#lyre lyre hearts on fire

[girl4music]

I thought it was sweet too. I liked the fact that after he told her he loved her he was still actively pursuing her even though he knew he had no chance with her because she was in love with Xena. I mean how could he compete with her? He was just absolutely hopeless.

But unrequited love is a huge theme in television. It's a good story to tell. And when there's no real harm behind it, why not enjoy it for the story and for what it can teach you? You know? I had no issue with it.

[witchrealms]

(x)

[xenagabrielleforever]

Lyre, Lyre, Hearts On Fire www.whenheartscollide.net

[imaginejolls]

all 100th episodes of shows wish they went as hard as Xena's

[boygirlctommy]

i madeeee sillay new characters and i love them

[rindzaki]

Summary: You have your own harem consisting of four consorts.

Pairings: Sub! Bottom! Zayne/Sylus/Rafayel/Xavier x Dom! Top! Gn! Reader

nsfw minors dni

They have different features and characters, each of which is a unique combination of beauty, strength and charm.

The first consort, Zayne was a skillful healer, known for his wisdom and insight. He was not only handsome, but also smart. His knowledge of herbs and medicines helped to keep you in good health, helping to stay full of strength and energy. He often gave you valuable advice in governing the state. He had a refined taste and exquisite grace. His outfits have always been made with elegance.

The second consort, Rafayel, has a passionate temperament and burning beauty. Something about him always makes him the center of attention in any room. He chooses the most precious fabrics and jewelry to emphasize his beauty. Rafayel spends his days perfecting the art of dance, demonstrating flexibility and ability to control his body. He was not only a talented dancer, but also a skillful musician. In the evenings, he plays the lyre, hoping to attract you with melodic sounds and his angelic voice. His talent was known far beyond the palace.

The third consort, Sylus is famous for his wisdom and deep knowledge of poetry and philosophy. Passion and temptation permeates his every movement and every word. His eyes burn with the fire of thirst, giving mystery. He is also a master of martial arts. His grace and dexterity delighted everyone who saw his training. He often quotes poems and philosophical thoughts, hoping to win your heart through mind and soul.

The fourth consort, Xavier is known for his innocence and sincerity. He wears light and bright outfits that emphasize his young beauty. Its beauty is emphasized by simplicity and naturalness. He likes to walk in the garden and pick flowers. He wants to attract you with his purity and innocence. His room is filled with the scents of fresh flowers and the soft light of candles since he every evening hopes that you’ll want to visit him.

They dress up in frank clothes that barely cover their bodies to better demonstrate the traces of your caresses - dark spots and red marks from love bites that cover their delicate skin with a marble pattern. Every sign you leave is considered a pride, and they do not hide them under their makeup, but show them out.

At public meetings, banquets, parties and most social events, your consorts properly stand right behind your back and will always accompany you. Their presence behind your back symbolized the unity and strength of the imperial family. They’ll hide their faces under face veil, leaving only their eyes open. Since childhood, they have been taught that their bodies belong only to the emperor, and this knowledge is deeply rooted in their minds. Because of this, they cannot get physical pleasure on their own, knowing that their purpose is to serve only you.

As an emperor, you are aware of the importance of fair and respectful treatment of your consorts. And you try to pay equal attention to them all, making sure that each of them feels loved and valuable.

Evenings in the garden with Xavier have become an oasis of calm and happiness for you. The garden has an atmosphere of peace and harmony created by the rustle of foliage, the singing of birds and the quiet murmur of the fountain. Xavier brings the book he chose in advance and sits on the soft grass under the shade of an old oak leaning against it. You settle down next to him, putting your head on his lap. His hands begin to gently stroke your hair. He opens the book and starts reading aloud. His voice, soft and expressive, fills the space around you. Closing your eyes, you enjoy every minute spent with him.

Sylus often asks you to practice with him. One of your rules was the following: if he wins, you will fulfill any of his wishes. He attacks quickly and deftly, trying to find vulnerabilities. You, in turn, fight back, always trying to keep a balance between defense and attack. However, despite his aspiration and skills, he has never managed to defeat you. You are always one step ahead. You know that the real goal of these trainings is not victory, but time spent together. And this ends with Sylus breathing heavily with his hands around your neck, feeling the warmth of your body. Your hands wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. His lips are warm, persistent, conveying all the passion that he may have been holding back for a long time.

Rafayel, dressed in light silk clothes, slowly goes to the center of the hall, illuminated by the soft light of candles. The sounds of darbuka and qanun begin to fill the space. Smooth waves run through his body, starting from his hips and rising up his spine. He skillfully uses his shoulders. His hands gently twist, repeating the curves of the melody, and his fingers touch the invisible strings, adding a touch of magic to the dance. His hips make graceful movements, synchronously swaying in the rhythm of melody. His body is the true perfection of beauty. Each muscle contraction, each movement emphasizes the ideal lines of his figure. The light of candles plays on his skin, creating a game of shadows and emphasizing every muscle. When he looks at you, it seems that time stops. His eyes are full of depth and passion, you can drown in them, forgetting about everything in the world. It's like they bewitched you, and you can't take your eyes off him. They reflect the whole world, full of mysteries and secrets that he is ready to share only with you.

In the majestic imperial palace, immersed in luxury and splendor, your life was surrounded by Zayne's care and attention. Not trusting the servants, Zayne personally followed every aspect of your daily life. It was his personal privilege and duty that he was proud of. Taking care of the emperor gave him some pleasure. He chooses your outfit for the day, also takes care of your hairstyle, skillfully styling your hair and giving it a neat look. He makes sure that consorts didn't bother you and asks you every night if you wanted to visit someone's quarters. Zayne takes care of his emperor with awe and love, trying to protect you from all possible troubles and worries. As a sign of gratitude for his tireless care and devotion, you often took his hands in your own and gratefully kiss them. Zayne was always embarrassed at these moments, looking away.

Their hearts are pounding in anticipation of your next choice, and each of them is eager to be in emperor’s quarters again. When they find themselves in your bed, their moans and screams become loud and passionate, breaking the silence of the night. It's not only an expression of their pleasure, but also a way to show others your closeness to them. They cry, clutching your cock buried deep inside them, and whisper through tears: "I'm y-your favorite, right?" Their voices tremble with emotions, and their hearts beat in the hope of confirming their uniqueness and love.

Their bellies become swollen from the amount of sperm inside their wombs. When you gently press on their stomach, white sperm flows out of their hole, and they whine, asking you not to waste it. Each of them dreams of giving birth to the first heir, who will strengthen his position in the harem and give him power and respect.

[dxrlingluv]

Bound for Eternity

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

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

Word count : 2.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[wildernessuntothemselves]

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

_____________________________

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. 

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.” 

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!

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 55 Chapter 55 | the shrine and the shiver⌟

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The sun wasn't supposed to rise like this.

Not with fire at your heels and gold in your throat.

But that's what it felt like when Olympus pulled you in—not like arriving, but like waking from a dream that had already burned you alive.

And you weren't even standing.

You were still in his arms.

Everything swam around you—too soft, too slow, too strange. Like your body was still falling and hadn't realized it yet. You weren't even sure if you were you anymore. Your body floated somewhere between sleep and survival, light and limp, the ache behind your ribs dulling to something quiet and distant.

The warmth that wrapped around you wasn't just from him—it was everywhere. In the air. In the clouds. In the sky that shimmered too bright, like it had been painted with liquid gold.

It should've been beautiful. And maybe it was.

You could feel it—barely. The way the clouds curled like silk around the marble spires. The way the wind smelled like orange blossom and clean linen and sunlight on water.

You were high above the world now, your heart still thudding slow and sore in your chest, and Olympus greeted you like you belonged.

But you didn't look.

Not really.

You couldn't.

Because all you could focus on was the horror still circling your skull like vultures.

You weren't supposed to be here.

You were a patch stitched over someone else's death.

A dream made real only because he needed it to be.

A prophecy had whispered your name before your lungs had ever filled with air.

And instead of letting fate take you, Apollo had caught you. Not because you were you. But because he couldn't stand being alone anymore.

You felt sick.

The light stung your eyes. His arms felt like iron.

And then—

The next thing you knew, you were in a room.

A gasp caught in your throat as the world steadied, sharper now. Real. Tangible.

You blinked, hard—then again, slower this time. You were lying down. Not on stone. Not on earth. But silk.

The sheets shimmered beneath you—soft golden thread that pooled like sunlight around your legs. They slid off your shoulders as you slowly, shakily sat up, your skin damp with sweat and gods-knew-what else. The fabric caught the light in every crease, painting your limbs in warm gold, like even the bed itself refused to let you be ordinary.

You sucked in a breath, sharp and shallow.

The room around you was sunlight incarnate.

Polished marble floors, warm and gleaming, stretched beneath you. High windows poured in golden rays that moved across the floor like living things. The walls glowed a soft honey hue, etched with patterns—musical scales, laurel branches, broken staves that twisted and reformed like they were still being composed.

Golden drapery floated at the corners, caught on a wind you couldn't hear. There were lyres and scrolls resting on pedestals, half-sketched sunbursts on the walls, fresh fruit resting in crystal bowls, and a faint hum in the air. Not a song. Not yet. Just the feeling of one forming.

This wasn't a guest room.

This was his room.

You were in Apollo's chambers.

And your first thought—wasn't awe.

It was: I'm not supposed to be here.

The words echoed again, quieter this time, but not weaker. Just... sunk deeper.

You looked around slowly, your mind still trying to piece itself together.

The air smelled too sweet, too still—like fruit left out too long in the sun. You weren't cold, but you couldn't stop shivering.

The walls hadn't vanished. The bed hadn't melted into dream.

This was real.

You were awake.

You were here.

