#so holding off on that part of her lore for now

[kumikuzushi-kun]

HER NOCTUARY𓆝 𓆟

Telemachus x Fem! reader 𓆞

WARNING(S) : Very sensitive, Harassment, Attempted assault/murder, Mentioned of sa, Blood, Reader's mother is a bad mother, Angst, comfort and fluff as you progress. theres fluff in the end i swear, (Name) has lore, identity crisis

Word count : yk what i lost count.. all i know this is longer than part one so i hope you like long fics

PART ONE - HIS NOCTUARY I highly recommend you to read part one first before reading this. please read a/n at the end :'D

Telemachus singing to (name) [Ai cover]

The past few days have been… empty—the kind of emptiness you can almost physically feel, Was it just you, or had the humidity turned colder?

Chores felt heavier, harder to finish, your thoughts constantly pulling you away. Oh? Water had spilled on your chiton—you hadn’t even noticed. Time felt slower; wasn’t it late already? Oh.. the sun hadn’t even set yet.

You kept glancing toward the seashore, maybe this time you’d catch a glimpse of him returning—No. Just the waves, rolling in and out, again and again. You’d been staring out for a while now. The shore was a beautiful sight.. but the brush in your hand wouldn’t move. Paint dripped down to the parchment, untouched. The same paint Telemachus had given you.

The wind felt harsher as it brushed against your face.

Maybe a glass of water can help, though from the way you’ve been staring at the ocean, it practically feels like you're drowning in it.

It had been a few days since Telemachus left Ithaca, and perhaps the constant worry—paired with his absence—was wearing you down.

Without him, everything felt slightly off. The day felt emptier therefore lonely. You felt lonelier.

You missed him. Not just his voice or presence, but the way he looked at you like you were something worth returning to. Something he chose, a memory that warmed your chest and ached all at once

"(Name)?" You turned your attention to see the queen.

"Your Highness, is there something wrong?" You asked gently, surprised. It was rare for Queen Penelope to speak to you directly—usually she calls for your mother when she needed assistance. You straightened your posture instinctively, forcing away the heaviness clinging to your chest. "Have you seen Telemachus around?" She asked heavily.

Her question caused your pressed smile to falter, as the effort to hold it in broke, your breath went quiet as you attempt to dart away. "I'm afraid not, Your Highness." You said almost too quiet. "Not today"

You aren't too sure why the queen was questioning you anyways, As far as you knew, your friendship—or… relationship..with the prince wasn’t something anyone had noticed yet. You weren't really proving yourself as you looked more guilty than a man caught in the act.

Penelope's expression softened, her eyes studied you with care. "You miss him, don't you?" She said, your eyes widen in surprised, lips parting to deny, but you couldn't. How could you lie to a queen—worse, to a mother?

Penelope wore a faint smile as her tired eyes covered yours. "I think it's a mother power to sense it, I noticed the way he looks at you from afar, especially when he think no one is looking." She states. A blush crept its way to your face as you struggled to find the words. "I was once in love too, you know. I notice, every single time."

You weren’t sure if you should be ashamed, embarrassed, or scared… This was the queen you were speaking to—the very woman who held power over the land beneath your feet. What would you do if she asked you to stay away from her son? And then, a thought struck you: if the queen knew… did your mother know too?

Penelope must have noticed the way your posture stiffened, the way your breath hitched slightly. She stepped closer, her voice gentle as she reached out to lightly soothe your arm. "Sweetie, I’m not mad," she confirmed, a small smile forming as she tried to soothe your panic. "You have nothing to be afraid of." Your eyes lifted hesitantly to hers.

"I couldn’t be more grateful that my son fell for someone like you," she continued, her voice warm with sincerity. "You��re so kind. Thoughtful. Loving. You bring out something in him I haven’t seen in years—not just joy, but… peace. He’s softer when you’re around, as a mother, what more could I ask for?" Penelope brought a strand of hair behind your ear.

"But… I’m… I’m just a—"

"A girl," Penelope finished for you, with a knowing smile. "Yes. A girl with strength. Gentle. Someone who listens, who cares more deeply than she lets on." She looked at you, really looked at you, as if peeling back every layer you tried to hide behind.

