#sailor golden sun

[autisticabbey]

My DIY Sun puzzle piece socks and reusable grocery bags, Golden Sun puzzle piece socks and reusable grocery bags, Sol puzzle piece T shirt and designer sneakers, and Juno and Emerald Earth Halloween puzzle piece socks, and my customized Sun bath towels set, Golden Sun bath towels set, Sol mesh laundry bag, folding laundry basket, and bath towels set, and Juno and Emerald Earth Halloween bath towels set.

[miaqc1]

@jhenuelleartblog04 commissioned drawings showcase.

✨ Mia from Golden Sun, Koromaru from Persona 3, Sailor Moon's Luna, 2 Pikmin. 🌟

[hoops24]

☀️🌹⏱️

[yandere-daze]

I thought it was high time that I finally wrote something for this man and this idea was stuck in my head for days. I hope you enjoy! <3

gn reader

2.3k words

cw yandere, obsessive behaviour, hypnotizing siren song, manipulation

Yandere! Siren! Sunday x Sailor! Reader

You weren´t supposed to be anything more than an easy prey. A human led astray by his enchanting tunes like any other, only to be torn apart once within reach.

You were a simple sailor sailing the deep waters of the ocean with your small crew. For what purpose? Sunday wasn´t quite sure and he didn´t really care to know. All he yearned for was sinking his claws into your vulnerable flesh as he dragged you to the bottom of the ocean.

You see, Sunday was a siren, a hunter in the image of a beautiful young man with grey hair and enchanting golden eyes. Were it not for his singing voice, a deep gaze into his radiant eyes would be enough to tempt any poor fool into his waiting arms. Yet his voice, oh his voice, its heavenly sound masking his dark intentions.

Within his lifetime, Sunday has lured many unfortunate sailors to their demise though, in recent times, fewer and fewer boats have delved through the waters he called his home. From what he had witnessed being whispered onboard, tales of cunning and vicious sirens roaming these waters have reached the mainland, causing many to steer clear and avoid this place.

This naturally annoyed Sunday, for the flesh of humans was what he sustained himself with. This fact only increased his determination when after quite a long while of waiting for a sign of life, a boat had finally lost its way into his domain again. Sunday had been hungry for way too long now, he couldn´t let this stroke of luck go to waste.

So certain that he would finally claim his prey again, he decided to first spy on the passengers of the boat before making his move. It was important for him to know the routines and habits of the sailors if he wanted to catch them alone to entice them to run into their doom.

As a siren, Sunday was more powerful than an average human but even he wouldn´t be able to fight off several sailors if he were to try and hypnotize someone in broad daylight. He couldn´t risk the crew becoming aware of his presence and leaving, he couldn´t go on without another meal again.

And so, he secretly started spying on the passengers of the small boat, staring at them from behind a rock and making sure to keep his tail concealed within the water. He watched everyone go along with their days on board the ship when something unexpected happened.

He saw you, stepping away from the rest of the crew to stand near the edge of the boat, a smile on your face as you let the sun shine on your face. Without even realizing it, you had stepped close to where Sunday had gone to hide. You were so close, almost within arm´s reach. For a moment, Sunday deliberated if this was his chance to strike.

With you separated from the rest of the crew like this, it would be a simple thing indeed to lure you into the waters where you would disappear forever.

But just as he thought this, he stopped in his tracks as he watched your carefree smile, suddenly becoming enchanted by the way the light of the sun rained upon your skin. For lack of a better word, your presence at that very moment was mesmerizing and Sunday felt warm inside as if the rays of the sun were descending on him instead.

And then, for a moment, Sunday almost felt his heart stop for then you opened your mouth and started, he almost couldn´t believe it, singing.

There you were, practically within the jaws of a predator, and letting your soul rejoice in song so carelessly. And yet, within your naivety, Sunday couldn´t help but feel at peace. Your song rang out across the lonely waters, unaware that your secret audience was becoming more and more enchanted by you by the second.

Your singing, Sunday couldn´t quite describe it. It sounded nothing like his own singing, which was beautiful and yet felt intrinsically wrong somehow. Your song was nothing like that. It might have not been as pretty or practiced as his own singing, but yet it managed to ring true within his heart. Your song felt earnest and real, untainted and uncorrupted by malice. Within seconds, you had captured his attention and heart, yet you were completely unaware that he was even present.

In an ironic twist of fate, Sunday felt himself being pulled towards you as if touched by magic, an ardent longing for you deep within his chest. It was as if you were the siren calling out to him, beckoning him closer like a lovesick sailor lost at sea, yet Sunday was sure that instead of a sudden demise, he would find true salvation within your arms. With the way you were holding out your arms, he could almost imagine you wrapping them around his body in a lover´s embrace, pulling him so close as if you would never let go of him again.

Because he knows that´s what he would do if he finally had his beloved in his arms. For only a fool would ever let go of the person they want to spend the rest of their life with. It filled him all at once, this desire to have you for his own, to make you his dearest mate.

You were radiant and joyful in a way he had never seen before and he couldn´t bear the thought of letting you slip away from him.

And from the desperate yearning he could so clearly hear in your song dedicated to just him, he knew that you must feel the same way. You were just waiting, begging to be taken away by him. Why else would you walk so close to him, all on your own and profess all of your feelings like this? Sunday now knew that this meeting was fated to happen and he would be sure not to waste it.

He had been watching you closely for the past few days along with the other sailors aboard the ship and he saw how the other crew members acted around you. He had thought nothing of it back then but now boiling jealousy filled his being as he remembered how chummy they had been acting with you. How they had laughed and joked around with you so easily, how they had thrown their arms around you and sang cheery tunes beneath the starry sky.

He especially detested that one scoundrel that had dared to kiss your cheek so invasively. How dare they treat you like this? How dare they lay their filthy hands on you when your beauty was meant for solely him to treasure? But not to worry, Sunday would finally bring you home and keep you safe.

He understood your surprise when he finally emerged from his hiding spot and started swimming towards you. You looked so pitiful with your body shaking and your eyes growing wide when you saw his shimmering white mermaid tail. You poor thing must be frightened out of your mind because of all these stories you were told about his kind but do not be afraid! Sunday would never hurt you like this.

You were special to him, you just needed to allow him to show you that. You backing away from the railing, backing away from him, just wouldn´t do.

"Darling, there is no reason to be afraid, I´m not here to hurt you, do not let their horrid tales corrupt your thoughts. I am here to finally take you home!" He reached out his hands to you, wishing for you to jump into them and accept his love willingly yet he could only click his tongue in disappointment when instead, you took another step back.

"D-don´t come any closer!", you shouted out, breaking the poor siren´s heart in the process. How it hurt him to see you so frightened that you would turn your soulmate away. But no matter, he was prepared to take matters into his own hands and nudge you towards your own happy ending. You just needed a little bit of convincing.

"My darling, please listen to me! You and me, I know we were meant to be! So please don´t resist this, alright?", he hummed gently, his voice almost pitiful while begging you to hear him out.

You would have even felt sympathy for him if you weren´t acutely aware that you were facing a dangerous predator. There was no doubt in your mind that this was a siren and you needed to get away from there fast.

But unfortunately for you, you weren´t quick enough for as soon as you had gathered your resolve, Sunday´s ethereal singing voice had swiftly broken it down.

Suddenly, all your previous thoughts about him being a danger to stay away from evaporated, leaving you confused as to why you ever wanted to run away from him. There was nothing dangerous about him, was there?

Instead, your mind was now being filled with pleasant images of you and the siren spending time together, of him holding you close protectively, of him swearing his eternal love and kissing you. All of a sudden, you felt warm all over as you gazed deep into Sunday´s eyes and you knew that he was the one that was meant for you.

Slowly, one step at a time, you walked closer to the edge of the boat again, where Sunday was happily holding out his hands for you to take, eagerly grasping at air as if to usher you even closer.

And you were all too eager to follow his demands as a sugary sweet melody droned on and on in your ears, overwhelming you with feelings of everlasting love and devotion.

"That´s it, darling. Come closer. It´s only a few more steps.", he urged you on, almost desperately as you almost came into touching range. It was only a few more moments until he could finally have you in his arms. And once he did, he would never allow you to leave him again. Not that you would be able to underwater.

Voices were picking up in the background, quickly getting closer and Sunday realized that your crew must have picked up on what was happening.

"Come here quickly, darling!", he shouted, his voice growing more urgent and desperate the closer the booming voices got.

And you did as he said, quickening your steps towards him with a lovesick smile on your face.

"I´m almost there, my love", you said and Sunday´s heart almost burst at the sweet tone you took with him. He knew you were currently under the influence of his siren song but he strongly wanted to believe that the love you felt for him was real. Why else would you too be looking at him so full of yearning?

"Someone, quick! Grab on to them! That siren is trying to lead them to their death!", a gruff voice yells from the back with several more footsteps scrambling quickly behind. They were advancing on you fast and Sunday knew he was almost out of time as one quickly ran up to you.

"No, no, no! Don´t touch them! They´re mine! Don´t ruin this for me!", he yelled out in anger, his eyes a furious storm as they glared at the person trying to get a hold of you. He couldn´t fail so close to the end. How dare they accuse him of trying to harm you?!

"Please, you need to come to your senses!", the sailors try to reason with you but it´s almost like you can´t even register what they say.

" I need to meet with my love, he´s waiting for me.", you say, still smiling as you step to the very edge of the boat, looking down at a Sunday growing more and more manic by the second.

"Jump into my arms, darling! Accept my love and be mine forever!", the siren calls out to you as a crew member grabs into your arms, trying to pull you back.

"Don´t listen to him! Please, don´t do as he says!"

You struggle violently against the hold, kicking and screaming, demanding to be let go.

"No, you can´t separate me from my love, let me go! I need to be by his side!", you scream and with an especially harsh kick, the sailor lets go of you for a moment, leaving you with enough time to take the final step and jump right into your demise.

Sunday gently catches you in his arms, a lovesick smile on his face as he finally gets to hold you like he wanted to. You´re finally all his and there´s nothing that can be done about it anymore.

"I´m so happy you chose me, darling. We´re going to be so happy together. I´ll take such good care of you. No one else is ever going to touch you again.", he whispers into your ear and you can´t help but giggle joyfully at the prospect, your mind singing with affection, drowning out the growing panic within you.

But what is there to be afraid of? You´re finally united with the love of your life and nothing will ever separate you again.

Sunday holds you firmly as he quickly swims away from the boat, leaving your panicked crewmates behind.

Now that he finally has you, he will make sure that you´ll grow to love him even without his song. He knows that deep down, you love him just as much as he does you, you´ll just need a little bit of time to adjust to your new life underwater. He knows of a very beautiful underwater cave that he can keep you in until you grow more accustomed to your new life with him. Down there, you´ll never be able to escape his grasp again.

You will be his forever, for that is the consequence of putting him under a spell like you has.

And then he takes you with him to the very depths of the sea, never to be seen again.

[bleedingoptimism]

The night of the events of Starcourt, Steve lies about his parents being home because he doesn't want to impose on anyone else. So he says his parents are waiting for him back home and Joyce drops him off to get some rest.

Steve gets home and immediately realizes it's a horrible idea, he's concussed, confused, alone, scared, and in pain.

He panics and ends up walking through the woods alone where Wayne finds him when he's getting home from work.

Wayne freaks out over the injured sailor boy that looks like he hasn't slept in days and who is confused about how he got there.

He convinces Steve to come in for coffee, but when they get inside Steve starts looking around fascinated by every little trinket. he ends up in Eddie's room,

"Where am I?" he wonders and even through the questions and fears it makes Wayne chuckle, 

"This is my nephew's room" He answers looking at Steve walk around with stars in his eyes at the mess.

"He must be really cool," he tells Wayne.