And gods, the room was too beautiful.

Even the shadows glowed. The golden light draped over everything like a veil, too warm to be comforting, too soft to trust.

You wrapped your arms around your legs, curling into yourself like you could shrink out of the air. The silk pooled beneath your thighs, slipping through your fingers as you gripped the sheets tighter.

But no matter how tightly you held on—no matter how hard you tried to breathe slow and quiet—it didn't change anything.

The truth still sat heavy in your chest, pulsing against your spine, louder than your heartbeat:

You were born because he wished it so.

Not fate.

Not chance.

Just grief and gold and a prophecy with no patience.

And now—you were right where he wanted you.

Your stomach turned.

If you let yourself spiral, you knew exactly where your mind would go. Back to the cobblestones. Back to Cleo. Back to Telemachus. Back to every word you screamed when you still had the strength to cry. You could feel it building again—that panic. That pressure.

But then—A knock.

Soft. Polite.

You flinched, your head snapping up so fast your neck twinged.

Before you could say anything—before you could even uncurl your body or wipe your face, the door creaked open and a woman stepped inside.

No words. No greeting. Just... quiet.

She moved so lightly she barely disturbed the air. Pale skin, soft and untouched like fresh milk or pearl. Her robe shimmered faintly in the light—somewhere between white and rose-gold, cinched loosely at her waist. Her steps made no sound. Not even the floor dared complain beneath her.

She looked human at first. Just... delicate.

But then the light shifted.

She stepped fully into the sunbeam cutting across the room and her hair glowed blue. Not like a dye. Not like paint. Like ocean water under moonlight.

Dark navy at first glance, but when the light hit just right—it rippled. Deep, endless hues of indigo and storm-cloud and river-current blue. There were beads tied into the ends of a few strands, shells and bits of gold leaf tucked behind her pointed ear.

Yes—pointed.

Your breath caught.

A nymph.

Her eyes—pink. Not soft rose, but almost coral. Bright. Gentle. Strange. Like looking into the inside of a seashell. Freckles scattered over her nose like stardust, some faintly glowing, as if her skin had been brushed with sunlight and never quite let go.

She was unreal. Ethereal. And still, she moved like this was her home. Like you were the guest. The intruder.

She didn't speak.

Just walked forward with a calm, unreadable face, her eyes lowering to yours. Not judgmental. Not unkind. Just... watchful. Careful.

You didn't know what to say. You couldn't speak, and yet—you didn't look away.

You couldn't.

Not when she stopped just a few feet in front of you. Not when her gaze softened like she already knew what you'd just lived through—what truth still scraped raw inside your chest.

She tilted her head slightly, the beads in her hair catching the light.

Then—finally—she spoke.

"Lord Apollo is away at the moment," she said, her voice smooth and musical, like a harp being played gently underwater. "He's currently visiting the God King."

You blinked, slowly. "...Zeus?"

She smiled like that was a cute question. "Mhm. The very one. He wanted to make sure you found your shared chambers efficient before his return."

Shared chambers.

Like this was permanent.

Before you could decide how to feel about that, she stepped closer and dipped into a low, graceful bow.

"I'm called Clytie," she said.

Your brows pulled together. The name tugged at something familiar, but distant—like a half-remembered bedtime story. "...Wait," you murmured. "Clytie? As in—?"

You never got to finish.

She giggled, light and delighted, as if you'd just told her the cutest little joke. "Oh yes," she said brightly, straightening. "That Clytie."

Your mouth parted.

She gave you a soft spin, arms floating out like her sleeves were petals caught in a breeze. "The weepy nymph who loved Helios a little too much."

You blinked. "Right..." you said slowly, memory catching up. "You—weren't you... the one who—"

"Sat naked on a rock for nine days," she cut in cheerfully. "Didn't eat. Didn't drink. Just stared at the sky hoping he'd look at me again." She wiggled her fingers dramatically. "Spoiler: he didn't."

You stared at her, stunned into silence, brain still trying to bridge myth and moment.

You'd heard the shortened tale before—how a heartbroken nymph was abandoned by the sun god and transformed for her obsession. A sunflower, some said. A purple bloom, others. Either way, it ended the same: always watching, never loved in return.

But Clytie just kept smiling.

"I was in love," she sighed, dreamy and tragic and not at all embarrassed. "With Helios, of course. But the fool got tangled up with a mortal girl after tattling to Hephastus about Aphrodite's little tryst with Ares. So in return, she cursed him to fall for someone else, and poof!—suddenly I didn't exist."

Your stomach twisted faintly. You recalled how she'd told the mortal girl's father out of jealousy. How the girl was buried alive.

Clytie waved a hand, as if brushing away the past like dust. "So I tried to win him back. That backfired. Big time. He stopped looking at me altogether."

She looked up toward the ceiling then, eyes going distant for just a second. "I think that hurt worse than the curse. The way he stopped seeing me. So I sat on that rock like a good little tragedy until my body gave up. Skin to stem. Flesh to root. Almost a sunflower, but technically a heliotrope. We're not that yellow."

You blinked again. "Wait. But you're not—"

"Planted?" she finished with a grin. "Correct. Lord Apollo found me before I finished rooting." Her voice went soft, reverent. "He said if I pledged myself to his Muse—you, darling—maybe I could keep my feet. And not my stem."

It took a full second for your brain to catch up.

"Me?" you blurted, your voice pitching up.

She clapped her hands like you'd just confessed a crush. "Oh, you're funny," she beamed. "No wonder he likes you."

You opened your mouth—but that was a mistake.

Because before you could get a single protest out, she turned sharply on her heel and clapped again.

This time louder.

And then—chaos.

The doors flew open with a sudden rush of laughter and bare feet, and a small crowd of nymphs tumbled in like a sea breeze. Some were tall and willowy, others small and bright-eyed. A few looked like they'd walked straight out of paintings—skin dappled with gold, curls like coral, wings that shimmered and vanished when you blinked too hard.

They giggled. Whispered. Peered at you like a secret they'd been dying to unwrap.

You instinctively clutched the silk sheet tighter around yourself.

Clytie turned, hands on her hips. "Chop, chop!" she said cheerfully. "We must get our lady ready for our master's return!"

"Lady?" you echoed, still clutching the sheet, your voice cracking in disbelief.

But no one was listening.

The nymphs were already moving—pulling open carved cabinets, sifting through bolts of cloth that shimmered like starlight, arguing over earrings made of crystal and gold. One carried a tray of little perfume bottles that clinked like wind chimes. Another had a comb shaped like a laurel branch.

You blinked at it.

Hard.

Then you shot up straighter, clutched the silk sheet tighter around your chest, and shouted—voice embarrassingly high-pitched. "Wait!"

Every nymph froze.

Like, froze.

The room went pin-drop silent.

You swore even the wind stopped moving. A soft perfume bottle clinked somewhere in the background, but no one breathed. Two of the nymphs were frozen mid-bicker over a sash, another had her hands reaching for your hair, and three more were crouched with oils at your feet like you were some statue that had just come to life and yelled.

All eyes turned to you.

Wide. Sparkling. A few blinking, a few raised.

You swallowed hard.

"Uhm—"You glanced around, your voice shrinking under their stares. "I just meant—like—servant to servant?"

The words stumbled out before you could stop them.

You winced.

"I mean—not that you're servants," you tried to clarify, waving one hand nervously. "You're beautiful and divine and elegant and I'm just saying—I'm not used to this. And I definitely don't need all this, so you really don't have to—"

Clytie cut you off with the loudest, most offended scoff you'd ever heard.

"Don't have to?" she echoed, one delicate brow rising. "Darling, of course we do."

You blinked.

"You're Apollo's favored." She said it like that word explained everything.

And unfortunately—it kind of did.

Before you could argue, a pair of arms hooked under yours.

"Waitwaitwait—!" you yelped as the sheet was ripped away and you were yanked out of bed like a sack of laundry.

Feet skidded across the polished floor. Limbs flailed. You scrambled, trying to plant your heels into the ground, but the nymphs were too graceful, too fast.

"I just woke up!" you shouted as they carried you through the open archway and down a gleaming hallway that sparkled like it had been dusted with sunlight. "I haven't even had water! Or broken my fast! I don't even know what time it is—!"

"You don't need to eat."

"We'll make you radiant~"

"As glorious as your namesake describes."

"Please stop saying things like that!" you screeched.

They giggled harder.

And before you knew it—you were thrown.

Your scream cut off in a sharp splash as cool water swallowed you whole.

It wasn't deep—not really. But it was huge. A sunken bathing chamber carved right into the palace floor, walled with white marble and streaked with golden veins. The surface shimmered like fireglass, casting sunflecks onto the walls. Steam danced lazily across the top, perfumed and soft, smelling like citrus blossoms and something faintly herbal.

You surfaced with a gasp, hair plastered to your face. "What in the Hades was that?" you sputtered, wiping your eyes.

Several hands reached into the water before you could finish blinking.

"W-Wait a second—HEY—hold on—!"

You scrambled backward, waves splashing, but it was useless.

Wet fingers tugged at your tunic, peeling it off your shoulders before you could stop them. Another pair worked at the laces near your hip. You squeaked and tried to curl into yourself, heat flooding your face.

"I can do it myself!" you shrieked, covering your bare chest.

"You said we didn't have to," one of them chirped innocently. "So now we do."

"That's not how logic works!"

But they didn't care. In under thirty seconds, your clothes were gone and your arms were full of goosebumps.

The water was warmer now—soothing, almost. And before you could regain control of your limbs, several more hands were back—soaping your arms, combing suds through your hair, massaging something into your shoulders that made your brain go momentarily blank.

Eventually, time got slippery.