Her voice dipped, warm and motherly now. "You love him?" She asks. Slowly, you nodded vulnerably. She smiles, "Then, that is all that matters"

You never truly saw yourself as all those things. Hearing them now, spoken so sincerely by the queen, left you unsure of how to feel. Her words offered a kind of warmth you weren’t used to—one you always quietly craved.

The mother’s love you grew felt distant, conditional, rare. And yet, here was Penelope, speaking to you not only as someone who accepted your love for her son, but as someone who saw you—really saw you—in a way that felt… motherly.

You felt overwhelmed. Because, for one, you were happy that the queen accepted your feelings for Telemachus. And also cause you felt loved as a daughter.

You could only smile before leaning in to embrace the queen. Penelope returned it just as warmly, her hand gently resting on your back. "Just… please don’t tell my mother," you mumbled, almost sheepishly, earning a soft chuckle from her. "I understand," she whispered, and you believed her.

You did end up telling the queen about Telemachus’ departure, guilty as you apologized for staying quiet—honoring the request he left behind. But Penelope only offered a tired smile, the kind that held more understanding than disappointment, and told you she had known of his plans all along—just hadn’t expected him to leave so soon. You admired her in that moment. It didn’t take a god to see it: the tired in her smile, the quiet ache behind her eyes. She was tired, and you couldn’t blame her—not when you, too, were wilting under the weight of Telemachus' absence after only a few weeks. It made you wonder how heavy her heart must be, having endured twenty years without her king. You admired her strength—quiet, unwavering, and still standing tall.

It didn’t help that you could see traces of Telemachus in the queen’s features—he was her son, after all. Penelope once mentioned how much he resembled his father, though you had never truly pictured the king beyond statues and fading portraits. The resemblance might be striking, but Telemachus carried a different energy—something no man you had ever met possessed. Maybe it was because he was raised by a mother who gave him warmth without demanding he smother it in pride. He had her gentleness, her quiet strength, and yet he still clung to dreams of becoming a man like his father. Perhaps you were overthinking it—or perhaps you just missed him so deeply, you found yourself searching for his soul in every small thing, trying to feel him again in the absence he left behind.

...

Distraction tend to make you forget about your problems, especially the ones that continues to flow, You were currently in the back courtyard to hang the sheets of linen to dry. The white sheets hang as the wind gently blew with it. You weren't really paying attention to anything else than to your chore, but when you pushed aside the sheets to pass by, your mother stood behind a distance, causing you flinch in surprised. "Mom- you scared me" You clench your chest before simply passing by her.

You and your mother... were different. You knew that very early on. You didn't really know her, as she was focused on her work and seemed to have nothing outside of that. Even though you both shared the same eyes, the two of you held them differently. Hers were always empty, unreadable while yours wandered, caught on the small beauties she never seemed to notice.

"You've been here for half an hour now, and yet you haven't finished." She tended to do that a lot—the voice without any emotion, but words just harsh enough to sound mean.

"The sun felt good on the skin today. This is my last chore before noon, so I thought I could take my time." That was also the difference between you two—you were full of life—aware of the life around you, while she only seemed to move through it.

You heard her sigh as you felt her come closer. Suddenly standing beside you as she began hanging the remaining sheets with you. "I can do them myself mother" You said, "The sun won't wait for you (name)" She said.

Sighing at her remark before you went back to yourself, silence followed as the two of you faced each other—but never truly met. That was one thing about the wind: it was always there, during your happy days with Telemachus, your quiet days alone, and the underlying tension between you and your mother, who always seemed to be a step away from you.

"I saw you with Queen Penelope the other day," she stated suddenly. It made you freeze—as you slowly looked up at her. Her face didn’t change a bit. "You seemed to have a moment with each other. What did you tell her?" You blinked. The air felt colder despite the sun. "Nothing much," you said, carefully, eyes returning to your hands. "She just wanted to talk."

"Talk?" she echoed, folding a cloth like practiced. "You've been talking a lot, I’ve noticed that. Especially when it comes to people of higher standing."

There it was again—never cruel, never loud, but always sharp. You didn’t respond. "I just hope you know your place," she added, her voice quieter now, though no less firm.