Wayne nods and smirks but then Steve catches his own reflection in the mirror,

"is that me? Jesus no wonder you look so worried, I look like shit"

And he says something that breaks Wayne's heart a little, "I'm sorry," and he looks so sad too, and so honest like he really thinks him not looking okay is a problem for Wayne. Like Wayne would get mad at him for not being 'presentable'.

"I should leave," Steve says.

Wayne raises his arms in mock surrender,

"Woah, no kid, it's fine, you don't look that bad, I was only worried because you look tired. When was the last time you slept?"

Steve thinks for a while and frowns, "I don't remember..."

"Why don't you rest here in this cool room," Wayne asks him with a kind smile, "and then will get that coffee, ok?"

Steve agrees and falls asleep the second his head hits the pillow.

Wayne sighs and leaves the room, he sits on the couch and sees on the tv the news about the fire.

It's an explanation, not the whole truth but it's something. Clearly, Steve was there but that doesn't explain the bruises, the confusion, the fear. He feels like something else might be going on.

And why on gods earth was that kid all alone?

Eventually, he falls asleep too.

.

So when Eddie gets home from spending the night at Jeff's after a gig, he finds his uncle sleeping on the couch and doesn't find it weird at all, he tiptoes to his room for a change of clothes and there he finds the fucking former king of hawkings wearing the skimpiest sailor uniform sleeping on his bed, and for a second he thinks 'is it my birthday?' but then Steve turns in his sleep and Eddie sees his face and thinks 'shit'

He is instantly worried, no matter how much he dislikes jocks, no one deserves to be brutalized like that.

And to ruin that beautiful face? A crime.

Once more he tiptoes into the hallway and goes where his uncle is slowly waking up. He gets close, real close so when Wayne opens his eyes the first thing he sees is Eddie blinking at him. 

Wayne jumps a little and bites back a curse, "Jesus kid!"

Eddie chuckles, "Sorry, Wayne. Might telling me about the little sailor in my bed?"

Wayne sighs and tells him.

.

When Steve wakes up a bit later is to the sound of Eddie's acoustic. He's sitting in his desk chair, plucking a sweet and soft melody,

"Morning goldilocks," he tells him with a smile.

Steve, who had a bunch of excuses and apologies lined up already frowns, and inclines his head, "Goldilocks?"

"I found you sleeping in my bed, didn't I?" Eddie answers sweetly.

Steve blushes, he can't help it, and once more instead of getting up and leaving he gets distracted by Eddie's whole deal.

"I'm not even blond" he argues.

Eddie bows his head at him, as if to say he got him there, but then says,

"You have locks of hair that look golden in the sun, goldilocks"

Steve really hopes the bruises cover his blush, he really, really hopes. But judging from Eddie's smile, he can't tell it's not the case.

"I should leave," he says moving slowly to the edge of the bed.

Eddie places his guitar on the desk and turns to fully look at him, "You don't have to. If you don't want to," he points to something on the bottom of the bed, "Look, clean clothes and my fluffiest towel, why don't you take a shower and then we drink that coffee my uncle promised?"

And Steve’s heart hurts with how much he wants that. He doesn't want to be alone, he wants to stay here with the kind wonderful man he met last night and Eddie, who played guitar for him while he slept and thinks his hair is golden, but still...

"Are you sure? I don't want to impose"

Eddie snorts and mouthes 'impose' to himself before leaning closer and looking Steve in the eyes,

"I'm sure, Goldie. Go, shower. I'll go put the kettle on"

And steve can't do much more than nod and smile shyly at him.

[ragingbookdragon]

One Toke Over The Line

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.3K Warnings: Angst, Canon Death

Author's Note: So fun fact, at my Aunt's mother's funeral, she actually had One Toke Over The Line playing. Her mother in fact requested it prior to her passing. Enjoy.

**********************************************************************

The rest of the family had said their final goodbyes, and she took a seat next to her father’s bed, gently taking his hand. His eyes cracked open, and she smiled weakly at him. “Hi, daddy,” she whispered, brushing a piece of his hair back from his forehead. His lips moved and she shook her head. “No, daddy, don’t try to talk, okay?”

His throat bobbed, but his lips kept moving. Hi, baby.

A noise, akin to a dying animal, softly escaped her and she felt tears flood her vision.

A cool hand brushed her tears. “No…crying…” he mustered out. “Not…today.”

She tipped her head to the side, looking at him in the bed. Twenty-eight long years. She remembered living in the officer’s quarters with him when he was a single father. Just the two of them for so long. She’d had the call-sign “Ice-Queen” before she’d even entered the Navy. Iceman and Ice-Queen, a dynamic duo, father and daughter, nothing could separate them.

But death had a way of sneaking in.

He lifted his arm, and she crawled into the bed beside him, tucking her head under his chin with her arm tightly wound around his waist, his securely behind her back. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she hiccuped with every breath.

She wasn’t a twenty-eight-year-old lieutenant losing her admiral.

She was a child losing her father.

“I’ve lived…a good life…” he breathed. “Done more…than most…ever will.” His hand brushed her back in a soothing manner. A grief wedged in her chest. Here, her dying father was comforting her. “I’m…okay.”

“I’m not,” she whispered. “I need you, daddy.” Her tears kept blurring her vision. “I’ll always need you.”

His chest rumbled as he struggled for breath. “I’ll…always…be there.”

The lump kept growing in her throat and she bit back a sob.

“I’ll…always…be your…wingman.” She looked up at him and through her tears, she saw the gentle smile on his face; he gently reached up with the other hand and wiped under her eye. “My…beautiful girl.”

She leaned into his touch. “Please don’t leave me, daddy,” she begged brokenly. “I’m…I’m not ready.”

He let out a breath and smiled softly before he dug around in his pocket and pulled something out; he placed it in her and closed his fist around hers. “I am…always…here.”

She didn’t have to uncurl her hand to know what he put in it; the golden crucifix he’d worn his entire life.

“Fly…higher than…I ever…did,” he began. “And know…every flight…I’m there.”

Her throat was too tight to form words, but she nodded and laid her head back down on his chest.

***

She lay there for hours, listening to his breathing until his chest stilled beneath her ear.

***

It was too sunny for the occasion. Too bright in her eyes as the sun reflected the tears. She stood beside her stepmother, silent as the guns rang out over the cemetery. Her gaze was fixed on the coffin, unable to look anywhere but where they were burying the greatest man she’d ever known in the cold ground.

An hour passed and her family had departed, the other airman and sailors had departed, but she stood over the hole in the ground, unable to move her feet from the spot. She stood until they lowered the coffin down and began filling it with dirt.

She stood until the land was flat above him, and then she saluted.

***

He smiled politely as he entered the open doors of the home, weaving through people until he found Sarah.

“Missus Kazansky,” he murmured, and she smiled tiredly at him.

“Hi Jake,” she greeted, nodding to the stairs. “She’s in his office.”

He nodded and took his leave, climbing the stairs towards the office of the Admiral. The door was cracked open, and he peered inside, catching sight of her sitting at the desk, staring out the window with a blank look on her face.

Jake rapped his knuckles on the door as he opened it wider. “Knock-knock, room service.”

Usually, she’d crack a smile but all she managed was, “I’m not in the mood, Jake.”

He walked inside and up to the desk. “I know.” He pulled a chair up to the desk and sat beside her, setting his cap on the desk; he watched her for a moment, then murmured, “Talk to me, pretty girl.” He reached out, taking her hand. “What can I do?”

She shrugged half-heartedly. “Can you bring back the greatest man who ever lived?”

Jake’s expression shifted into one of a deep ache as he replied softly, “If I could, I would, pretty girl.”

Her eyes flooded with tears, but she kept her gaze on the window, the bright sky, the birds flying above the water. “I stayed with him. He didn’t go alone. I was there until the end.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he whispered, squeezing her hand. “I know you were.”

“I…heard his heart stop,” she managed to push out. “My daddy’s heart. I…heard it stop.”

Jake wished he could take the grief he knew was coursing through her like the speed of light; he reached up, placing his other hand to her cheek, turning her face to his.

She looked scared.

Like a scared little girl.

“My daddy,” she whispered, looking at him. “M…m-my, my dadd—” she burst into sobs and Jake reacted like lightning, taking her in his arms.

He rested his cheek against the side of her head as she shook in his arms, repeating, “My daddy,” over and over again through her cries.

“I know, pretty girl,” he comforted. “I know.”

***

Somehow he’d managed to get her into her bedroom, arm wound tightly around her as his chest pressed against her back. He breathed quietly as he rested his head on the pillow above her head, gazing at his arm stretched beneath her head, her own hand clutched tightly in his on the bed.

Jake gently drew circles in her stomach, and she whispered, “Did you know that one time, daddy and I smoked a joint at a train station listening to ‘One Toke Over The Line?’”

His fingers stopped as his brows furrowed, and he picked his head up. “Do what?”

She snickered weakly. “We smoked a joint. At a train station. And listened to ‘One Toke Over The Line.’”

“Your dad?” he asked. “Admiral Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, smoked a joint…with his kid?”

“Mhm.”

He inhaled and exhaled before he deadpanned, “Never in a million years would I have ever guessed that.”

She shifted slightly. “It was his favorite song.”

“Yeah?”

“That and ‘Keep On Tryin’.’” She swallowed. “I don’t know if I can ever listen to them again.”

“I thought we were going to play that at our wedding,” he complained. “Well now what are we supposed to dance to?”

She laughed softly. “Not exactly a wedding song, Jake.”

“Says who?” he shot back, digging his chin into the crown of her head.

“Who said I was going to marry you anyway?” she asked. “Don’t you know that Bradley and I sworn to get married at thirty if we weren’t by then?”

Jake scowled and tightened his arm around her waist. “I will literally kill the man. Best friend or not, I will.”

She turned in his arms, laying her head on his chest. “I’m kidding.”

“Better be,” he warned, re-securing his arm at her back; he looked down at her for a moment, then asked softly, “You coming back to base with us? You know we won’t be upset if you don’t.”

“I’ll be there,” she answered. “I just…” she trailed off and he nodded.

“I know.” He pulled back, looking into her eyes; his hand drifted from her back to her cheek, and he brushed his thumb along her skin.

She searched his gaze for a moment, then asked, “Will you stay with me tonight?”

Jake nodded. “As long as you need me, pretty girl.”

[antinousletmehit]

Polties with a very playful nymph reader he met on one of the islands they sail to go!!

୨୧┇pairing: Polites x Nymph!reader

୨୧┇Enjoy!!

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The sun hung low in the sky as the crew of Odysseus’s ship landed on yet another mysterious island. The air was sweet with the scent of wildflowers, and the gentle rustling of leaves seemed to whisper secrets. Polites stepped off the ship with his usual enthusiasm, taking in the lush greenery that stretched as far as the eye could see. “Stay close,” Odysseus warned, his sharp gaze scanning the horizon. “We don’t know what dangers lie here.” Polites waved him off with a grin. “You worry too much, Captain. Not every island is out to kill us.”

Odysseus gave him a look but said nothing more as the crew began their exploration. Polites, as always, wandered a little farther than the rest, his curiosity pulling him deeper into the forest. It wasn’t long before he stumbled upon a glade that seemed almost too perfect to be real. The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a golden glow over the crystal clear pool at its center. And there, perched on a rock by the water’s edge, was a person unlike any Polites had ever seen.

Its hair cascaded down their back like a river of gold, and their laughter was like the chiming of bells as they dipped their toes into the water. They looked up as Polites approached, their eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, what have we here?” They said, their voice melodic and teasing. “A sailor, lost in my woods?”

Polites blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. She was stunning, and the way she looked at him made his heart race. “I—uh—wasn’t lost, exactly,” he managed, scratching the back of his neck. “Just… exploring.” The nymph laughed, hopping gracefully off the rock and stepping toward him. “Exploring, are you? And what have you found?”

“Something beautiful,” he said before he could stop himself, his cheeks flushing as the words left his mouth.

Their laughter rang out again, and they circled him, their bare feet barely making a sound on the soft grass. “Flattery will get you everywhere, sailor.” Polites grinned, relaxing a little under her playful gaze. “Then I’m in luck, because I’m very good at it.”