You didn't know how long you were in the bath. At some point you just gave up resisting. The oils were too nice. The fingers too skilled. The scents too sweet. You were scrubbed and rinsed and dunked and dried.

And then—

You were back in the room.

Sitting on a cushioned stool with silk wrapped around you like fog.

A dozen nymphs swarmed around your reflection.

One buffed your nails.

Another dabbed perfume along your neck.

One combed out your hair so gently it made your eyes sting, and another hummed a lullaby you didn't know, but somehow remembered.

It sounded like sunbeams on water. Like the hush that settled over the hills right before dawn cracked open the sky.

You didn't realize you'd been leaning into the comb until the nymph paused, fingers brushing your temple with care. The moment stretched—soft, quiet, unreal.

Around you, the others had lowered their voices. Not out of disinterest.

But reverence.

You heard it then. Not words at first. Just the hush-shush rhythm of whispers curling between them like wind over silk.

"...it's really her."

"...our lord waited so long—"

"...he said she'd be different..."

You tensed. Eyes flicking to the side, catching soft glances quickly darted away. Their smiles were dreamy, awed. Like they were seeing a legend bloom in real time.

"What are you—?" you began, but your voice was quiet, unsure. "What do you mean he—?"

You never got to finish.

Because suddenly, you were rising. Lifted from the stool with soft, unrelenting hands and steered toward a small open alcove ringed in gauzy curtains and sunlight. A silken garment floated in the arms of the tallest nymph—golden, pale like cream, whisper-thin. The kind of fabric that didn't just hang—it swept.

"Wait, I still—" you tried again, confused. "Can you tell me what he—?"

But they didnt answer.

Instead, they dressed you.

It was less like getting dressed and more like being wrapped in a storm of soft motions. The robe slipped over your skin like air kissed it first. Silks settled at your hips, then layered again, a sash twisting into place. Hands worked in harmony—no tugging, no stiffness. Just warmth. Reverence.

The fabric shimmered gold when it caught the light, whispering as you moved. Everything about it felt lighter than it should've been. Warmer than silk. Weightless, like a dream.

While they worked, one nymph leaned in from behind. Her voice was soft. Near your ear.

"He used to play a lullaby every dawn," she murmured, "before he even knew your name."

You froze.

Just for a second.

The way she said it—it wasn't teasing. Or dramatic. Just gentle. Honest. Like the music had mourned your absence long before you ever arrived.

You didn't know what to say.

You didn't get the chance.

Because as the final touches were added—golden cuffs at your wrists, a chain draped across your collarbone—one nymph hesitated at your side. She held something small between her fingers.

A ribbon. The color of morning sky.

Without speaking, she stepped close. Reached up. And tied it into your hair with slow, careful movements, like she'd been rehearsing.

Right above your ear.

"So he'll know where to look first," she whispered.

Your breath caught.

You didn't know what she meant, but it made your heart skip all the same.

When they stepped back, the mood shifted.

A few clapped their hands together. One squealed. Another did a little hop in place. Before you could even process it, they were tugging you gently again—laughing now, grinning like children at a festival.

"Come, come!" one said, leading you toward the edge of the room. "You must see!"

You blinked. "See what?"

They parted a curtain.

And there—on the far wall—was a mirror.

At least... you thought it was a mirror.

It wasn't bronze. Or polished steel. Or anything like the ones back home.

It rippled. Like water.

Like a still pond that only reflected you.

The glass was so clear it made your breath stutter. You stepped closer without meaning to, blinking at your own face.

You.

But not quite.

Your reflection shimmered in the gold light, soft and shining.

The dress clung and flowed like it had been sewn to your shape alone. The fabric kissed your collarbones, gathered at your waist, pooled like melted light near your feet.

Your hair curled softly around your face, glossy and brushed back behind your ears. The ribbon rested above one, sky-colored and impossible to ignore. Your lips were flushed from heat and motion. Your skin shimmered faintly.

You looked like someone who could command the attention of a room without saying a word.

Someone divine.

You blinked at yourself.

Flushed. Glowing. Eyelashes still wet.

Still trembling on the inside.

But starting to look like someone the gods had crafted for themselves.

And maybe... maybe they had.

The nymphs behind you hummed with pride, still fluttering around like bees around honey. One adjusted the folds at your waist. Another straightened the fall of your sleeves.

"You shine," one whispered dreamily, "like you were born here."

"Like starlight kissed your skin," said another.

You didn't know what to say.

You were still staring at yourself in the mirror, lips parted. Still a little dazed. Still unsure whether the person staring back was real—or just another mask shaped by someone else's grief.

A soft hand touched your chin, gently tilting your face.

Clytie.

She stood beside you now, smiling as she pulled a tiny, corked vial from within her robes. The oil inside shimmered pale rose gold. "For your lips, my lady," she said, voice low. "So they don't crack. It gets dry here in the sky."

You opened your mouth to object—I'm fine, you don't need to—but she was already brushing it on with her thumb. Careful. Soft. Almost reverent.

Then—

A sound.

No. Not a sound.

A shift.

Like the air remembered to hush.

Every nymph stilled. In unison. Their laughter stopped. Their hands fell to their sides. Their gazes dropped instantly to the floor, heads bowed low.

Clytie didn't speak. Just stepped back without a word.

You turned.

A woman stood at the entrance of the chamber.

She wasn't glowing.

She didn't need to.

The authority in her gaze was enough.

She walked without sound. Her eyes held no warmth—gray like storm clouds over marble, sharp and calculating. Her helmet shimmered faintly in the sun pouring through the balcony. Aegis. Wisdom. War.

Athena.

Your breath caught.

She looked at you.

Not through you.

At you.

"You've been cleaned well," she said plainly, voice smooth but unreadable. "They've made you presentable."

Athena's gaze flicked to your reflection, then back to your face. "I suppose mercy can look like beauty. Just as easily as it can look like war."

The words sent a chill down your spine. You didn't know what they meant—not really—but they weren't meant to soothe.

They were meant to remind.

She stepped a little closer.

The nymphs still hadn't moved.

Not a breath. Not a rustle of silk.

Only you.

Athena studied you, tilting her head slightly. "Have you fared well since we last spoke?"

Your mind blanked.

Not because you didn't have an answer. But because there were too many.

Too many things had happened since that first slowed moment in the banquet hall—the dance, the feast, the tournament bells. The look on Telemachus' face. The gods hovering just beyond the veil.

Since then, you'd died.

Since then, you'd been reborn.

Since then, a prophecy had unraveled at your feet like spilled thread, revealing truths you hadn't asked for and stories you hadn't meant to star in.

A storm had come. And you were still soaked in its wake.

Your mouth parted, but it took a beat to remember how to speak. Finally, you blinked, lips tugging into something that barely passed as a smile. "I'm... holding on," you whispered."Barely."

Athena huffed—though it sounded more like a breath shaped into amusement than scorn.

She stepped forward, her sandals whispering against the golden floor. When she stopped before you, she reached out—slow, almost hesitant—and cupped your chin with one calloused hand.

Her touch was steady. Not soft. But not unkind.

With a gentle tilt, she raised your face toward hers, storm-gray eyes locking with yours. They flickered—briefly—with something that might've been sorrow. Or pity. Or just the distant ache of recognition.

"So much," she murmured. "Your soul has already been through so much. And still so young."

The weight of it pressed behind your ribs.

It wasn't said with sympathy. It wasn't even said to comfort you.

It was a statement. A fact. An observation by someone who had seen too many break under far less.

But then, as quickly as it came, the softness vanished.

Athena's hand dropped, and she straightened—shoulders pulled back like the general she was.

Her gaze hardened, voice turning clipped again. "You now know what he feels," she said, not asking. "And what he wouldn't do to keep you."

You didn't answer.

Because she wasn't really asking.

Athena's stare sharpened, a flicker of something darker curling beneath the surface. "It is dangerous," she said, "to be the thing a god decides he can't live without."

Your throat tightened.

"He loves you," she continued, "yes, but love—divine love—is not the gentle thing mortals crave it to be. It is hunger. It is certainty. It is the type of belief that will burn down timelines to keep what it thinks it is owed."

You stared at her.

Swallowed.

She leaned in one final time. Her voice low, precise. Not cruel, not kind—just true.

"Remember: You are not here because of love. You are here because you are a story."

And then, with a final look—one that seemed to weigh your spine, your shadow, your every breath—she turned—no flare of wind, no shimmer of divine exit, just a goddess stepping out of the light as a new one entered it.

"Don't forget who writes it."

And then, when she was gone—when the shadows tucked themselves neatly back into the corners of the room—

You felt it.

Warmth.

Not gentle.

Gold.

Apollo.

He had arrived.

And everything—every thought, every thread of warning Athena had left behind—dissolved beneath the press of sunlight blooming softly behind your back.

Then: hands. Gentle but firm, sliding around your waist from behind and tugging you back into a chest you now knew too well.

Your breath caught.

You felt Apollo sigh against your neck, a slow exhale that ghosted over your skin like sunlight over morning dew. Then came the nuzzle. His face dipped down, bending to press into the curve between your neck and shoulder, his nose brushing just behind your ear with a little hum of contentment.

"Mm... finally," he murmured, his voice soft and muffled. "I thought Zeus was going to keep rambling about protocol and divine law until my hair turned white."

You blinked hard, body stiff in his grasp.

He kept speaking, lips brushing your skin as he went on like this was all normal. Like you hadn't just had the foundations of your very self shaken apart. Like you weren't still aching under Athena's words.

"He's upset that I ventured to the mortal realm despite me still being under punishment," Apollo went on, sighing again, "kept going on and on about 'order' and 'you are not above my rulings' and 'Apollo, if I let you do this, then so-so would want this.'" He scoffed faintly, and you could practically feel the eye roll in his voice. "As if I care."

