give them a listen. thanks for reading!

#capsize #percy jackson #pjo #asks #leo valdez #annabeth chase #jason grace #nico di angelo #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #Percy Jackson x yn #Percy Jackson series #Travis stoll #connor stoll x reader #Travis x reader #Travis stoll x reader #ares

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