“Oh, I can see that,” she said, stopping in front of him. “But tell me, doesn’t your captain and crew worry about you wandering off?”

“They worry too much,” Polites replied, his grin widening. “I like to greet the world with open arms. There’s too much wonder in it to spend all my time being afraid.” The nymph tilted her head, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “A rare sentiment, for a sailor.”

Before he could respond, a familiar voice called out from the trees.

“Polites!”

He turned to see Odysseus striding into the glade, his expression darkening as his gaze landed on the nymph. “Step away from it,” he commanded, his voice low and firm. Polites frowned, confused by the sudden tension. “Captain, it’s fine. They’re not—”

“Do not trust it,” Odysseus interrupted, his eyes never leaving the nymph. “It may look harmless, but I’ve seen too many men fall victim to charms like theirs.” The nymph smirked, crossing her arms. “Such cynicism,” they said, their tone light but eyes sharp. “You must be the captain. Always looking for the trap, never the treasure.”

Odysseus’s jaw tightened, but Polites stepped between them, holding up his hands. “Captain, please,” he said, his voice calm. “Not everyone we meet is out to harm us. Sometimes, you’ve just got to greet the world with open arms, remember?” Odysseus’s gaze flicked to Polites, and for a moment, he hesitated. Then, with a sigh, he stepped back.

Polites turned back to the nymph, his smile returning. “See? No need for all this tension.” The nymph chuckled, stepping closer to him. “You’re brave, Polites. Perhaps a little foolish, but brave.”

Before he could respond, they leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Her lips were cool, like the morning dew, and the touch made his heart skip a beat.

“Take care, sailor,” she giggled, their voice barely audible. “Not every nymph is as kind as I.” And with that, they turned and disappeared into the trees, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of wildflowers.

Polites touched his cheek, a dreamy smile on his face as he turned back to Odysseus. “See?” he said, his tone light. “Not everyone’s out to get us.”

Odysseus shook his head, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’re lucky it was one of the kind ones. Next time, don’t wander so far.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Polites replied, laughing as he followed his captain back toward the camp. Odysseus shook his head again, Polites could have sworn he saw the faintest hint of a smile.

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Winter special!

Sorry this took so long, my phone decided typing wasn’t a thing it could do anymore and my brother is too nosy for me to write on my laptop.

As always: GN!Reader, Pre-established relationships, Tooth rotting fluff

Characters: Wars + Wind, Legend, Four & Time

Part one Next part (to be continued)

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Wars + Wind

Winter traditions weren’t the same on Outset. It didn’t snow on the island, just as it hadn’t for the many years that came before. Warm waves frothed as they lapped against golden sands. The only cool thing was a slight breeze, which combed through the palm trees.

Wind knew it wouldn’t snow. But still, he found himself longing for the cozy days inside by the fire and the occasionally reckless days spent in the flurries of snow.

Even as you investigated his pouty lip and unusual quietness, he couldn’t bring himself to feel better. He couldn’t quite understand it. Logically, he knew it wouldn’t snow. Still, he found himself disappointed with the outcome.

“I just-“ He sighed, shrugging noncommittally, “It doesn’t feel like winter… It’s the same as it’s always been, but I-“ He shakes his head and turns away from the window.

“Don’t worry, i’ll shove you in a pile of snow when we get back to my Hyrule” The captain smirked, leaning against the door. You managed to throw him a soft glare over your shoulder as Wind grumbled (read: shouted) something threatening in return.

Oh how you yearned to see the two pelt each other with snowballs. Truly, it’d be amusing. Shame sand can’t hold its shape that well being thrown.

The two pause their exchange of school ground taunts at the sight of your pure and utter delight.

“I think we broke them” The sailor side eyes his brother, concerned. Wars inspects you from his side of the room before walking over. He grabs each side of your face to examine you further. His hands are warm. Comforting. Secure.

“If you kiss them i’m going to throw up” Wind’s face is contorted into something of a judgemental scowl, comical on his face. You both scatter off each other, garnering a fitting amount of cackles from the youngest hero. You grab him while he’s distracted, managing to tug both him and warriors outside in a fit of confusion and voice cracking shrieks. In fact, you drag them the entire way through outset and to the beach.

“Alright, C’mon you both. We’re making snowmen” Your victory is short lived.

“Really, hun? And how’d you suppose we do that” sassed by your own boyfriend… wow.

“Sandmen. You get my point” You roll your eyes and start gathering damp sand into a mound like shape. It

“Don’t just sit there, you were the one down in the dumps” You lovingly jab at Wind, who cracks a grin and gets to work adding sand to the lumpy collection of the body.

Between the three of you it was easy enough work, save for trying to stay out of the tide and avoid stepping on any sharp rocks.

In just over an hour, a sandman had formed. Adorned with little shell eyes and mouth, draped with seaweed and driftwood for arms, your sandman stood proud against the sea. The three of you sprawled out on the sand, basking in the waning warmth of the sun as it set. The sky was full of vibrant oranges and yellows, the sea waved the same colors back. Your stomach hurt from laughing, your arms were sore from wrestling the stiff sand. Your fingers interlaced with War’s, Wind half laid over you. The whole scene was magical.

Quietly, Wind was thankful. Not many people on his small island quite understood him. Not even himself. The weather was great, and yet he still felt sad. But with his two parents, he felt understood. Cared for. Loved. And that’s what winter was about, he supposed.

Legend

It was, however, really goddamn cold in Legend’s Hyrule. Snow, crystalline and white was packed thickly up to your knees, making any movement a challenge. The wind blew through you and scattered loose bits of snow on top. The rows and rows of apple trees are barren, and looked to have been for quite some time.

When you both finally managed to make it home, you practically fell into the doorway. But alas, it was cold inside too.

The cluttered home certainly did well to lift your spirits, but did little in preventing the onset of hypothermia.

“Hey” Leg’s voice pulled you from shivering. He sounded soft, warm in his regard despite the many times you heard him curse out the weather.

“I’ll see if I have anything here to help keep us warm, it’s usually not this bad” He smiles, wincing slightly as he flexes his hands. You knew even if he did manage to find some cloak or enchanted jewellery stashed away in the depth of his house, it would do little to soothe his aching joints. However, you knew no matter what you said, no one could get the vet to sit still for ten minutes while you tried to light a fire. Hylia herself could order him to sit down and wait, but you knew he’d never listen. It just wasn’t the person he was.

“Just- be careful, ok? Don’t overdo it. I’ll try to start a fire in the meantime” He nods, redirecting his familiar determination mixed with spite towards finding something to warm you both up.

You yourself began gathering wood from various places around the house to light a fire. Apparently, you’d forgotten that the wood you intended to burn should go next to the place you burn it. You were ever so in love with your past self, at the moment

Trips to the kitchen, paddock and small forger rewarded you with just enough wood to start a hearty fire going. It cast patterns on the wall, meeting and reflecting on the many weapons, souvenirs, paintings, photos and other such trinkets which lie mounted on the walls or placed onto shelves. It was comforting. Calm. A serene feeling of warmth, both literal and metaphorical washed over you.

Swift steps echoed through the house as your beloved pink-haired hero returned, blankets and cloaks gathered in a massive mound in his arms. They hit the ground with a soft whoosh, Legend grinning, proud he’d completed his task. He sits down, bracing himself on the fireplace and the floor, a pained look passing his face. Brows furrowed, teeth bared as his mouth pulled into a wince, it wasn’t what you wanted for him. The cold months made everything with his joints hurt worse. Even if he wore all his braces, used all his salves, worked an adequate time, the cold pierced through him.

“C’mere” You pat the floor in front of you and assist him as he shuffles over. Your hands cup each cold, pink cheek, thumbs brushing over their blushed surface. He melts into you, his eyes closing in comfort and contentment for one of the first times in his life. Your hands slide back to weave through his hair, delicately setting his hat off to the side. Wordlessly, you press him forward to lean against your chest, scratching his scalp and whispering soft assurances. His ears flush and wiggle, his head is tucked away in the crook of your neck.

Finally, you lean back, laying down on the floor. You drape the heavy collection of blankets, cloaks and quilts over you and he resigns to his fate. He’s a little achy, but finally he can settle.

“There we go, you can rest” Your voice regards him softer than anyone else has before. It cradles even the most pained parts of himself. From the scared child he started his journies as, to the paranoid hero who was constantly hunted, to the jaded man he grew to be, you placated him. He was never built to be so soft. He smiles, grateful you can’t see his giddy lovestruck face and tease him over it— let alone make it worse. It was dangerous to be this soft. And yet he’s never felt so safe. For the first time in a long time he feels like he can relax. There’s nothing else to do than lay here with you.

Four

But the harsh winter chill didn’t invade the fire-warmed forge. Hot fire burned in the furnace, settling a cozy orange haze across the metal surfaces of anvils, swords and well-used work tables. The light scattered, making abstract patterns on the walls and catching on fine strands of gold as a ringed hand tucks the hair behind his pointed ear.

Four was well accustomed to making things — whether it be for commissions or as gifts.

Yet, he never had so much trouble as he did this time. Something about the self-imposed stress of perfection or the fact that it was for you, someone he treasured so deeply, made the task of making your gift so difficult. It seemed no matter what he drew up, no matter at what angle he approached, no matter what style he emulated, nothing felt quite right.

“Too little” A brash voice would complain, “Something so simple- it’s as if we don’t even love them.”

And so he’d tear the page and start again.

“Too much” A colder voice critiqued, “It’s hardly practical for them”

And so he’d pick up his pencils and start another sketch.

“It’s just-“ A softer voice tried several times to rephrase before landing on his words, “Not them. It’s not a bad gift, not at all. Just not one right for them.”

And after a moment of hesitation, he nods and begins once more.

“It’s not your fault” The surest voice of the four finally speaks up in the middle of his newest sketch. Four sighs and allows himself to separate himself from his work for a moment. Papers are strewn about, odd markings in coloured pencil are scribbled across each design. The distinct handwritings overlap and splay out from one another where each and every one of his opinions dieviated.

Anger doesn’t find him, too burnt out for the fire to find its fuel.

His hand knots itself in his hair, tiredness gripping him finally. He’s about to shake it off and return to his work, to draw until his hand is cramped and his mind exhausted, but he’s stopped by a shuffling just outside the door.

“Link?” Your familiar voice calls quietly, not wishing to intrude on whatever breakdown you intruded on.

Almost shamefully he turns to face you, hunched over and afraid of what you’ll say.

“Why are you still up? Why are you still working- it’s been the whole day!” Your tone holds no real bite, though he can sense disappointment.

“I was just finishing up orders for-“ Your voice cuts him off before he can finish the lie.

“Oh shush. The only thing you’ll be doing is getting into bed and not waking up till noon” It’d be so easy to release himself from your soft grip on his upper arm.

Mentally, it feels impossible.

There’s quiet insistence— hope, even, that he’ll follow along. And he lets himself be dragged out.

“Besides,” The calm voice of his inner self rings out, “You’ll find good inspiration eventually” He smiled, suppressing a laugh. Lest you turn around and ask him what’s so funny. It’s nothing, truly —he’d say— just that he figured out his newest project. A ring.

Time

The coziness of winter didn’t seem to trickle through the whole chain, though. For, the Hero of Time himself was far too busy fulfilling the role of being elderly. Time travel paradoxes aside, Time had spent the first two weeks of the early winter season in bed.

His own stubborn ethic would normally call him to work until he dropped dead, so long as the jobs were done by the end of the day. But between his heavy limbs, dizzy mind and weak muscles, it seemed as if he had no choice. He huffed after finally sitting up, legs swung over the side of the bed.

The room felt excruciatingly cold, every uncovered piece of skin attacked by the frosty hands of winter herself. As he finally managed to stand, fatigue settled over him in a heavy blanket.