His arms tightened slightly around your middle.

And still—he stayed tucked behind you, chin hooked loosely over your shoulder like he belonged there.

Like he always had.

Emotion swirled in your chest. Too much. Too fast.

Flustered heat crept up your throat.

You should've stepped away.

You should've said something.

But all you could do was stand there, frozen, your body betraying you with how much it wanted to melt. With how easy it would be to lean into the comfort of him. Of this. Of the warmth he carried like a cloak.

And yet—beneath that—

Horror twisted somewhere low in your gut.

Because now you knew.

You knew what he'd done. What you were. What you meant.

And still... he held you like this.

He held you like you hadn't sobbed in the street because of him.

Like he hadn't made you.

"I missed you," he whispered suddenly, the words so honest, so light, it was unfair.

And then he pulled back just enough to spin you gently in his arms.

His eyes met yours.

Bright. Beaming.

A grin bloomed on his face—boyish and delighted. "Let me get a look at you."

You blinked, stomach flipping. Your hands instinctively flew to your sides, trying to cover yourself even though you were dressed now, wrapped in fine silks and divine ribbon. You could still feel the oil on your lips, the brush of Clytie's fingertips in your hair.

Apollo's gaze swept over you like a sunrise, and you hated how warm it made your cheeks feel.

He laughed—soft, amazed.

"Gods," he breathed, stepping back just half a pace, eyes roaming in awe. "You're radiant."

The words weren't said in passing. They were uttered like a prayer more than a compliment. His gaze lingered like it had nowhere else to be, taking in every curve, every shimmer of the silk clinging to you like morning light on water.

Then, slowly—like he couldn't help himself—Apollo stepped close again, one hand rising to cup the side of your face.

His thumb brushed gently beneath your scar, the tip grazing the soft skin like you might vanish if he pressed too hard. His expression was unreadable for a moment, teetering between awe and something softer. Something close to ache.

"You're so beautiful it's..." He blinked, lashes golden in the sun. "It's hard to believe I ever survived without seeing you like this."

Your heart flipped.

Your knees nearly gave out.

Because this wasn't some mortal prince trying to flatter you.

This was a god. The god of light, of music, of prophecy—looking at you like you were the only thing he'd ever want to see again.

And it didn't matter that you were half-frozen inside. That your mind was screaming with everything Athena had said. That part of you still wanted to run.

Because another part—traitorous and trembling—was reeling from the weight of his devotion.

You cleared your throat, trying to make sense of the static behind your eyes.

"I—uh—" you squeaked, voice jumping an octave. "Th-thanks."

It came out so pitiful, so utterly unworthy of the moment, that you could feel your entire face burn.

Apollo only laughed. Not cruelly—never cruelly. It was that warm, honey-rich chuckle that slid beneath your ribs and made your lungs forget how to work.

He took your hand—gently but without asking—and laced your fingers with his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His thumb grazed the back of your knuckles, eyes shining.

"I have so much to show you," he said, voice low and excited. "Come. The gardens are blooming in colors only Olympus gets. And there's music—I've had it playing since before you woke."

He tugged you gently toward the golden doors, the world glowing a little too bright around the edges.

And even though your mind was still spinning, your heart—traitor that it was—stumbled after him.

.☆.      .✩.           .☆.

You didn't know how long you'd been walking.

The palace gardens didn't seem to end. They just kept unfolding—terrace after terrace, vine-covered arch after vine-covered arch, every corner more lush than the last. Apollo led you with the giddiness of a boy showing off his favorite secret, and you—still dazed, still unsure what this was all supposed to mean—followed.

The sky above was a perfect blue, but you barely looked up. Everything around you was too much. Too beautiful. Too unreal.

And Apollo never stopped talking.

He pointed things out like he'd grown them with his own hands—which, for all you knew, he had.

"This one only opens at dawn," he said, crouching beside a bud that shimmered faintly gold, "but if you hum the right pitch, it opens early. I tried to teach Hermes the trick once. He sang the wrong note on purpose just to annoy me."

You smiled weakly, your fingers brushing the soft edge of the blossom. It sighed open like it had been waiting.

Now, he was just finishing a long tangent about a hybrid bush he'd "spent at least a century fussing with," because, apparently, Olympus was where boredom went to become botany.

The result?

Rainbow-blooming gladiolus.

Each petal on each bud was a different color—some warm, some cool, some glowing faintly at the edges like they'd been dipped in starlight. The flowers clustered in spiraling patterns, curling toward the sun like they were alive in ways even you couldn't fully grasp.

You leaned closer, nearly breathless.

They smelled like wind after rain. Like warm citrus. Like whatever color joy would be if it had a scent.

Apollo beamed beside you. "I call them 'sunbinds.' They don't grow in straight lines—only spirals, like music. Like—"

"Apollo."

The name rang out sharp, clear, and sudden.

It sliced clean through the air, cutting off his sentence mid-thought.

Your head turned instantly.

So did his.

A figure stood at the edge of the garden path, framed by marble columns and a trellis tangled in silver wisteria.

She looked like the moon.

Artemis.

Apollo's posture straightened slightly. Not stiff—never with her—but in that instinctive way younger brothers do when their older sisters appear. His smile, already soft from gazing at you, brightened into something boyish and fond as she approached, the kind of grin that belonged more to a brother sneaking figs from the family orchard than the god of prophecy.

Artemis strode forward, silent but assured, her every movement carrying the quiet thunder of divine precision. She wore a hunter's tunic dark as midnight, the edges stitched with faint silver thread that caught the sunlight in glimmers—like dew across a spiderweb.

Her quiver swayed at her back with each step, feathers shifting like breathing shadows. And as she drew closer, you noticed the faint curve at the corners of her lips. Not quite a smile—but close. A crack in her usual cool.

Apollo met her halfway, their hands lifting at the same time, palms clasping forearms with a firm squeeze—the kind of touch that said I see you, I missed you, I'm still here. Then, slowly, their foreheads met. Not ceremoniously, but quietly. With reverence. Twins born of moonlight and sun, mirrors forged in godhood.

It was intimate in a way only family could be.

You looked away out of instinct, your heart thudding in your chest—not from fear, but from the sudden awareness of how old they were. How full. How close. How utterly not human.

When they parted, Artemis' gaze swept toward you.

She gave the faintest nod. "Mortal."

You dipped your head in return, unsure if you should bow deeper, or speak, or stay silent. But then—her voice again. Measured, deliberate, but not unkind.

"You honored us at the feast," she said. A beat. Her golden eyes flicked over you, lingering for a breath too long. "You listened. That is rare."

Your throat tightened as the memory of your hymn came rushing back—the trembling notes, the thrum of reverence, the way the crowd had hushed. And how you had felt, bathed in starlight, for just one moment like you were something more than yourself.

"I... I tried to," you said softly, meeting her gaze. "Your words... stayed with me."

For the briefest moment, something in Artemis' face softened. She gave a small, approving exhale. "Good."

Then she looked back to Apollo, already falling into a quiet rhythm of being near him. And beside you, Apollo turned his head slightly, a prideful gleam tucked behind his grin. "She's a fast learner," he said. "Told you."

Artemis only hummed.

But her gaze returned to you again, and you could feel it—curious, weighing, not hostile but ancient. And this time, when she looked away, you swore you saw the edge of that almost-smile deepen by a fraction more.

Then, Artemis turned to her twin, her brow arched with pointed amusement. "Father's been... cranky since the two of you last spoke."

Apollo's sigh was immediate and theatrical. He tipped his head back, shoulders slumping like the mere mention of Zeus had aged him. "Cranky is generous," he muttered, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I swear, he's acting like I insulted Hera to her face. Never mind that he's broken more divine rules in the name of 'love' than I have in sunrises."

You snorted softly under your breath at that—until Artemis' expression shifted.

Her amusement evaporated. She cut him off mid-grumble with a sudden movement—head snapping sharply in your direction.

Then she sniffed.

Once.

Twice.

Your heart dropped.

The goddess of the hunt, the silver-bowed mistress of beasts, narrowed her gaze with surgical focus. Her nostrils flared just slightly as she tilted her chin, and then, like a blade drawn from its sheath, her eyes landed on you. Piercing. Cold. Curious.

"You," she said, voice crisp. "Why do you reek of Askálion?"

The words made your stomach clench. A soft flutter of unease flickered in your ribs. Behind you, Apollo's brow furrowed in confusion. "Huh? What scent?"

She ignored her brother, stepping forward—not threatening, but no part of her felt casual. She was assessing. Hunting. "It's strong. Recent," she added, her gaze scanning over you like she was cataloguing every inch of your skin for wounds that weren't there. "And yet... no bites. No scarring. No rot."

"Rot?!" Apollo choked, recoiling half a step like the word had physically smacked him. "Why would she rot? What kind of siblings use that word? Are you trying to end me, sister?"

Artemis didn't even blink. "By 'rot' I meant her corpse decomposing," she muttered dryly, then rolled her eyes. "But clearly, you missed that part between singing to your own reflection and throwing yourself into every prophecy with legs."

Apollo opened his mouth, likely to defend himself, but Artemis was already moving. She stepped closer, her fingers suddenly brushing your shoulder—fast, precise—and plucked something from your hair.

You blinked. "Where did that—?"

She held it up between two fingers. A long, midnight-black strand of fur with a burnt red tip.

Apollo made a noise that could only be described as a squawk. "What is that?! Is that fur? Are you molting? What should I—"

"It's Askálion fur," Artemis interrupted coolly, examining the strand like it was an omen writ in silk. "Native to Ithaca. Rare. They're known to hunt through illusions. They circle and confuse and wait. They warp paths. The old ones say they hunt like trickster spirits but devour like gods."

"Devour?" Apollo squeaked again.

She didn't even humor him. Her sharp gaze flicked back to you, gold eyes narrowing. "So I'll ask again. How did you walk away with its scent tangled around you like a lover's cloak?"

Before you could answer, Apollo turned you to face him. Gently—his hands warm and careful, thumbs brushing over your knuckles like he was afraid you'd disappear if he held too tight.

His face was a mess of concern. Worry pulled at the corners of his mouth, and confusion warred with rising fear in his gaze. "My muse," he said softly. "Please. Tell me. If you've been hurt—if anything happened—I'll fix it. Just tell me."

Your heart thumped hard against your ribs.

"I—" you started, but the words jammed in your throat. You glanced between them, these gods who held the sun and the moon in their hands, and suddenly, your story—your very strange, very surreal story—felt... silly.

Still, you tried.

"I... met her in the woods," you said slowly. "She's... a fox. Big, black, with ember-colored ears and a tail like it's been dipped in flame. She just... came to me. She didn't hurt me, didn't growl or chase. She—"

You scratched the back of your neck, sheepish. "She sort of... let me scratch behind her ears? And then followed me back to camp. Telemachus tried to warn me off, said she was dangerous, but... she didn't feel dangerous. I didn't... feel scared."

You shrugged, the last words coming out in a confused rush. "I, uh, named her Lady. She's... stayed with me ever since. I just—I thought maybe one of you sent her?"

A beat of silence.

And then you made the mistake of glancing back at Apollo, who looked like someone had just told him the sun would be canceled.

His hands had dropped from yours, but his mouth was still half-open, frozen mid-thought. His brows were drawn, horrified and confused, and there was something oddly offended about how he looked you over—like your soft mortal body had betrayed him by surviving something you absolutely shouldn't have.

Before he could spiral out loud again, Artemis snorted. "Well. I didn't send the beast."

Apollo's head snapped toward her. "You didn't?"

"I just said that, didn't I?" she replied flatly, arms folding as she studied you. "It came to her of its own will. Which is... well. Impressive. The last time someone got that close to an Askálion, they lost a leg and the better part of their sense of smell."

Your face blanched.

She kept going, muttering under her breath with a faint huff of amusement. "And yet here you are. All limbs accounted for. No scarring. Not even a scratch. Must like your face."

You swallowed. "You're saying... she chose me?"

Artemis tilted her head, then flicked her fingers vaguely. "Call it what you want. Attachment, bonding, divine chaos. Point is, it hasn't eaten you yet. Which I admit—kind of fascinating."

She paused, squinting thoughtfully. "What color did you say it was again?"

You blinked. "Um... black fur. Red-orange ears and tail. Glowing eyes, dark as coals."

Artemis let out a low whistle. "Oh, that one."

Your stomach dropped. "That one?"

She nodded, entirely too casual. "Yeah. That's the horrific one, if I'm not mistaken."

You stared. "I'm sorry. The what?"

"The horrific one," she repeated with a mild shrug, like it was a perfectly normal classification of animal. "They usually come out of the northern crags, near the old stone barrows. The few that are born with that coloring... let's just say they don't blend in for a reason."

"I didn't know she needed to blend in," you mumbled faintly.

Then, Artemis asked, curiously. "And is it still small? The beast?"

That gave you pause. You glanced at the air, remembering Penelope's gentle touch, the way she tilted Lady's muzzle and commented on her underdeveloped teeth.

You nodded. "I think so. Queen Penelope mentioned she's still growing. Said she hasn't fully grown into her paws yet."

Artemis gave a small, impressed grunt and lifted her hand, palm facing down, leveling it at your ribcage. "Then good luck. When she's full grown, she'll probably stand about here. And that's if she stays lean."

You made a strangled sound in your throat.

Apollo looked like he was calculating how many windows in Olympus she could crash through at full size.

Artemis seemed wholly unbothered. She stepped back, brushing her hands together as if satisfied. Then she turned to her brother and gave him a firm, almost fond slap on the shoulder. "Lucky, aren't you? Your muse has a way with animals. Or monsters. Or both."

She didn't wait for a reply.

With one last glance at you—half curiosity, half mischief—Artemis stepped back into the golden light spilling through the columns, her silver cloak catching a wind that hadn't been there a moment before. Then, with a shimmer of moonlight and a glint of humor still tucked in her smile, she vanished down the marble path.

You stood there, shellshocked, with the weight of her words sitting squarely on your chest.

Apollo looked worse. His golden skin had gone pale—ashen, even—and his jaw slackened like he was trying to speak but couldn't find the right vowel, much less a full sentence. He stared at the spot Artemis had disappeared like the floor itself might crack open next.

He didn't blink.

You reached out, gently touching his arm. "...Apollo?"

That seemed to pull him out of whatever divine trance he'd sunken into. His head snapped toward you like it had been jerked on a string. And then suddenly his hands were on you—cupping your face, thumbs trembling slightly where they brushed along your jaw. His grip was firm, but not rough—just panicked.

"Why didn't I know this?" he breathed, voice tight. "When did this happen? Was it days ago? Weeks? Why—why didn't I see it?"

You blinked at him, wide-eyed. You hadn't seen him like this before.

He wasn't angry at you. You could tell that instantly. He was angry at himself.

"I should've known," he muttered, voice low and furious, as if he'd failed some sacred test. "I should've felt something, and yet—" He let out a sharp breath and dropped his forehead to yours for half a second. "Gods, I hate when she's right."

Your stunned silence must have steadied him, or maybe it was the confusion on your face—whatever it was, he softened.

"It's alright," Apollo said quickly, mostly to himself. "You're safe. You're here, and you're not hurt." He pulled you into his chest then, holding you tight. "You're not hurt."

You pressed your palms against his back, grounding yourself in the warmth of him.

But then his voice dropped—darkened.

"I won't let that damned beast near you again. I'll summon my guards if I have to. Curse it if I must. You've been spared once, but I'm not risking a second—"

"No!" The word left you before you could stop it.

Apollo froze.

You pulled back, just enough to see his stunned expression. He blinked at you, startled, like you'd just slapped him.

Your face flushed. "Sorry. I—I didn't mean to shout, but—please. Don't."

"Don't?" he repeated carefully. "You don't want me to protect you from the thing that lures mortals to be picked apart like offerings?"

"She's not like that." You shook your head quickly, stepping back. "She's... I know it doesn't make sense, but Lady isn't like that. She's gentle. She's mine." You looked down at your hands, then back at him. "She's... important to me."

Apollo's expression twisted, not in anger but in something more complex—conflict and concern warring beneath his sunlit features.

"She follows me like a shadow," you continued, voice quieter now, steadier. "She listens when no one else is around. I know what she could be. But she hasn't been. Not once... Not to me."

Silence stretched between you.

Then Apollo sucked his teeth, sighing through his nose. "Of course," he muttered, voice dry. "My muse not only walks through storms, resists fate, and enchants every Olympian she meets... she also tames nightmares in her spare time."

You couldn't help the small smile that crept in. "She's sweet... really."

Apollo gave you a look like you'd just grown two heads—but it melted as quickly as it appeared. He ran a hand down his face and shook his head.

"Fine. Fine. Fine," he relented. "But the moment she so much as breathes the wrong way, I'm blasting her back into legend."

He reached for your hand again, this time lacing your fingers with his like the world hadn't just spun sideways.

"I have something to show you," he said, his voice gentler now, lower. "Something important. You'll like it."

And just like that, you were moving again—shoulders still tense, heart still racing, but fingers warm in his.

You weren't sure where he was taking you.

But gods help you... you were already following.

A/N: thank y'all for being so understanding and supportive with my last update/psa 😭😭 I know I do a lot with all the notes and even the disclaimers, but I'm just an overthinker. Been on book sites for years, and I know how fast things can spiral, so I just hope stuff like that helps explain my actions if I ever seem offish or distant. even then, I always try to communicate before it ever gets to blocking or anything like that. but seriously, thank y'all so much 😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️ And I meant what I said—a lot of you have AMAZING ideas! plz don't limit yourself just because something "isn't perfect." post it. I promise, I didn't just wake up one day and write Godly Things fully formed. my first works on here were... well, let me just show y'all:

(info before reading: this was a fic I made at 12 💀 after reading James Patterson 'Maximum Ride' series, it was named 'Windless' and since I was also obsessed with BTS at the time it/this was a fem!reader x Jungkook with hints of various)

"Code red!" "Code red!" "Subject S-04 has escaped the premisses!!" A robotic voice says over the intercom, causing you to cover your ears due to the loudness. "I repeat, subject S-04 has escaped the premisses!!" The voice screeches on the intercom. Your heart thumps against your chest as you run down the white hallway.

Everywhere you turn, it seemed as if you started right back at step one. Each hallway identical to the last, with red alarms blazing above you. "Get her! She couldn't have gone far!!!" Hearing this, you push yourself father than you've ever did before. You stop, pushing yourself against the wall as soon as you meet a dead end. Panic fills your entire being at the thought of getting caught. Your heart races as the sound of thundering footsteps comes closer. Having no where to turn, you fall down onto your knees in a surrendering position, ready to give yourself up without a fight. "Come on [Y/N]! Let's go!" A voice screams out, roughly grabbing you by the shoulder. A breath of relief tumbles pass your trembling lips when your eyes land on your captor.