It was odd, he thought. Several times he’s lost so much blood he could’ve sworn he died. He was so familiar with the feeling. With pushing past it. But now? Now he couldn’t move? He’d laugh if his lungs could spare the air.

He was forced to lean on anything nearby in order to keep himself shuffling forward. Dressers, doors, tables, chairs… It didn’t matter so long as they helped him reach his goal. Admittedly, though, he did linger by the fire, given it was the only moment he didn’t feel like the chill of the dead season had settled in his bones.

After what felt like ages of fridged shuffles, he made it to the other side of his small cottage. The island provided him a place to sit, and the kitchen provided warmth as stew bubbles away on the stove.

“Link! What are you-“ You move quickly to scold him for leaving bed, a crime he committed quite frequently, but paused upon seeing him squint

“Sorry” Your sweet apology is better than any medicine to him. He can already feel the warmth returning to his chest.

…Maybe that isn’t a good thing considering his fever.

“Go lie down,” He opens his mouth to argue with your concerns “I know you’re hungry and your fever is coming back up,” Oh, is that why your hands were on his cheeks? “But you’ll get more medicine after you eat, ok? I’ll be done soon” He feels himself deflate and lean forward into you, resting his heavy head into the crook of your neck. It feels perfectly carved to his face.

“Miss you” He rasps, his own voice unfamiliar. It’s gravelly and almost hard to make out with how slow and slurred he seems to talk

“I know, I know” You sigh, finally resting back into him, leaning him upright. Your hand massages his back, where his tunic is just slightly stuck to his skin.

He takes a deep breath. It feels like his lungs don’t absorb any of it.

You lean back on your heels to tend to the stew and he feels your hands tugging him with you. As eagerly as he can, he stands, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin atop your head.

“No- C’mon, back to bed” You huff in amusement at his loopy affection, to which he takes great offense

“But I don’t want to” He sighs heavily in response, leaving himself to be dead weight if you don’t start agreeing soon.

“I want to stay out here, with you” He offers finally, after a stretch of silence. His torso rises and falls with the deep breath you take.

“Fine. But you’ll lay down and take a nap when you’re done eating.” He grins, tightening his grip ever so slightly.

Sure, some part of him would always nag to be productive, even at his own detriment. But having you to care for him after so long of being neglected by the world was too much a luxury for him to pass up. He could suffer another nap or two.

[cera-writes]

Like Nothing Matters

A/N: It's finally done!! I've been dying to write this one. This is based on the song 'Nothing Matters by The Last Dinner Party' Pairing: Remy LeBeau "Gambit" x F!Reader Tags: jealousy, one sided pining, angst, friends with benefits, friends to lovers, nsfw themes Summary: Reader has been pining for Remy's attention for as long as she can remember. But his attention has always been for Rogue. He's been using reader for sex, something he could never have with Rogue. Reader is tired of being used so she gives Remy an ultimatum.

The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the city as Remy LeBeau leaned against the sleek, cherry-red convertible. His eyes were fixed on Rogue and Magneto, who stood a few feet away, their bodies close in a way that spoke of more than just mentor and student. Remy's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

"Remy," you called softly, stepping up beside him. You followed his gaze, your heart sinking at the sight that always seemed to pain him. "You know you can't—"

"Gambit know what he can't have," he snapped, cutting you off. His voice was sharp, but there was a raw vulnerability beneath the surface. "But dat don' mean he can't want it."

I have my sentence now

At last I know just how you felt

You swallowed hard, your own feelings for Remy bubbling to the surface like acid. You'd been in love with him for so long, watching him pine after Rogue while you were right here, longing for him to see you. "Maybe we should go," you suggested, hoping to distract him from the scene before him.

Remy didn't respond immediately. He took a deep breath, his eyes closing briefly before he nodded. "Yeah, let's get outta here."

He led you to the convertible, sliding into the driver's seat with a practiced ease. You settled into the passenger seat, the soft leather cool against your skin. The engine roared to life, the sound echoing through the quiet street as Remy peeled away from the curb.

The city lights blurred into streaks of color as they sped through the streets, the wind whipping through your hair. You glanced at Remy, his profile illuminated by the passing lights, his expression unreadable. You reached out, your hand resting on his knee, a silent offer of comfort.

Remy glanced at you, his eyes dark and intense in the dim light. "Ya really wanna do dis?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. "Do what?"

"Dis," he said, his hand covering yours, squeezing gently. "Us. Right now. Here."

I dig my fingers in, expecting more than just the skin

Your breath caught in your throat, your mind racing. You knew what this could mean, what it could lead to. But you also knew the risk, the potential heartbreak. "Are you sure?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

Remy didn't answer. Instead, he pulled the car over to the side of the road, the tires screeching slightly as they came to a halt. He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. "Remy need dis," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "He need... something."

You nodded, understanding more than he might realize. "Okay," you breathed, your resolve strengthening. "Let's do this."

Remy leaned in, his lips brushing against yours gently at first, then deepening the kiss with a desperate urgency. You responded, your hands finding his face, pulling him closer. The world around you faded away, the only reality the two of you, locked in this stolen moment.

His hands roamed over your body, his touch both familiar and thrilling. You gasped into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss intensified. The car seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with desire. This was the sum of your relationship with Remy. It all boiled down to sex. You were a means to an end, nothing more.

'Cause we're a lot alike

In favor, like a motorbike

A sailor and a nightingale

Dancing in convertibles

"You can hold me," you murmured against his lips, your voice shaky with emotion. "Like he held her."

Remy froze for a moment, the words piercing through the haze of lust. He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours, a storm of emotions swirling within them. "And whatta 'bout you, chere?" he asked, his voice raw. "What do ya want?"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "I guess I'll just keep fucking you like nothing matters," you confessed, the truth spilling out before you could stop it.

Remy's eyes darkened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He didn't speak, his silence heavy between you. Instead, he kissed you again, his hands moving with a newfound intensity, his body pressing against yours as if he couldn't get close enough.

You let a soft moan escape your lips at his sudden urgency, wrapping your hands around his neck as your fingers entangled in his hair. The car rocked gently, the sounds of the city muted outside as you lost yourself in each other. Each touch, each kiss, felt like a secret shared, a betrayal of sorts, yet it was a connection you both craved. It was reckless, wild, and utterly consuming.

As the moments stretched into what felt like hours, you clung to Remy, your body melding with his, your hearts beating in sync despite the chaos of your emotions. You knew this couldn't last, that it was a temporary escape from the realities of your lives. But in this moment, with Remy, it felt like everything else ceased to exist.

"Remy," you whispered, your voice hoarse with passion. "Please..."

He kissed you fiercely, his response a mix of desperation and tenderness. You arched against him, your body aching for more, for completion. The world outside the car faded away, the only reality the two of you, intertwined in this stolen moment. The windows were fogged up past the point of no return as you gripped onto the seat, your breaths mingling in the confined space.

The night grew deeper, the city quieter as you explored each other, each movement fueled by a hunger that seemed insatiable. It was raw, primal, a dance of bodies and souls that defied logic and reason.

As the final moments approached, you clung to Remy, your breaths mingling in the dimly lit space. Your bodies moved together, a symphony of pleasure and pain, of longing and release. It was brutal and beautiful, a testament to the complexity of human desires.

"Remy!" you gasped, your voice breaking as the climax washed over you.

He buried his face in your neck, his body shuddering with the force of his release. You held him tightly, your fingers digging into his back, feeling the weight of the moment settle heavily between you.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the ragged breathing, the thud of your hearts trying to find a steady rhythm. You stayed locked in each other's arms, the aftermath of passion leaving you both vulnerable and exposed.

Eventually, Remy lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours. There was a depth to his gaze, a mixture of regret and wonder. "Dat was..." he began, his voice husky.

"Intense," you finished for him, your own voice tinged with uncertainty.

He nodded, his expression unreadable. "Yeah. Intense."

You shifted slightly, adjusting your clothes as you tried to gather your thoughts. He helped you fix the strap on your tank top. The air in the car felt charged, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. You wanted to ask him what this meant, where it left you both. But the words stuck in your throat, too afraid of the answers.

Remy cleared his throat, his gaze shifting towards the window. "We should probably head back," he said, his voice strained.

You nodded, even though part of you wanted to protest, to demand more from him. But you knew better than to push. Not yet, at least. "Yeah, okay," you agreed, your tone resigned.

We've got the highway tight

The moon is bursting with headlights

One more and we're away

Love tender in your Chevrolet

He started the car, the engine roaring back to life as he pulled back onto the road. The city lights blurred once more, the world outside a kaleidoscope of colors. You watched it all pass by, your mind a whirl of thoughts and emotions.

As the car wound its way through the streets, you stole glances at Remy, trying to read his mood. He seemed lost in thought, his brow furrowed, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. You wondered if he was thinking of Rogue, or if, perhaps, for the first time, he was considering the possibility of something more with you.

The thought both thrilled and terrified you. You wanted him to see you, to acknowledge the depth of your feelings. But you also feared the rejection, the potential heartbreak. It was a delicate balance, one you struggled to maintain as the miles ticked by.

Finally, the car slowed, turning into the driveway of your residence. Remy parked the vehicle, the engine idling quietly as he stared straight ahead. You waited, unsure of what to say, what to do.

"Thanks for... tonight," he said eventually, his voice low. "It meant a lot, mon ami."

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. "Yeah. Anytime."

He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. "Can I see ya again? Properly?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and hopeful. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "Um... yeah. I'd like that," you answered honestly, your voice trembling slightly.

Remy smiled, a genuine warmth lighting up his features. "Good. 'Cause Remy think he might need ya."

You returned his smile, relief flooding through you. "Then I'll be here," you promised, your voice strong.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle kiss. It was brief, tender, a promise of more to come. Then he pulled back, his eyes locking with yours. "Until next time, cher," he murmured, his voice soft.

You nodded, your heart full as you watched him exit the car. The door shut quietly, the sound echoing through the stillness. You remained seated, your mind a whirl of thoughts and feelings.

As the car engine purred to life once more, you knew that whatever happened next, you were in it together. For better or worse, you had claimed your place in Remy's life, and he in yours. It was a beginning, a fragile hope amidst the chaos of your worlds.

The car pulled away from the curb, the headlights slicing through the darkness. You watched it disappear down the street, your heart swelling with a mix of anticipation and fear. But as the taillights faded into the distance, you knew one thing for certain: you were ready for whatever came next.

-

It was Saturday finally.

The sun had barely begun to dip below the horizon when Remy LeBeau, clad in his signature leather jacket and a mischievous grin, revved the engine of his black motorbike outside your house. You heard the deep rumble from inside, a sound that always sent a shiver down your spine—in more ways than one. Today was different, though. Today, he wasn't just here for a casual fling; he had something else on his mind.

You stepped out onto the porch, dressed in a simple yet elegant black dress that hugged your curves just right. Remy's eyes lingered on you a moment longer than usual, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze before he offered you a helmet with a flourish. "Ready to ride, chere?" he asked, his voice smooth as velvet.

Nodding, you straddled the bike behind him, your arms wrapping around his waist instinctively. The familiar warmth of his body against yours should have been comforting, but there was an edge to it today, a tension that hadn't been there before. As he pulled away from the curb, the wind whipping through your hair, you couldn't help but wonder what tonight held in store.

The city lights blurred past as Remy weaved through traffic, his skill on the bike as impressive as ever. You clung tighter, your body pressed against his back, feeling the subtle shifts of muscle as he maneuvered. It was during these moments, when the world outside faded into a blur of motion, that you felt most connected to him—or at least, you had thought so until now.

After what felt like an eternity but was really just a few thrilling minutes, Remy slowed the bike to a stop in front of an old, ornate theater you hadn't noticed before. The marquee glowed with the words "Love Unmasked," a play that seemed oddly fitting given the circumstances.

Remy helped you off the bike, his hands lingering on your hips longer than necessary. "Thought we could start with a bit of culture," he said, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his usually confident tone.

Inside, the theater was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old wood and anticipation. Remy led you to your seats, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. The proximity sent a thrill through you, but it was tempered by the realization that this wasn't just another date. Something had changed, and you weren't sure you were ready for whatever it was.

As the lights dimmed and the curtain rose, you tried to focus on the stage, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Remy. His leg brushed against yours occasionally, a silent invitation or perhaps a plea for understanding. The play, a tale of hidden identities and forbidden love, seemed to mirror your own situation eerily.

Halfway through the performance, Remy leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Chere, dere's somethin' Gambit need to tell you," he murmured, his voice low and urgent.

You turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "What is it, Remy?"

He hesitated, his gaze flickering around the nearly empty theater before meeting yours again. "Remy... Remy think he been a fool," he admitted, his expression raw with emotion. "He thought he was jus' usin' you, but... he can't deny it anymore. Chere, I'm in love with you."

The confession hung heavy in the air between you, a mix of shock and relief washing over you. You had sensed something shifting, but hearing it aloud was both terrifying and exhilarating. "Remy..." you began, unsure of what to say.

Before you could respond, he continued, his voice tinged with desperation. "Remy know he don't deserve you, not after how he treated you, but he can't go on like this. Not knowin' if ya feel the same."

You reached out, taking his hand in yours, feeling the calluses from years of card-playing and thievery. "Remy, I..."

But the rest of your response was cut off by the sudden burst of applause as the actors took their bows. The spell was broken, the moment lost in the noise of the crowd. Remy looked away, frustration and regret etched across his features. "We should go," he said quietly, standing up and offering you his hand.

Outside, the night had grown cooler, the air crisp with the promise of autumn. Remy helped you back onto the bike, his movements mechanical, distant. As he started the engine, the roar seemed louder than before, a stark contrast to the quietude of his demeanor.

The ride back was silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts. The weight of Remy's confession lingered, a heavy burden neither of you knew how to bear. When he finally stopped in front of your house, he turned off the engine and faced you, his eyes searching yours for some sign of what to do next.

"Tonight... it meant a lot to Remy," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He jus' need to know... d'you feel de same?"

You swallowed hard, the truth bubbling up inside you, desperate to be set free. "Remy..."

And we're a lot alike

In favor, like a motorbike

A sailor and a nightingale

Dancing in convertibles

You leaned in, your lips meeting Remy's in a passionate kiss that spoke volumes more than words ever could. The intensity of the moment seemed to shatter the silence that had enveloped you both. As you pulled him inside, the door to your place closed behind you with a soft thud, sealing the night and its revelations within.

Remy's hands found your waist, then moved upward, his grip firm as he pressed you against the wall. His kisses were sloppy yet hungry, each one a desperate claim on the emotions swirling between you. You felt the heat of his breath on your neck, the scratch of his stubble adding an edge to the tenderness.

And you can hold me like he held her

And I will fuck you like nothing matters

And you can hold me like he held her

And I will fuck you like nothing matters

With a hand on Remy's chest, you gently pushed back, creating space between you. He looked at you with concern. "You wan' me to stop, chere?"

"Remy," you whispered, looking into his eyes, "are you sure this is what you want? There are no more lingering feelings for Rogue on your part?"

His expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing his features before he steadied himself. "Chere," he said, his voice resolute, "Gambit is leavin' all dat in de past now. You... you're his future."

The sincerity in his words washed over you, a wave of relief and acceptance. You nodded, understanding the weight of his confession and the promise it held. Without another word, you drew him close again, your lips finding his once more, this time with a shared certainty that echoed through every touch, every kiss.

The night unfolded around you, each moment a step into the unknown, guided by the fragile thread of newfound love.

As you led Remy upstairs, the air seemed to thicken with anticipation. The soft glow from a nearby lamp cast long shadows along the walls, adding an intimate ambiance to the space. You could feel Remy's eyes on you, his gaze intense and unwavering as he followed close behind.

Entering your bedroom, you turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. Remy stepped closer, his hands gently cupping your cheeks as he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss deepened, fueled by the emotions that had been simmering between you both.

"Chere," he murmured against your lips, "Gambit wants to show you how much y'mean to him."

You nodded, your breath mingling with his as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Remy's hands trailed down your back, his touch electric as he slowly began to undress you. Slowly unzipping your dress revealed more of your skin to his appreciative gaze, his eyes darkening with desire.

As you stood before him, bare and vulnerable, Remy's hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve with a tenderness that spoke of his deep affection. You gasped as his fingers found sensitive spots, your head falling back as pleasure coursed through you.

Remy lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed where he laid you down gently. He hovered above you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he lowered himself, his body pressing against yours as he kissed you again, this time with an urgency that left no doubt about his intentions.

The room filled with the sounds of your mingled breaths and the rustle of sheets as Remy made love to you with a passion that was both fierce and tender. His movements were deliberate, each thrust a declaration of his feelings, each caress a promise of his devotion. It was almost like this was your real first time together, like you were seeing each other in a new light finally, without the veil of pretending.

You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back as waves of pleasure crashed over you. The world narrowed down to just the two of you, the intensity of the moment consuming all else. Remy's voice, hoarse with emotion, whispered endearments in your ear, his Cajun accent thickening with each word.

"Je t'aime, chere," he breathed, his words a balm to your soul. "Remy loves you more than anythin'."

As the climax approached, the energy between you both reached a crescendo. With a final, powerful thrust, Remy shattered the headboard, the wood splintering loudly in your bedroom. You cried out, your voice merging with his as release washed over you both.

For a long while, you lay tangled together, the aftermath of passion leaving you breathless and sated. Remy propped himself up on his elbows, a mix of guilt and amusement playing across his features as he surveyed the damage.

"Damn... guess Gambit got a bit carried away," he admitted sheepishly, his hand stroking your hair tenderly. "But don't worry, chere, he'll buy ya a new one. A better one."

You laughed, the sound rich and warm, as you pulled him down for another kiss. "I think this one will do for now," you replied, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "But maybe we should test the new one first, make sure it's sturdy enough."

Remy grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Challenge accepted, chere," he said, rolling onto his side to face you. "But right now, Gambit just wants to hold you. Feel you next to him."

You nestled closer, your head resting on his shoulder as you watched the shadows dance on the ceiling. The night outside grew deeper, but inside, the room was filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature. As sleep began to claim you, you felt Remy's hand tighten around yours, a silent promise of his presence and protection.

The next day dawned bright and clear, the sun casting a golden glow over the city as Remy and you stepped out into the morning light. The air was crisp, carrying with it the promise of change, much like the shift in your relationship with Remy.

He ushered you on the back of his bike. Remy seemed pensive, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a seriousness that spoke volumes about his internal struggle.

As you approached the Xavier Institute, the place where Rogue and Magneto had their shared quarters, Remy paused, his hand tightening around yours as you both hopped off his bike. "Chere, Remy need to do dis," he said, his voice low but resolute.

Even when the cold comes crashing through

I'm putting all my bets on you

I hope they never understand us

Nodding, you squeezed his hand in support. "I'm right here with you," you assured him, offering a small, encouraging smile.

Together, you entered the building, the atmosphere inside charged with the energy of the mutants who called this place home. Remy led you through the corridors, his steps purposeful as he navigated towards Rogue's room.

When you arrived at her door, Remy took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead. He knocked, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet hall. After a moment, the door swung open, revealing Rogue, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of you both.

"Remy? What's going on?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Remy stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Rogue, we need to talk," he said, his tone serious.

Rogue glanced at you, then back at Remy, her brow furrowing. "Sure, come in," she replied, stepping aside to let you both enter.

Inside, the room was cozy, filled with personal items that spoke of Rogue's personality. Remy sat down on the edge of her bed, while you remained standing near the door, giving them space but ready to offer support if needed.

"What's this about, Remy?" Rogue asked, her gaze shifting between the two of you.

Remy hesitated, his hands clenching slightly before he spoke. "Rogue, we can't keep doin' dis. Pretending dat what we had is enough when it ain't."

Rogue's face paled, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What are you saying, Remy?"

"I'm saying that I'm moving on," Remy admitted, his voice firm despite the pain etched across his features. "Gambit care about you, Rogue, but not in de way he should. Not in the way that makes me happy. Gambit can't keep holding onto to de thought dat we could be somethin' one day. I'm sorry, chere."

Rogue's gaze flicked to you, her expression hardening. "And is this because of her?" she demanded, pointing at you, a look of hurt flashing across her features.

Remy shook his head, his voice steady. "No, it's not jus' cause of her. It's cause of Gambit. Cause he finally realized dat he deserve more, and so does she."

Rogue stood up, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "So, what? You're just going to throw away everything we had for some new fling? I mean... can't say I hardly blame you. I know Magneto and I-"

Remy shushed her, standing as well, his eyes meeting hers directly. "It's not a fling, Rogue. It's real, and it's what Remy need. What we both need."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable as Rogue processed Remy's words. Finally, she nodded, her voice thick with emotion. "Fine. If that's what you want, then go."

Remy's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. Instead, he turned to you, offering his hand. You took it without hesitation, your heart heavy but determined.

I put my heart inside your palms

My home in your arms

Now we know nothing matters

Nothing matters

As you walked out of the room, leaving Rogue behind, you felt a mix of relief and sadness. Remy's hand was warm in yours, a tangible symbol of the new path you were walking together.

Outside, the sun had reached its zenith, bathing the world in light. Remy stopped suddenly, turning to face you, his eyes searching yours. "You okay wit' dis?" he asked, his voice soft with concern.

You smiled, though it wobbled slightly at the edges. "I'm okay with us, Remy. With whatever comes next, although, please don't feel like you two can't remain friends on my behalf."

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent, letting his warmth seep into your bones.

As you stood there, lost in the moment, Remy's hand drifted down to your ass, his fingers gently squeezing. You gasped softly, your body responding instinctively to his touch.

"Let's go somewhere else," he murmured against your ear, his voice husky with desire. "Somewhere we can be alone."

Nodding, you pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze with a mixture of excitement and anticipation. "Yes," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wrapping your arms around his middle, you both rode away from the Xavier Institute, leaving behind the ghosts of the past as you stepped into the unknown future, ready to face it together, side by side.

And you can hold me like he held her

And I will fuck you like nothing matters

And you can hold me like he held her

And I will fuck you like nothing matters

And you can hold me, like he held her

And I will fuck you like nothing matters

And you can hold me like he held her

And I will fuck you like nothing matters, ooh

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

ATLA

Waiting on that morning sun by DustOnDaydreams

“To the Generals, Admirals, Officers, Soldiers and Sailors of the Fire Nation, Halt your advance. Pull back to your nearest military stronghold, and await further orders. Do not engage any forces unless absolutely necessary for your own defence. Put out any fires you come across. Sign it only with the full list of the Fire Lord's titles."

“Your Majesty, do you not want to put your name to the missive?” A young pimpled scribe squeaked out to the shocked silence.

“No. I want them to obey the order.”

Or Zuko's transition from child soldier to young monarch in charge of a corrupted nation

Harry Potter

The Cloak by MoonflowerMorningGlory

Harry is not going back to the Dursleys. He has been out of the cupboard for a whole year; he's not going back in. It's tricky - he doesn't really want to have to explain to anyone. But he's magic now! He has an invisibility cloak! And he's had a lot of practice lying still and pretending he doesn't exist. So he can definitely hide out and avoid being put back on the Hogwarts Express, right? Nothing can go wrong with an eleven year old by themselves for 9 weeks in a wild, magical castle, can it?

Nine Worlds

East First by fire_eyes_chica

"East first, then west and home"

Before they can settle into their well-deserved retirement, first Kip and Fitzroy need to return to the Palace of Stars for the Jubilee celebrations. It's harder than it seems.

these unfaithful hands by rattyjol

His feet were moving again, though he did not recall deciding to go anywhere. He crossed the room, past his desk, past the plinth with the asymmetrical vase, past the tapestry map and the golden nightingale in its cage. Past the terrace, where he had been pleased to break his fast with his Radiancy—only this morning? It felt a thousand years away.