"Taehyung," You nearly cry out, so happy that he made it out safely. His hard eyes soften just a little bit once it lands on you. "Come on [Y/N] we don't have time to waste, we have to meet the others at the spot." He says, quickly pushing you up a flight of steps as the sounds of yells and gunshots fill the air. Just as you turn around the corner, Taehyung nearly misses getting hit by an array of bullets. "There's two of them on the twelfth floor! They're trying to get to the rooftop! Block off all possible exits!" One of the soldiers radio as soon as the both of you come into view. "Roger that." A grumbled voice replies through the walkie talkies. You shiver as a dangerously low growl pass through Taehyung's lips. Your eyes grow large as his usually light brown, doe ones begins turning pitch black. In a flash, he un-arms the group of soldiers, killing them execution style with their own weapons, without a single remorse. "All exits closed. Backup is being sent to the twelfth floor to detain fugitives." A disoriented voice crackles out through the device on one of the soldier's body. The heavy footsteps of Army boots echoes against the walls the longer the both if you stay in place. "Let's go." Taehyung spits out, walking through the pile of dead bodies as if they were nothing. The two of you continue your journey towards the rooftop. Just as you reach the door, a series of loaded guns stops you in your tracks. "Put your hands on top of your head, and freeze." A soldiers orders, surrounding the both of you in red dots.

Shaking, you do exactly as they say, only to tense up once you notice Taehyung not. "I said get on your knees with your hands behind your head." The soldier spits out, fed up with Taehyung's resistance. "I'm not about to do shit." Taehyung lazily says, as if he didn't have multiple guns pointed at him all at once. "If you don't do what I have ordered in the next ten minutes, you will be shot." The soldier yells, spit flying out of his mouth, angry at Taehyung's resistance. When Taehyung refuses to do what was told one of the men shots a stray bullet your way, scarily missing your head. A whimper falls from your lips as it skims past your ear, grazing it. "I said drop onto your motherfucking knees, or your friend gets one right through her fucking head." The soldier yells out, sure enough moving the laser right between your eyebrows, directly on your forehead. A low, inaudible growl pass between Taehyung's lips. Taehyung slowly moves and drops onto his knees, hands behind his head "When I say go, I need you to go through the window that's to the left of the guards." Taehyung mumbles to you underneath your breath. Wide-eyed, you look over only to see that there was indeed a window. "B-but what about you?" You ask him, tears beginning to cloud your vision.

"Don't worry about me [Y/N]. My only priority is getting you out of here and to Jungkook in one piece." Taehyung mumbles out as the soldiers creep closer and closer. "Now when the time comes. You need to do exactly what I told you [Y/N]. Do you understand?" Taehyung asks, his eyes turning pitch black once again. You fail to answer, wanting nothing more then to just jump into his arms and never let go. "Do you understand?" Taehyung growls out when he doesn't receive and answer. "Y-yes." You say bowing your head in defeat. "Good." And that was all he said before all hell broke lose. As soon as the first guards came close enough to reach you, Taehyung breaks his neck in seconds. The rest of the guards still in shock, not expecting it to happen.

"[Y/N]! Run!" Taehyung screams, breaking the trance everyone was in. A second later, bullets fly everywhere as you bound towards the window. Just as you bust through the glass, you take one more look behind you, and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when you do. Taehyung fighting off the throng of soldiers that's surrounding him. One stab him in the shoulder with a silver knife, but he rips out his throat with his bear-hands as if he was nothing. Taehyung makes eye-contact with you for a split second, making it his downfall. Taehyung eyes widen once he realized his mistake of getting off track, but it's too late because a solider behind him stabs him in the neck with a needle. A tear fall down your face as he stumbles around, unable to fight off the remaining soldiers tackling him to the ground. Shots ring out just as you throw yourself through the glass window.

You shelter your face. For a moment you feel at peace as your body falls down towards Earth. Your wide, black wings rip out from beneath your back just as you're about to hit concrete ground, lifting you up into the air. With a small smile on your face, you welcome them back as the wind whizzes through your wings, ruffling up your feathers in a way that brings comfort. You fly into the night sky, the only thing on your mind is reaching Jungkook and the rest of your family.

Ahhhhhh!!! Y'all don't bully me too hard fr. I swear I was literally convulsing in my bed from secondhand embarrassment 😭😭 but yeah this was baby-writer me in all her chaotic glory. and the only reason I didn't continue past chapter 7 (which is a mess, like genuinely what was I doing 😭) is because I hadn't figured out how to manage my writing energy yet. I burnt myself out. BUT. even now, I still love it. It was my first real attempt—and though it's so fucking horrible and cringey to me now, I love how far I've come since then. anyways, I subjected y'all to that little time capsule of horror just to say: we ALL start somewhere. reading has always been my obsession—it was my comfort, my escape, my main fixation for years. writing came later, and when I finally gave it a try, I quickly realized I wasn't some natural-born prodigy or anything 💀. I wasn't the best, not by a long shot. but it was something. It was mine. and that was enough to keep going. so if you've got something in your head or heart—even if it feels messy or unworthy—just start. because the truth is, nobody writes a masterpiece on their first try. what matters is that you begin. that you make something that's yours. 💗

also i've been blessed with more fanart, hehehe ❤️❤️❤️ but before you all continue, i have an announcemtn, after a few lines dashes beneath my regualr fanart submission, i have been sent some nsfw stuff that i'm estatic to share (so plz if you don't want to see it, thats fine, jus scroll along while the rest of us go wild for some drawn tits/pecs 😩❤️) (email: wattywriter04@gmail.com | tumblr: winaxity-ii) ALL UNEDITED NSFW ARE AVAILABLE ON MY AO3 (winxanity_ii)

from nishayuro

NO BECAUSE THIS?? THIS IS ART 😭😭 you ATE with this cosplay omg. the chaotic menace energy??? the smug lil smirks?? the fact that every single frame looks like something Hermes would send in the group chat just to make Apollo mad on purpose 😭💀 "Poseidon kissed you?"—the stutter?? the deadpan jealousy??? PEAK CHARACTERIZATION. and don't even get me STARTED on the one with the peace sign its giving "just saved your soul babe 💋 now come get a smoothie with me in the mortal realm" 😭😭🪽 this is a 10/10, no, a winged sandal out of 10—thank you for blessing my TL with this masterpiece 🙏✨

from emily-r0s3

NO BECAUSE—😭😭 the way you just brought the whole royal (and divine) family to life?? you have my heart fr. Apollo looking like he's five seconds away from monologuing about the stars while Hermes is clearly already scheming?? ICONIC. the contrast?? the drama?? the CHOKER??? i'm living. and don't get me started on the Ithaca trio omg. Odysseus is TIRED, Penelope is serving regal indifference, and Telemachus??? that sparkle?? that confident little smirk?? boy said "i am the moment." and i support him 💅✨ thank you sm for this reference sheet, i'm genuinely obsessed with seeing your take on their looks and vibes!! this is going in the Godly Things museum immediately 🫶🎨

from xnyun

NOOOO BECAUSE THIS IS SO SILLYCORE I'M GONNA CRY 😭😭💥the way you captured Callias' ✨chaotic sweetheart energy✨ is SO REAL. like the lil crown??? the smug peace sign??? the "silly guy" label??? canon behavior. i just know he's two seconds away from stealing your last olive and acting like it was a blessing 💀💅 and the third one??? serious-face Callias??? that's the rare strategic mode moment when he's actually plotting something useful for once instead of flirting with danger for fun 😭🫣i'm obsessed. thank you sm for giving my boy LIFE like this omg 💖

from riftstar

STOP THIS IS SO PRECIOUSSSSS 😭😭😭💛 first i wanna say i love the name of your MC---Cyrene looks so cute!! also, you nailed every single version of her, oh my gods. "small cyrene" with the lil pouty cheek poke??? ADORABLE. "big cyrene" with the sunglasses like she just came back from a divine mission and is too cool for Olympus now?? ICON. AND THE "3 days :c" underwater panel??? please. she looks so done and soggy and ✨still cute somehow✨ 😭 also the added "venus rising AAAAA" moment at the end?? i feel you. i am you. this whole page is pure serotonin and i love it so much 🫶 thank you for bringing MC to life like this!! i'm putting this directly into the Godly Things vault immediately 💖✨

HELPPPP THESE TWO HAVE ME IN A CHOKEHOLD 😭😭😭 you understood the assignment AND then some—MC and Andreia are straight up two queens, one shared hit list 😭🔥 like "watch your pockets, miss divine liaison~"?? STOP THAT'S LITERALLY HER FLIRT LANGUAGE 💀💘and the second panel??? "why pit two bad bitches against each other when they can be besties (and more)"—THEM. LITERALLY THEM. allies, threats, co-conspirators, lovers?? yes. all of the above. Ithaca is NOT ready. nobody is safe. everyone's wallets? gone. hearts? stolen. egos? shattered. thank you for this blessing 🫶😭 I need a whole spin-off of these two just being iconic together.

from simp_0207

no bc this??? THIS??? this is stained glass window worthy 😭😭🕊️✨ this is breathtaking omg. the lighting?? the textures?? the divine elegance in the pose?? I'm actually speechless. the way the string of fate loops around the sun pendant and their fingers like prophecy is being spun right there in real time?? i feel blessed. i feel witnessed. and the bird across their eye?? the symbolism??? the mystery??? like they're carrying some celestial secret and we're just barely allowed to look??? yeah. obsessed. thank you for this absolute masterpiece—this is going straight into the prophecy vault. framed. sealed. lit by eternal sunrays 🫶🌞

PLEASE 😭😭😭 why did you capture them SO accurately it hurts. the crossed-out "husband"?? the Divine Liaison's internal crisis while Telemachus dreams about holding hands like a lovesick regency ghost?? ICONIC BEHAVIOR. he really do sleep like he just wrote you a letter with trembling hands and sealed it with a kiss before wasting away 😭💌🕯️also that little prophecy sun tattoo peeking out?? elite detail. 10/10 meme. this is canon now. thank you for this absolute treasure 🫶💀 ahh, i'm just so in love with your mc 😭😭 

TELEMACHUS CLUTCHING YOU LIKE A COMFORT BLANKET WHILE APOLLO SCHEMES IN THE CORNER??? 😭😭😭@simp_0207 you've captured EVERYTHING. The "awesome couple" meme edit?? Telemachus' face buried in reader's chest like "the world is too cruel but she's warm"?? MC standing like a pillar of justice while Apollo's in the back like 😈 "excellent..." AND NOT "evil and intimidating horse" just casually inserted like a divine omen 💀💀 ALSO. ALSO. THE HEIGHT DIFFERENCE?? I STARTED KICKING MY FEET. YELLING. BARKING. THIS IS THE ENERGY I PRAYED FOR. TALL READER??? YES. ACCEPTED. APPROVED. this is Penelope and Odysseus coded fr i don't care. like yes he's feral and tragic but his girl is statuesque and unmoving and we NEED THAT.

me irl 5'4" with two 6'+ parents: finally... representation. 🫡

i'm crying thank you sm for this I will be keeping it in a sacred scroll forever.

now on to the nsfw... I REFUSE NOTHING BUT PRAISE FOR THESE 😤😤 tr

from emily-r0s3 [HAD TO REMOVE/EDIT DUE TO GUIDELINES😭💔🥀] available on my ao3 tho

🫣🫣🫣 TELEMACHUS PLZ BREATHE 😭😭 the detail, the expressions, the poses?? emily, you captured their chemistry so perfectly and gave us full-on Dionysian worship energy I—?? the little Telemachus on the side having a full breakdown?? I felt that. that's me. that's all of us. 💀💀 thank you so so much for this amazing piece!! I'm obsessed. I am SHAKING. this is peak divine union energy and honestly I don't think Telemachus has spiritually recovered.

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

[girl4music]

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.

[fryingpan1234567]

And They Were Roommates | 481 SMAU

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

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

All photos from Pinterest; I made the banners

Songs used:

Futureproof (the Rare Occasions)

Where the Light Is (Surfaces)

The Lazy Song (Bruno Mars)

Trendsetter (Connor Price)

Mona Lisa (Dominic Fike)

Babydoll (Dominic Fike)

Tear In My Heart (twenty one pilots)

Way Less Sad (AJR)

My Type (Saint Motel)

Came Here For Love (Sígala/ Ella Lyre)

Dear Future Husband (Meghan Trainor)

Sunshine (OneRepublic)

Warnings: slightly suggestive like twice, swearing

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

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

lando

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

7,276 comments

❤️ by author

oscarpiastri: Don’t ever clock me like this again 

     > lando: it will happen again😇

     > oscarpiastri: 😐

User: did McLaren really okay this??

User: A WIN FOR THE LANDOSCAR NATION

User: best friends core🧡🧡🧡

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

User: oh my god they were roommates

User: THE DOG’S NAME IS MUPPET

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

     > User: don’t let tumblr see this

❤️ by author

mclarenauto: Early bedtimes for you both

     > lando: 😔

     > oscarpiastri: 😔

oscarpiastri

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

5,287 comments

lando: our house*

     > oscarpiastri: How did you get in here

     > User: someone find and insert the Bugs  

         Bunny communism meme

❤️ by author

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

     > User: looks ON fire maybe

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

         their meal plan💀

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

     > lando: I wanted to make pancakes😔

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

     > oscarpiastri: The ONE time he wakes 

         up early and this is what happens

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

         the morning

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

     > lando: YOU’RE SUCH A HATER

carlossainz55: they look wonderful Lando!

     > lando: THANK you finally someone who 

         appreciates my culinary mastery

     > carlossainz55: ❤️

     > lando: 🧡

     > oscarpiastri: Why am I third wheeling 

         in my own comment section

     > User: jealous Oscar?

     > oscarpiastri: Yes

     > lando: good

     > carlossainz55: good

lando

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

2,876 comments

oscarpiastri: STOP CLOCKING ME ON MAIN

     > lando: NO

     > User: 😭

User: he’s so sleepy cat coded

User: is that Lando’s hoodie?💀

        ❤️ by author

     > oscarpiastri: It’s good merch

User: my soul is healing one Oscar pic at a 

time

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

charles_leclerc: nap time for my son

     > oscarpiastri: Dad don’t embarrass me 

         in Lando’s comment section !

     > User: most emotion I’ve seen out of 

         Oscar all season

User: help why is he so tired😭

hattiepiastri: eepy boy

     > oscarpiastri: This is NONE of your 

         business😐👎

     > hattiepiastri: mom said to check on 

         you

     > User: SCREAMING

oscarpiastri

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

10,335 comments

❤️ by author

mclarenauto: Mega job out there!

     > oscarpiastri: 👍

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

     > oscarpiastri: Me looking for where I 

         asked

     > User: OSCAR????

     > User: HE COOKED LANDO

     > User: ATE HIM UP

     > lando: ☹️

     > oscarpiastri: 🧡

georgerussell63: I’ll get you next time

     > oscarpiastri: You can try😎

❤️ by author

charles_leclerc: dethroned by my own son

     > oscarpiastri: 😎

maxverstappen1: I let you past me on the last lap

     > lando: jealousy isn’t a good color on 

         you mate

     > maxverstappen1: me looking for where 

         I asked

     > User: AGAIN

     > User: Lando: 0, everyone else: 2

     > oscarpiastri: 😎

     > User: Oscar there’s other emojis

lando

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

528,512 comments

User: so are we all gonna ignore the tag or

User: THAT LOOKS LIKE AN OSCAR BACK TO ME

     > User: stalker behavior

User: ??????

User: EVERYBODY STAY CALM NOBODY MOVE

User: that’s a man

     > User: a brilliant observation 

mclarenauto: 👀

     > User: ADMIN WHAT DO YOU KNOW

     > mclarenauto: 👀👀👀

georgerussell63: tomfoolery is quite a big word for you mate 

     > lando: I hate you

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

     > lando: I would’ve won I just had 

         somewhere better to be

     > alex_albon: I don’t believe you.

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

     > charles_leclerc: amour be nice

     > lando: yeah be nice you twat

     > charles_leclerc: I don’t know why I try

❤️ by author

oscarpiastri: 😐

     > User: jealous Oscar makes another 

         appearance

     > User: unless it’s him

     > User: don’t be weird 

     > lando: hi osc!

     > oscarpiastri: Hi Lando👋

     > User: OMG

     > User: THEY LITERALLY JUST SAID HI 

         TO EACH OTHER CALM DOWN

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

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

         wait any longer😔

     > User: here for the soap opera

     > oscarpiastri: Me too

     > User: OSCAR????

author deleted comment(s)

oscarpiastri: 🧡

     > lando: 🧡

oscarpiastri

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

286,751 comments

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

User: WHAT PLANET HAVE WE LANDED ON

User: I’M SCREAMING

User: wtf is going on

User: matching songs…

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

     > alex_albon: I did it

     > pierregasly: I did it

     > georgerussell63: I did it

     > danielricciardo: I did it!

     > User: damn I stand corrected

❤️ by author

mclarenauto: 🧡

charles_leclerc: use protection 

     > oscarpiastri: What🤠

     > charles_leclerc: you heard me

     > User: LMFAOAOAOAO

     > maxverstappen1: 💀

lando: copied me

     > oscarpiastri: Bold of you to assume I 

         even look at your Instagram 

     > georgerussell63: as if we don’t see 

         you liking all of Lando’s posts and 

         stories

     > alex_albon: I love stirring the pot

     > lando: my goats🙏

     > georgerussell63: what happened to 

         hating us?

     > alex_albon: PLAY PADEL WITH ME

f1gossip

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

48,187 comments

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

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

User: Lando seems to be okay with this arrangement 

User: they’re so sweet to each other

lando

982,176 likes 

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

552,176 comments

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

     > lando: TAKING CARE OF YOU 

         BECAUSE YOU’RE A LOSER

     > oscarpiastri: You’re a loser

     > lando: 💔

     > oscarpiastri: 🧡

     > lando: 🧡

     > maxverstappen1: get a room

     > georgerussell63: no don’t I’m 

         entertained

User: what in the domestic life

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

User: landoscar hugs>>>

❤️ by author

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

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

     > lando: because we’re better than you

     > oscarpiastri: Because we’re better 

         than you (:

     > maxverstappen1: none of you are 

         winning it’s mine

     > georgerussell63: not if I have anything 

         to do with it

     > User: the girls are fighting

oscarpiastri

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

176,486 comments

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

User: THIRD SLIDE HELLO????

User: I FEEL LIKE I’M LOSING MY MIND

User: CONFIRM THE RELATIONSHIP ALREADY PLEASE🙏🙏🙏

❤️ by author

mclarenauto: Welcome back 81!

lando: damn standing ovulation or whatever the saying is🥵

     > oscarpiastri: It is 8 in the morning

     > User: LANDO???????????

     > User: BEING HORNY ON MAIN IS 

        CRAZY

     > lando: sorry I was fighting demons 

         when I wrote that

     > oscarpiastri: Pick up your phone.

     > User: WOAH

charles_leclerc: looking good son

     > maxverstappen1: not good enough to 

         beat me

     > oscarpiastri: @/charles_leclerc 😎

     > lando: @/maxverstappen1 🖕

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

     > oscarpiastri: I’m telling mom

     > nicolepiastri: Leave me ALL the way 

         out of this.