He was standing before the ivory door to the inner apartments, which he had passed through only a handful of times before. His hand raised of its own accord, and the door fell open beneath it.

He became aware, with a creeping dread like tendrils up his throat, that something was terribly wrong.

The Goblin Emperor

Falling (Please Catch Me) by mabonwitch

Maia gains a wife, a lover, and a dav.

Or: "He needs affection, and closeness. He is all but starved for it, and we would see him glutted on it instead.” She raised her chin. “However that happens.”

The Imperial Salon by mabonwitch

The Imperial salon is full of marnei. Vazhik gets a firsthand look at why that might be.

Alternate Title: The Emperor's Gay Lover

the first long welcome by wizardcake

Just a few little conversations and scenes on the topic of Maia becoming, and being, a parent. Fluff with a couple shavings of angst on top for flavor and texture.

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Snapshot

Pairing: Wild x Reader...?

Warning(s): Wind :((((((

Notes: No one can convince me that Wild didn't take photos of himself on his sheikah slate, so feast.

Masterlist

It was a perfect morning. The sun was shining, the breeze was blowing, and the camp was filled with the sounds of gentle ribbing and mirthful laughter as the boys readied themselves for the day. You sat on a log on the edge of the camp, idly flipping through Wild's slate in search of eggs and rice. He had handed you the device on a whim, already traipsing into the forest in search of kindling with a request for ingredients thrown over a muscled shoulder.

"What in Hylia?!" Several heads turned as a gasp tore through the clearing.

You held the sheikah slate in a death grip, mouth falling open as you regarded the screen with unblinking, horror-struck eyes. It can't be, your mind whispered, thoughts laced with terror as you beheld the image before you, face flushing redder than Legend's tunic.

It can't be, your mind hissed in all-consuming terror, trying and failing to protect you from the visual. An abdomen, awash with golden skin, pocket-marked with raised nicks and a very familiar pattern of burns on the left side. A small dip of a belly button, undershadowed by the soft dusting of straw-colored hair that led down, down, down–

Someone called your name. You slammed the slate screen-down on your lap when Four approached, flanked by Wind and Hyrule, their brows knitted in concerned expressions. "Are you okay?" Wind asked, with Hyrule echoing: "Did something happen?"

Oh Hylia, have mercy!

The hero's eyes narrowed when you began to sweat, pressing the slate down with enough force to crack it. You didn't care what Wild thought, not when he had that on his Hylia-given device. "I-I'm fine," you stuttered eloquently, avoiding eye contact while making possibly the least convincing expression you could have in that moment. "It's fine. I'm fine."

Four raised a brow, obviously not believing a word you said. His gaze flicked to the slate in your lap, and you had the distinct urge to shove it up your tunic to protect it (and your crumbling sanity) from prying eyes. "Uh-huh."

He obviously didn't believe you, and you would be a liar if you said that you wouldn't, either. Wind, however, took a more direct approach, physically reaching for the offending slate with a curious gleam in his eyes. "Let me see," he said, and your soul nearly combusted at the thought of his sweet little mind being exposed to the pure filth Wild apparently delighted in having access to at all times.

You reacted with an accuracy usually reserved for fighting monsters or warding off Warriors' attempts at hugging when he was drunk, gently swatting the sailor's hand away before he could ruin his both sanity and innocence. "Don't touch!"

Wind looked shocked at the unusual development, yanking his hand back as if he'd been burned. Fuck, you thought, when his expression morphed into a pout, eyes crinkling at the corners. You were weak for that shit and he knew it. "What?! Why not?"

"Yeah," Hyrule added, edging forward as he studied your lap. You held the slate tighter, praying to every deity out there for mercy, because you did not want to explain why you were peering at Wild's... pictures like some weirdo, even if clicking on that specific album had been a complete and total accident on your part. "We just want to make sure you're okay."

Like hell they did, the little fuckers just wanted to see what had made you act like a teenager in a bathhouse! Sucks for them, because there was no way in Hylia you were showing them the picture, much less letting them get their grubby hands on something that you assumed was private to the champion. Hylia, you fucking hoped so. "N-No!"

Over Four's head, Wind and Hyrule shared a look.

A beat passed.

They lunged.

You shrieked at the action, practically flinging yourself backwards to avoid them. It was by the grace of whatever deities that had heard your earlier plea that you managed to dodged the first attack, clutching the slate to your chest as the two heroes advanced, eyes gleaming at the challenge. "No! Go away!"

But, of course, that was not the case, so you resorted to sprinting to the opposite edge of camp, where Sky and Wolfie snoozed against a large tree. The skyloftian didn't even flinch when you practically tripped over his outstretched legs, and Wolfie merely regarded you with perked ears and a chuff, which quickly turned into something surprised when Wind and Hyrule barreled after you, the former yelling some obscure bullshit about fairness. Per usual, Twilight was nowhere to be found when you actually needed him, and Legend, Time, and Warriors had all but evaporated into thin air. Four seemed to have given up on the matter, watching the scene with rapt attention from your prior seat on the log.

You choked on a breath when something heavy slammed into your back, knocking you to the ground. You heard Wind's victorious shout as another, heavier weight clamored atop your back. The slate was promptly torn from your grip, and you let out a string of expletives that would have had Sky glaring down at you had he been awake. "Hyrule!"

The weight left your back. Hyrule strode in front of you, grin wide as he held up the slate like it was a goddamn prize. Like he didn't know the horrors that lurked within. You jumped up, terror cursing through your being as reality set in. Unfortunately, there was nothing you could do to stop the Traveler from turning the slate around and tapping the blank screen, which flashed on in a brilliant light that made you want to tear your hair out.

For a moment, it was silent. For a moment, Hyrule looked normal as he stared at the screen. For a moment, you dared hope that the device had reset to the main screen.

Until the Hero of Hyrule let out a strangled gasp, cheeks flushing a deep, dark crimson, and you realized that the goddesses must be dead or crazy to have allowed such fuckery to take place. "Hyrule, put that down–!" you tried, tone desperate. He was frozen still, and you wanted to cry. "Don't–!"

Just when it couldn't get any worse, it did. Wind, ever the curious little shit, craned his head over the older hero's shoulders, staring down at the screen. You could practically see the gears in his mind working furiously to decipher the image before him, and it was with a heavy, dilapidated heart that you mourned the loss of innocence, only to be torn from your thoughts when the sailor let out the most mortified noise you had ever heard, loud enough to wake the dead, or, more accurately, Sky, who sputtered awake like he had been stabbed. "Wha–?"

"Woah!" Wind's yell cut through the clearing, mouth gaping in abject horror. You covered your head in your hands with a whimpered: "Oh my Hylia– shut up, shut up, why did you show him?!"

"He looked!" Hyrule exclaimed, blushing redder than fresh blood. He kept his eyes averted, trying to return it to your hands without viewing the image for another traumatizing time. "W-What even is this?!"

"What do you think it is?" You hissed in horrified frustration, willing yourself not to think about the toned abs or... other regions of the image currently taking up the screen. "It's obviously his–"

A new voice broke rang through the clearing, and your worst fears were confirmed. "What in Hylia is going on here?"

Wild was here, firewood in hand as the terrifying presences of Legend, Time, and Warriors followed him into camp. Slate in hand, you did the only appropriate thing to amend the situation. You threw the slate at Wild with a half-delirious shriek: "You happened!"

With a yelp, Wild dropped the wood and scrambled to catch his precious slate. He opened his mouth, presumable to admonish you for throwing his stuff around, but the screen flickered to life and his jaw snapped shut, face paling when he registered the content before him. "Uh–"

Legend, who was closest to Wild, scoffed. "What is–"

And then, because the Goddess Hylia was truly gone and dead, the pink-haired veteran caught sight of the slate. Like the others, the reaction was instantaneous. Legend, the unofficial king of snark and dirty jokes, grew beet red in the face and stammered out a traumatized: "the fuck?!"

Time was the next to fall, using his superior height to view the horror. You watched as the blood seemed to drain from his face, and the scandalized look on his face would have been hilarious had it been literally any other situation. Warriors, not wanting to be left out of the loop, fell over himself to peek, only to draw back with a yell that threatened to permanently damage everyone's eardrums. "WHAT IS THAT?!"

It was a nice set of abs and a penis, you wanted to say, but that seemed far too poignant for the sheer terror radiating from the group. It was only natural that Sky got his own eyeful of the slate and promptly threw himself back with an expression that resembled that of a traumatized war veteran. Honestly, you didn't know why they were so shocked, they literally bathed together! You were the real victim here!!

"It's– uh," Wild sputtered, pressing the slate close to his stomach to avoid any more mishaps, but the damage was already done. You couldn't even look at him, much less–...Hylia, just thinking about it had you flushing a very guilty, very mortified crimson. Cerulean eyes turned to you, and a finger was turned in your direction. "You were the one with it in the first place!"

"Me?! At least I'm not the one with that on my slate thing!" You shrieked back, the accusation making you feel like a teenager who had just been caught reading a particularly steamy novel, which was totally not the focus of the fuckery that was unfolding before everyone's very eyes. "Don't you dare turn this on me, Link!"

Several people flinched at the use of the name 'Link', but you were too angry to care. First he was harboring porn on his very public, very accessible slate, and now he was trying to pin the blame on you?! Despicable!

"It was private!" he shot back, like you didn't already know that, cheeks darkened with embarrassment, which you were glad, because this was completely and totally his fault. "I can't believe you went through my stuff!"

"I can't believe you keep dick pics on your slate!" you shot back without missing a beat. Everyone flinched, save for Time, who cleared his throat in an attempt to regain control of the obviously spiraling situation.

"That's enough–"

"Hang on, I'm not done," you cut the eldest hero off in a rare moment of rage, walking forward and jamming your finger in the center of Wild's chest. 'And you want to know the worst part?"

He visibly gulped.

You pointed to Wind, who looked seconds from passing out, and let that do the talking.

The Hero of the Wild's went pale as realization dawned upon him.

"No..."

"Yes."

The camp descended into chaos once more.

"Darlin', I know yer mad, but–"

You turned a flaming glare to Twilight, who had finally seen fit to join the group no less than two hours after the self-proclaimed "slate incident", though he seemed worryingly caught up with recent events. Too bad you were too pissed at Wild to care, even now, two days later. "But what, Twilight?"

The Rancher blinked, looking seconds away from raising his hands in defeat. You were glad his sense of self preservation appeared intact, though he could definitely work on his timing. All of them could, judging by the looks you were currently getting from all over camp. Wild looked particularly apologetic and your only thought was good. "Ah'll leave ya alone now..."

You patted his head. "Good boy."

Wind, glued to your side like an adorable koala, giggled like a gremlin. He was recovering remarkably well after the horrors of forty-eight-hours earlier. Twilight made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, retreating to sit with the other men, who looked similarly cowed. It was almost funny how scared they all were of you. Almost.

A thick silence blanketed the camp.

Wind poked the edge of the campfire with his stick.

You let your eyes meet Wild's, and, for a brief moment, allowed yourself to wonder what exactly was so wrong about him having photos on his slate. Nothing, except for the fact that a fourteen-year-old had seen his junk and you were allowed to be pissed.

Abruptly, the Hero of the Wild's stood. His bony language was tenser than a bowstring as he trudged to 'your' side of camp; shoulders rounded, head ducked just enough that he could still see where he was going, expression the picture of determined regret.

"Can we talk?"

You hummed, letting his words hang in the air until they felt stale, then nodded. "Sure."

Wild's gaze nervously shifted around the clearing. "...Alone?"

You stood with a sigh. "Fine."

Without another word, you turned on your heel and strode in a random direction, knowing he would follow. A few minutes passed, and when you were confident that you were out of earshot, you stopped, turning to face the sheepish hero with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow. "Alright, Link, I'm listening."