     > User: 😭

     > lando: hi mama Piastri!😁

     > nicolepiastri: Hi Lando!🩷

     > User: LANDO MET OSCAR’S MOM

lando

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

927,186 comments

❤️ by author

oscarpiastri: Podium looks good on you

User: we know who it is just hardlaunch already

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

User: Oscar in the comments is NOT helping😭🙏

User: “my love”🫠🫠🫠

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

❤️ by author

lewishamilton: I did give you a fight 

     > oscarpiastri: That you did

     > lando: guess we know who the best 

         Brit on the grid is!

     > georgerussell63: unless the answer is 

         me no the fuck we do not.

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

     > olliebearman: ??

     > georgerussell63: the adults are talking 

     > kimi.antonelli: @/georgerussell63 

         rude !

❤️ by author

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

maxverstappen1: how’d the wall taste

     > lando: well I still beat you so it tasted 

         pretty good I’d say

     > maxverstappen1: GO BACK TO BEING 

         A RED BULL FAN GODDAMMIT

     > redbullracing: Concur.

     > mclarenauto: Sorry, he’s ours now!

     > oscarpiastri: Yeah, he’s ours!

     > lando: yours*

     > oscarpiastri: 🧡

     > User: Oscar only uses four emojis and 

         they’re all to flirt with Lando

alex_albon: cringe caption what is this a hallmark movie?

     > lando: never beating the hater 

         allegations

        ❤️ by author

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

         I’m just being a hater

oscarpiastri

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

497,187 comments

User: IT’S SO FUCKING OBVIOUS

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

User: STOP TORMENTING US

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

     > User: OF COURSE HE’S BRITISH IT’S 

         LANDO

     > User: WE DON’T KNOW THAT YET

lewishamilton: Disrespectful caption

     > oscarpiastri: Wasn’t addressed to you, 

         hope this helps!

     > User: CLOCKED

     > User: Oscar gets feisty after a win😭

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

     > lando: lighten up dad

     > oscarpiastri: Yeah dad jeez

     > maxverstappen1: we don’t like being 

         shown up by our own family!

     > oscarpiastri: Skill issue? Just get good

     > charles_leclerc: that’s it! hand over 

         your Xbox!

     > oscarpiastri: NO

     > pierregasly: someone get me popcorn

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

     > lando: rude??

     > hattiepiastri: SO YOU ADMIT IT’S YOU

        ❤️ by author 

     > lando: I’m defending Oscar and his 

         anonymous partner’s honor. that’s not 

         a crime

     > hattiepiastri: not a crime just mega 

         suspicious

     > oscarpiastri: Hattie it’s past your 

         bedtime little sister

     > hattiepiastri: KYS

     > nicolepiastri: Hattie…

     > hattiepiastri: congrats on the win, dear 

         brother!

     > alex_albon: everyone be quiet my 

         show is on

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

     > oscarpiastri: Can’t keep up?🧡

     > lando: oh I can🧡

     > User: STOP BEING HORNY ON MAIN

❤️ by author

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

     > oscarpiastri: 😎

f1gossip

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

58,287 comments

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

User: I NEED them to hardlaunch

User: the height difference is killing me

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

User: through a window is low.

User: feels like a violation of privacy!

mclarenauto: See no evil…

     > User: WHAT.

     > User: HI ADMIN????

     > User: WHAT DOES THIS MEAN

     > User: McLaren after dark

lando

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

982,186 comments

User: OKAY STAY CALM STAY CALM

User: EVERYONE RELAX

User: I SCREECHED OUT LOUD

User: WE FUCKING KNEW IT

User: GOD I SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE FOR OTHERS

User: I CAN’T BREATHE

User: THE SONG????

❤️ by author

oscarpiastri: Hello gorgeous🧡 happy anniversary 

     > lando: hi handsome

     > User: SCREAMING

❤️ by author

carlossainz55: congratulations cabron❤️

     > lando: I’ll miss you pookie

     > oscarpiastri: Wtf

     > carlossainz55: oh, you must be the 

         other girl😒

     > oscarpiastri: Excuse you I’m the 

         original WAG so

     > lando: please don’t fight over me💔

        ❤️ by author

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

         already mine 

     > carlossainz55: 💔😔

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

     > charles_leclerc: mon amour at least 

         let them settle in first

     > maxverstappen1: they’ve been living 

         together for over a year they’ll be okay

     > lando: are you conspiring against us

     > maxverstappen1: congratulations 

         mate I’m ordering confetti as we speak 

     > lando: for my next podium right

     > lando: right

     > lando: @/maxverstappen1 RIGHT?

     > oscarpiastri: you’re on vacuum duty

❤️ by author

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

     > lando: appreciate the support mate

     > georgerussell63: anytime mate 

     > georgerussell63: I’m still gonna 

         pummel you this weekend though

     > lando: you can try!

❤️ by author

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

     > lando: it’s a miracle

     > alex_albon: I’m going back to being a 

        hater

     > lando: 💔

kimi.antonelli: 🏳️‍🌈

     > lando: 🇬🇧

     > kimi.antonelli: 🏳️‍🌈❓

     > lando: 🏳️‍🌈🤝🇬🇧

     > kimi.antonelli: 🙂‍↕️👍

     > olliebearman: ‼️

     > oscarpiastri: I feel like I just read the 

         revival of hieroglyphics

     > User: that was unironically the funniest 

         thing you’ve ever said

     > User: LMAOOO

❤️ by author

nicolepiastri: 🩷

     > lando: 🧡!

❤️ by author

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

     > oscarpiastri: Hattie.

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

         having second thoughts

     > oscarpiastri: HATTIE??

     > lando: @/hattiepiastri about being in 

         laws with YOU

     > hattiepiastri: CLOCKED

     > hattiepiastri: I know when to cut my 

         losses and call it quits🙏

     > lando: love you sis

     > hattiepiastri: love you bro

     > oscarpiastri: I hate everything about 

         this conversation 

❤️ by author

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

     > lando: it started professional I swear

     > oscarpiastri: I don’t think you’re 

         helping our case sweetheart 

     > User: oh my god

oscarpiastri

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

826,197 comments

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

User: THIS IS REVENGE FOR ALL THE OTHER TIMES

User: WE’VE WAITED ONE THOUSAND YEARS

User: THEY’RE SO🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

❤️ by author

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

     > oscarpiastri: I considered writing 

         about bugs instead

     > lando: I’m breaking up with you

     > oscarpiastri: I could make fun of your 

         fear of fish in a loving and affectionate 

         way. Would it help if I called you baby 

         and reassured you the dead sea 

         creatures weren’t going to get you?

     > lando: yes.

     > oscarpiastri: Anything for you baby

     > User: they make me SICK

❤️ by author 

charles_leclerc: my son all grown up!!

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

     > lando: conversation?? like a shovel 

         talk??

     > charles_leclerc: 🥰

     > lando: OSC HELP

     > oscarpiastri: No this is funny

❤️ by author 

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

     > oscarpiastri: Yes actually you called 

         me to complain about it at least once a 

         week

❤️ by author

nicolepiastri: proud of you Osc🥰

     > oscarpiastri: Thank you mum🧡

❤️ by author 

lewishamilton: Now where have I heard this before…

     > nicorosberg: stop making people think 

         we’re divorced

     > lewishamilton: Sometimes I can still 

         hear his voice💔

     > nicorosberg: stop

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

Part 2 coming soon🥰

drop your thoughts

[kioflerkira]

“ FIREWORKS ”

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

━━━━ ⋮ ୨୧ ⋮ ━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━ ⋮ ୨୧ ⋮ ━━━━

[xprinceling]

╰┈➤ enhypen as greek gods °˖➴࣪ ִֶָ☾.

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

• heeseung - apollo ּ ֶָ֢.๑ˎˊ˗

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

• jay - hermes ༄.°

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

• jake - eros ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

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

• sunghoon - artemis જ⁀➴

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

• sunoo - dionysus ❦

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

• jungwon - athena 🀢𓍼ོ

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

• ni-ki - hades ♱

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

[hwanchaesong]

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

[lunette-png]

Waves of Ithaca

Chapter 7: Unmoored in a Silent Storm

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

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

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

But today, it was simply water.

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

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

It was subtle. So subtle.

But she felt it.

Her stomach twisted. Was it always the blessing?

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

The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

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

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

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

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

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

Penelope paused. “And?”

A hesitation. Then, (Y/N) continued—

“It felt different.”

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

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

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

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

(Y/N) looked away.

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

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

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

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

Penelope didn’t have an answer.

And (Y/N) wasn’t sure she wanted one.

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

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

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

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

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

Music.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She scoffed. “That’s not true.”

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

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

(Y/N) had no answer.

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

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

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

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

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

“Still troubled, little storm?”

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

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

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

“Not tonight.” His voice was different.

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

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

“The sea has a long memory.”

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

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

She swallowed. “Is that a warning?”

“A thought,” he murmured.

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

Her breath caught.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

A pause. Then—

“She is also herself.”

Poseidon did not reply.

The ocean, vast and knowing, churned around them.

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

[hero-shrine]

⚔️Achilles worship guide/suggestions⚔️

Domain: Rage, War, battle, revenge, skill, glory, vastness, bloodshed, resilience.

Epithets: son of Peleus, King of Phthia, swift-footed, lion-hearted, Godlike, shepherd of the people, Fire-eyed, breaking through men, brilliant, inimitable.

Imagery/symbolism: Shield, spear, the Lyre, golden armor, the heel, the sea, helm, the pyre.

Colors: red, black, gold, blue, yellow.

Animal: Horse, lion.

Offerings: Flowers, Candles, incense, art, poetry, lamps, gold, decorative shields, sea/war imagery, water, wine, meat, gin, milk, honey, horse imagery, bread, fruits, sweets, lyre, jewels, shells, spices.

Devotional acts: working out, honoring Patroclus, learning self defense, Personal Challenges, reading the Iliad, learning spearing, sea gazing, horse riding, running.