Wild, who was a good three feet away, looked away, expression nothing short of positively guilty. Okay, now you felt a bit bad, because for all the exasperation you held for the situation, you didn't want to be mean. He just needed to learn.

"I'm sorry," he said, and it was a battle unto itself not to interrupt with your own thoughts. You would hear him out, and you would be respectful about it. A soul-deep breath passed through Wild's lungs as he continued: "I didn't mean for Wind or Time or anybody to see..."

"Or me?"

He winced. "Especially you."

Fair. You ran a hand through your hair, letting out your own sigh. "I'm not mad, just... you know what? It doesn't matter. We all make mistakes, and while I'm not a fan of Wind being scarred for life, it could have been worse... but," you paused to collect your thoughts, and maybe see him squirm one last time before amends were made. "trust me when I say no one wants to see that, dude."

Wild blushed, and you were honestly just done with life for a bit. "Yeah... um... it won't happen again."

You nodded, already feeling better about the whole thing. "Great, just save it for the barmaids, m'kay?"

"Got it."

"Awesome."

A thick silence blanketed the clearing, though it was far from uncomfortable. You licked your dry lips in an attempt to regain some much-needed moisture. "That being said, if I find that you let another unassuming soul discover... that, I'm breaking that slate. Am I clear?"

Wild went significantly paler, but he managed to nod. "Yeah... crystal."

You patted his head. "Good boy," he flushed a healthy crimson, but you paid no mind, smoothing down the sleeves of your tunic before making for camp. "Let's go back, yeah? I'm starving."

The Champion was quick to follow, and the two of you never spoke of the slate again.

I'm not sorry 😈

[autisticabbey]

My DIY Sun (Galaxia) and Golden Sun puzzle piece long sleeve shirts, and my decorated Golden Sun vintage heels

[honeylullaby]

I don’t believe in God, but I believe that you’re my saviour PT. 2

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Unbeknownst to Rupert, you are in serious trouble…

Title derived from Sailor Song by Gigi Perez.

18+ FANFIC / Protective, soft Rupert, all the good stuff. Reader character aged at 21. Injury mentions. Featuring Bas! Read Part 1 here. Hope you enjoy! 🩷

Streams of canary yellow begonias & flamingo pink carnations lined the fading oak stables, the rising sun washing a peaceful glow over Penscombe Court. With knee-high leather riding boots protecting your feet, you pulled open the stable door and almost jumped out of your skin at the sight of an olive-skinned, dapper man, tinted shades hiding his eyes and wrapped tightly in a khaki gilet. “Good morning, babe. Didn’t frighten you, did I? Awfully sorry. Rupert said I could keep Bessie here.” Basil Baddingham beamed, blessing you with a glimpse of his dazzling pearly whites. Bessie was an Arabian horse — regal & imposing, with a striking chestnut colour and an ink black mane. “She’s so gorgeous.” You purr, running your hand over the top of Bessie’s head. “You can ride her if you want.” Bas winked towards you, surveying the apprehensive expression washed across your face. There was something so awfully compelling about Basil that meant you struggled to oppose him.

Less than twenty minutes later, you were bounding across the extensive fields of Penscombe Court, chilled wind rippling through your golden hair — exhilarated and elated. Bas rode alongside you, the smaller horse he was riding struggling to keep up with the rapid pace of Bessie. “Oh come on, Bas! Scared to race me?” You roared as you careered down the bank. Basil chuckled to himself as he patted his horse, urging it to catch up. Before it had chance, Bessie neighed thunderously, subsequently followed by a blood-curdling scream. “Hurry, boy, go!” Basil howled, patting his horse and steadying himself as they bolted down the embankment, and he jumped from the horse’s back before it had time to cease its speed. The scene that greeted him was one of inconceivable horror that he would never forget. You were sprawled across the ground, nose bloodied, arm bent in an anomalous manner & breathing shallow. “Dear God, Rupert is going to fucking kill me.” He groaned under his breath, darting over to you and kneeling at your side.

“God, babe. I’m so fucking sorry.” Basil panted, reaching out to stroke your muddied face but hesitatingly pulling away. Basil was right, Rupert was going to go ballistic, to say the least, but he had to be told. Pulling his bulky telephone from his gilet pocket, he prodded in Rupert’s number with trembling digits. It was ringing for a painstaking length of time, before Rupert answered, half-way through a chuckle. “Hello? Bas, what’s wrong?” Rupert answered, trying to make coherence from Basil’s distressed ramblings.

-

Dressed only in an unbuttoned, unironed white shirt, beige trousers and black wellington’s, Rupert hurtled from the majestic doors of Penscombe Court, thick mud flying from beneath his feet. He had never sprinted so fast in his life. Sprinting down the bank, he gasped — dumbfounded and horrified at your utterly mangled state. “Angel!” He almost whimpered, sinking into the mud beside you and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I’m so sorry, Rupert, I-“ Basil began, stood yards away with his hand clamped over his open mouth. The look in Rupert’s eyes was one of unbridled rage. Throwing himself to his feet, he stormed over to Basil, lifting him from the ground with fistfuls of his shirt. “What the fuck were you doing?” He spat, but Basil could only splutter and gasp in a stupor. “Taking her out riding, without asking me, when you knew I wanted to? And, worse so, not fucking looking after her!” Rupert continued to roar, fury bubbling through his veins like a steaming kettle reaching boiling point. Basil’s head was hung lowly in shame, unable to provide reasonable explanation. “I’m SORRY, Rupert. I didn’t know!” Was all he could muster. Before long, Rupert was unreservedly apoplectic, howling obstreperously to his Robin, his helicopter pilot — he needed him there immediately.

Comprehending the desperate urgency in Rupert’s voice, Robin complied — the silk black helicopter whirring above, wind projecting from the blades strongly enough to almost knock Basil onto his back.

-

Opening your eyes was difficult, lids heavy with sleep and your head spinning drowsily. After a few moments and through narrowed vision, you took a moment to survey the surrounding scene. Tucked firmly into bed, your typically flawless golden hair was tied behind you, matted and coated in dried blood. “Good morning, angel.” Rupert whispered, leaning over from his wooden seat at your bedside and kissed your lips gently. “Hello, my love.” You groaned groggily, eyes opening wider. Your hands had numerous cannulas and monitors plunged into them, but the room was secluded and clad in orange velvet. “Where on Earth am I?” You questioned, confused panic rising through your voice.

“You’re in the best place for you. Cost a pretty penny, but I can’t deny that you’re worth it.” Rupert joked, smiling in a gentle, solemn way that you had never seen before. “But why?” You interrogated again, winching sharply as you sat up. “Fucking Bas took you riding. Bessie must’ve got frightened, and bucked you off. Pretty nasty, utterly terrifying to watch. You handled it very elegantly though, I hear.” He informed you, reaching beside him and brandishing quite possibly the most adorable teddy bear you had ever seen, and an enormous box of chocolates. “Oh, I love him!” You beamed, your usual sunshine tone filtering back into your voice.

“Now don’t scare me like that again. We have many more years to drink and fuck away together, I can’t have you falling off horses constantly.” Rupert joked riskily, but was wholeheartedly relieved when you grinned back. “Oh, stop it, Rupert. I love you.” You mumbled, eyes closing and drifting softly back to sleep. “I love you too, angel.” He replied, gently kissing your soft forehead again.

[lunette-png]

Waves of Ithaca

Prologue

The halls of the Ithaca Palace glimmered under the morning light, with the sun giving warmth to its bricks. A soft echo of laughter fills the open courtyard, belonging to a child- so high and bright. A little girl, no older than three, dashes across the stone floors barefooted. Her hair bouncing wildly as she ran.

"Come here, my little naiad!” Odysseus called out, as he catched her before swooping down to lift his daughter into his arms. She squealed as he spun her around, her small fingers gripping his tunic.

“Father!” she cried between giggles. “Put me down!”. Odysseus only laughed, holding her close. "Not until you promise me you won’t run away from your old father so fast next time.” This only makes her giggle more, as she jokingly pushes her father's face away.

Penelope approached, watching them with a quiet smile. She was young still, her beauty unwearied by time, her gentle hands carrying a wreath of woven olive leaves. “Our daughter is swift as the sea breeze,” she mused. “Perhaps Poseidon himself blessed her feet.”

At those words, Odysseus’ eyes twinkled with mischief. “Shall we ask him?” He carried the child to the courtyard’s sacred spring, where the clear water bubbled up from the earth, a gift from the gods. Kneeling, he placed his daughter’s tiny feet upon the cool stones, letting her toes dip into the water. Her (e/c) eyes looks on in confusion before turning to her father, anticipating what will happen next.

“Lord of the sea,” Odysseus murmured, his voice half-serious, half-playful, “if you have given my daughter the swiftness of the waves, grant her safe passage through life’s storms, that she may never be lost to the tide.”

Soon the wind stirred around them, accompanied by the rustling of the olive trees. The water rippled unnaturally, curling around the child’s feet like an embrace. She looked up, her wide eyes reflecting the golden sky, unafraid.

“Did you see that, Mother?” she whispered, her voice filled with a wonderous curiosity.

Penelope knelt beside them, touching her daughter’s damp foot. “Poseidon listens,” she said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

The young princess looks back at her feet beneath the water. She did not know what it meant to be blessed by a god—but she felt something stir in her chest, something powerful.

Odysseus placed a hand over small head. “Do you feel it?” he asked.

She nodded. “It feels like the sea is inside me.”

He smiled. “Good.”

A year has passed since that day. During one evening, Odysseus sat beside his daughter in the megaron, the great hall where the fire burned low. Humming an old sailor's tune, with his daughter humming along. It would soon be broken by a question.

“Father?” she asked sleepily. “Why has Mother’s belly grown round?”

Odysseus chuckled. “Because you’re going to have a little brother, my little naiad.”

The girl’s face lit up with curiosity, the drowsiness she felt has dissipated. “A brother?”

“Yes.” He brushed a stray curl from her forehead. “A small, wailing thing, but we’ll love him all the same.”, he added with a soft chuckle.

She considered this, pursing her lips. “Will he be strong?”

“That will depend on the heart he carries.”

“Will he love the sea like you and I?”

Odysseus smiled. “Perhaps. But he will need someone to teach him—someone swift as the waves, clever as the gulls.”

She sat up proudly. “I’ll teach him.”, she proudly declared with her eyes lit with determination.

Penelope, reclining nearby, watched them with a hand resting on her belly. “Then he shall be lucky indeed,” she murmured, eyes glistening in the firelight.

Telemachus was only weeks old when Odysseus carried him to the sacred grove of Athena, basking in the golden light of late afternoon, the old olive trees swaying gently in the breeze. The scent of earth and sea salt combined, filling the air- the very essence of Ithaca. Odysseus walked ahead, his newborn son cradled in his arms, swaddled in soft linen. Beside him, Penelope held their daughter’s small hand, guiding her carefully over the roots that curled up from the ground.

“Are we really going to meet the goddess?” the little girl whispered, peering up at her mother.

Penelope smiled. “Not quite, my love. But this is her place, and your father wants to introduce your brother to her.”

“She is my guide, my shield in battle, and she will watch over him too.” Odysseus adds, the infant cradled in his arms.

The girl’s eyes widened, and she clutched her mother’s hand a little tighter.

When they reached the heart of the grove, the great olive tree standing tall above them, Athena was there, just as they had known she would be. She was a figure of calm, her presence as natural as the wind, her grey eyes bright with warmth. The goddess looked behind, her composure as stoic and tall as ever, but there was a flicker of softness once her eyes landed on the infant that Odysseus carried.

She smiled softly as Odysseus approached, still holding the swaddled infant close to his chest. No words were spoken, only the sound of rustling leaves and the faint movement of the waves, as she walked closer to the father and son.

The goddess bent down to meet the infant's gaze, her grey eyes softening. Telemachus slowly blinked up at her, and with a delicate movement, his tiny fingers curled around Athena’s outstretched hand. A gentle, almost unnoticeable wave of energy passed between them, a moment of silent understanding shared.

"He's a strong one," Athena said, her voice breaks the silence. “I can see it already.”

Odysseus grinned, ruffling his son's head. “I’m counting on you to guide him when the time comes, just as you’ve guided me.”

Athena chuckled, standing tall once more. “He’ll need more than guidance. He’ll need heart, and that I can see he has. You and Penelope did well.”

Odysseus smiled, pressing a hand to his son’s small chest. “He will be watched over.”

As he bid his farewell to the goddess, his daughter reached out, her tiny fingers brushing against her brother’s. “I will watch over him too,” she vowed, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Odysseus looked at her, pride swelling in his chest. He placed a hand on her head, feeling the warmth of her presence, along with the weight of her promise.

“You will, my daughter,” he said. “And he will be all the stronger for it.”

The trees swayed gently, and far above them, the owl of Athena watched.

The harbor of Ithaca was alive with movement—sailors loading supplies, warriors sharpening blades, banners snapping in the wind. Odysseus stood at the bow of his ship, dressed in bronze armor, his sword fastened at his side.

On the shore, Penelope stood tall, her face calm yet the sorrow in her eyes spoke differently. Their daughter clung to the hem of her mother’s robe, her hands curled into fists.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

Odysseus knelt before her, his heart aching. “I must, little one. There is a war to fight.”

“But what if you don’t come back?”

"I promise I will, but until then, you have to be strong. Can you do that, my little naiad?", he reassured her.

Tears soon welled in her eyes, but she did not let them fall. She straightened her back, just as he had taught her. “I will be strong,” she promised, her voice though still shaky- is more stern than before.

He smiled. “I know you will.”

As he stepped onto the ship, he looked back one last time—at his wife, his son in her arms, and his daughter standing beside her, the sea breeze lifting her hair.

And then, with the wind at his back, he sailed away.

AN: i finally locked in for this one. can you spot my daddy and mommy issues? :"DD i still don't know where i am going with this story, and who the love interest will be- but we'll get there eventually. the part where odysseus introduces telemachus is inspired by gigi's animatic!

[goldfades]

CHARACTERS !

masterlist

maisie christensen

maisie christensen was the kind of person who walked into a room and immediately commandeered the space—not with arrogance, but with the kind of charisma that made you wonder if you’d just met a hurricane disguised as a woman. she was fiercely intelligent, a biomedical engineer who could rattle off complex equations and then swear like a sailor when she stubbed her toe on the corner of her desk. maisie’s loyalty was unmatched, burning with a fire that could either warm or scorch, depending on which side of her you landed. a self-proclaimed dog enthusiast and certified man-hater (a title she wore with ironic pride), she had a sharp wit and a heart bigger than her bite, even if she tried to deny it.

you met maisie in middle school, the kind of meet-cute that belonged in a rom-com if rom-coms were about chaotic pre-teens. she’d yelled a boy for laughing at your braces and instead of apologizing when the teacher caught her, she’d just shrugged and said, “he deserved it.” something about her unapologetic audacity made you gravitate toward her, and she took you in as though you’d been friends forever. over the years, she became the constant in your life—your sounding board, your confidant, the kind of person who would show up uninvited but always at the right time. where you were soft, maisie was sharp, balancing you out in ways you didn’t know you needed.

maisie had a knack for standing at the intersection of chaos and control, and somehow, she always made it work. she was the sister you chose, the one who knew all your secrets and held them close, and no matter how messy life got, she was there—sarcastic, unwavering, and ready to throw hands if the need arose.

hayes burrow

born: april 9th, 2022

hayes burrow was a quiet storm, a little being who entered the world with the softest of cries and the kind of gaze that could melt the most stoic heart. he had his father's wide eyes—bluer than the summer sky and deeper than oceans—and his mother’s stubbornness, sharp and determined even in the gentlest of moments. his hair, though still sparse, was a wispy blonde that gleams like sunlight filtering through morning mist, soft and golden against his delicate skin.

he was a small thing, a gentle weight in your arms, with tiny fingers that curled around yours as if he'd been holding your hand for longer than mere months. the softest coos escaped him, especially when joe leaned in to whisper words that only a father could say, those private little messages meant only for their ears.

and yet, even in his stillness, there was an energy about him, the kind that made everything feel just a little bit brighter. his little kicks were the rhythm of a heartbeat you could count on, his smiles rare but so full of promise. hayes was the answer to so many unspoken questions, the love you had spent your life wondering about, waiting for. he was everything that made your world feel complete, and in the soft quiet of mornings when the sun barely peered over the horizon, you would watch him sleep, his tiny breaths matching the rhythm of your own, and you’d wonder how you had ever lived without him.

[gigisimsonmars]

Reunions

Jake Seresin x F!Reader. This is my first fic, so please be nice! Dedicated to @sebsxphia - so proud of you! Thanks to @gretagerwigsmuse for reading this over. Tagging a few people who might be interested: @blue-aconite @anniesocsandgeneralstore @wildbornsiren @seresinhangmanjake @callsignvalley @theharddeck

Warnings: pregnancy scare, situationships, anxiety.

You stand on your tip-toes, peering around the heads of the people in front of you on the dock, trying to get a glimpse of the gangway. Jake will be in his camo uniform, blending into the crowd of sailors walking off the carrier. The sun is so bright, the wind blowing the sea air off the water and mixing with the smells of the crowd around you. You feel a little nauseous. You haven’t seen him in three months.

An excited little girl knocks into you, hopping up and down, tugging on her father’s hand. “Mommy! Can you see Mommy?” Her father is smiling, even as the lines of exhaustion from the past few months carve down his cheeks. “She’s almost here, baby.” You stare a little too long. The noise of the crowd, the pressure of the bodies around you, the light, it’s all pressing down on you. You’re a little lightheaded. You look again at the gangway but can’t pick Jake out.

You’re staring at a family reunion, parents clutching their gangly son – do they really let kids join this young? He looks sixteen – when Jake finds you.

He looks perfect, bronzed by the sun, sea glass eyes full of light. He asked you to come get him, and he emailed you every week while he was away and called twice, and he calls you sweetheart -  

“Sweetheart, you okay?” He’s been speaking. You should have been listening. You missed his first words to you.

“I-,” the words aren’t coming. Jake looks at you a moment, carefully.

“Too much noise?” he asks gently, so gently that it’s out of place in this boisterous scene. You nod, still unable to call up your voice.

“C’mon, let’s blow this popsicle stand.” He slings his arm around your waist and leads you back to the parking lot. Opens the passenger door for you, closes it gently. Slings his seabag into the trunk and comes around, settles into the driver’s seat.

You fold your hands tightly in your lap, braced against your stomach. It’s an old habit, to make yourself smaller. You haven’t been this tense around him since he drove you home after your fifth date.

Jake starts the car. The radio station you had on starts to play. He glances over at you as the old Garth Brooks song fills the car. You started listening to music like this with him, and kept listening when he left you. You’re pretty sure that George Strait will be in your Spotify Top 5 list this year.

The two of you head back to your place. Jake’s has been shut up for weeks, though you’ve been keeping an eye on it. He likes yours better anyway. You have soft pillows and pretty art posters on the walls, and a spice rack that you actually use. He complains that your couch isn’t big enough for a six foot naval aviator and his girl (your stomach flips again remembering when he said that), but you’ve managed okay.

Jake pulls into the apartment parking lot. There’s always a spot open for golden boy somehow, even though you usually have to circle around a couple of times and park in the back. He gets out, gets his bag, opens your door and takes your hand. You walk into the building together, take off your shoes together, bumping into each other in the small entryway to your place. You go into the living room and sit on the couch. You still haven’t spoken.

Jake joins you after he goes to the bathroom. He must have splashed water on his face, you can see the droplets on his collar. He’s tense now, too, you can tell.

“I thought I was pregnant.”

The words fall like a stone into water. His eyes widen, and drop to your flat stomach. Your hands are braced there again. You’d only been seeing him for two months before he left.

“I wasn’t – I’ve never skipped a period before, so I thought maybe – but it was probably just stress.” Stress from work, stress from family, stress from your maybe-boyfriend going to sea for three months, whatever.

But that week when you thought maybe? You’d thought about children as a hazy, dreamy someday. But this was real. You could have really had a baby – a sweet-faced baby with a round tummy and big green eyes. You could have made room in your apartment, changed your work schedule, spent Saturday mornings at the library story hour instead of sleeping off Friday night. You could have had a baby with a man who didn’t love you and probably didn’t even want to be a father.

Jake sucks in a deep breath, then exhales. “Sweetheart…” he clearly doesn’t know what to say. You’ve dropped this on him with no warning.

You stand up, pace into the kitchen. You consciously tidied up your breakfast dishes this morning even though you usually leave them for after dinner. Jake is fastidious. You run the sponge over the stovetop instead. You can never get all the grease off. Jake can.

You hear him get up and follow you. He’s leaning against the doorframe, you know without looking. You’re throwing off mixed signals, you know that. You’re not angry at him. You want him to touch you again. But you’re afraid of what he’s going to say next. If he says that the two of you weren’t serious, that it was a good thing, that he likes you a lot but he’s not cut out for fatherhood, you will either chuck the sponge straight at his head or splinter all over your kitchen floor.

“Would it have been so bad?”

What.

You spin around and gawk at him.

“I mean, we’ve only been seeing each other for a few months, but I thought you wanted kids?”

What.

“I know we’ve never talked about it but it was pretty obvious when you were playing with Payback’s kid.”

Payback’s kid is adorable. She has the entire Dagger Squad wrapped around her finger. You’re pretty sure that she has never been put down the whole time she’s been in North Island. Right before everyone deployed you all had a picnic on the beach. She was wearing the tiniest sunhat you had ever seen and punched Fanboy with her tiny baby fist when he stopped her from eating sand.

“I – what?”

Jake shifts uncomfortably. You’ve never seen him like this. He’s always so confident and smooth, whether he’s sliding up beside you at the bar or opening a car door for you or carrying you to his bedroom or kissing you goodbye and whispering for you to meet him on the dock when he gets back.

“We would have figured it out.” The light through your window dapples across his face. It must be windy, you can see the branches of the tree moving from their shadows.

You literally had never considered the conversation going this way.

“Unless you didn’t – unless I’m not the one – then I guess –”

“You are.” You didn’t even realize that your mouth had started forming the words until they were out. “I didn’t – we’ve never talked about kids, or exclusivity or anything. I didn’t want to assume…” You know that your eyes are big and hopeful and watery.

Jake’s face relaxed the second you started speaking. He crosses the kitchen to you, takes the sponge from you gently and tosses it in the sink. Blindly you grope for a dishcloth to dry your hands before they come to rest lightly on his shoulders.

“Sweetheart, it’s been you since I dropped you off on your doorstep after our first date.”

Oh. Now you’re crying.

He kisses your cheeks, kisses the tears away, then lightly sets his mouth to yours. It’s the first time in three months. You’ve missed him so, so much. The week you thought you were carrying his child you’d curled yourself around your belly every night, thinking that there was a piece of him in there. It had hurt so much more than you had expected when the test came back negative.

Jake finally pulls away, looks at you with such tenderness.

“You want a baby?”

You nod, shakily. It still feels risky to admit it. Five months together, three of those apart, isn’t long at all.

“You’d better come with me to Texas for Thanksgiving then. My dad says he’ll give me my grandma’s ring whenever I’m ready, but he wants to meet you first.”

You suck in a breath. He’s told his family about you?

“Sweetheart, I like to think I’m pretty good at reading you, but I need to hear the words.”

You tip up your chin a bit. “Oh, was that a proposal?”

He grins down at you, eyes flashing.

“Oh, you’ll know when I propose, sweetheart.”

Your smile matches his.

“I guess you also know what I’ll say, then.”