"She was just asking about the young prince whereabouts, that's all." You said trying to sound calm, your mother gave you a look "And you know that information because?"

You lied, "I don't. She was just asking me and the queen purely got sentimental for the prince"

You shoot your eyes to your mother as she stared back at you, she hummed before not saying anything. You continue to stare at her with a frown.

"I hear the Prince is in a diplomatic mission."

You lips turned into a thin line. "Who told you that?"

"People love to talk," she replied without looking at you, your fingers had gone stiff. "Some even say it’s for an arranged marriage." Your head snapped to her.

"What?" She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even blink. "You heard me."

"Where did you hear that?" your eyes narrowed.

"People talk," she repeated, "Why?" She then asked, her eyes looking at you flat. "Does that surprise you?" She asked in a way that almost scares you.

You blinked, "It doesn’t," you muttered quickly. "Just wasn’t expecting to hear that from you, is all."

She narrowed her eyes slightly, catching the tremble in your voice no matter how well you tried to hide it. "He's the prince," she said after a moment. "It's not strange for him to be sent on missions like this. Especially now, with the king still absent, someone has to keep the name of Ithaca alive." You bit the inside of your cheek. "And if it is a marriage alliance, then it’s only natural," she continued with a shrug. "That’s what children of royalty do. Make ties, build bridges. Fall in love with whoever brings strength to the kingdom."

"I doubt the prince is in love," you said softly, eyes fixed on the cloth in your hands. Maybe it was for your own reassurance, or maybe a quiet protest.

Your mother's tone stayed level, "That hardly matters. He’s what—twenty? Soon to be crowned. Love isn’t what the kingdom needs from him right now. It’s stability. A fair match who can offer strength where it’s needed."

You went quiet, feeling a slight shift in your chest. You shouldn't be taking this rumor deeply, especially since you know the truth. But in some way—you knew her statement could be more correct than false.

She continued, still calm, as if pointing out a fact to the world. "Queen Penelope’s held Ithaca together for years, but even she can only do so much. The weight of a kingdom isn’t easy. A marriage alliance would make only sense, another kingdom’s hand could mean new trade, new support." You hated how empty that sounded, it wasn't a mock, it wasn't a hit to spite you, it wasn't anything but a fact and you hated it.

Then your mother turned to face you fully. Your expression had tightened, and in her gaze, you saw something oddly soft—reflective, almost. Like she was speaking to a version of herself in you. "And that’s where you come in," she said, calmly.

You blinked, your brows pulling together in confusion. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"You’ll replace me." The words didn’t register at first. Not until she added, "You'll be the next queen’s handmaiden."

You froze. A chill swept past you despite the warm breeze. Something about the certainty in her voice unnerved you, like she had already accepted a path you didn’t even know existed yet. You searched her face, waiting for more to come out—hoping she’d say it was just speculation.

But then she gave you a smile before only returning to folding the linens, as if nothing had shifted at all.

You stared at her—revolted, speechless. You remained still, your eyes wide, breath caught in your chest. It was the only time you'd seen something close to joy on her face, and it came from a future for you that she planned—one that involved the man you love, not in the way you'd ever dreamed of. When she smiled, you saw yourself. Ironic, because just a moment ago, she probably saw herself in you too.

"Come inside before the sun burns you," she said simply, her back already turned without glancing back.

You were left alone, the wind brushing your skin, your hair flowing along, your thoughts loud in the quiet scenery. You weren’t sure what unsettled you more—her assumption of your faith in this story, or how natural it sounded coming from her. As if it had already been decided. As if your love was never yours to begin with.

You clenched your fists, trying to compose yourself. You knew the real reason why Telemachus left for that diplomatic mission, and it was far from your mother’s assumption. You were there. You remember how he looked at you, the queen herself knows.

But the more you stood there, the more her words echoed in your mind, looping like a cruel melody. What if... what if she was right? You knew damn well that Queen Penelope wouldn't let any of those suitors touch the throne, but Telemachus needing a royal ally to help him rule? That wasn’t impossible. That could be real. And frightening.

Your heart began to ache. You began to wonder... is the love you share strong enough to endure the distance, and the expectations of a crown? Or were you foolish to believe it ever could be?

You shake your head—you need to be strong. You tell yourself, "Lady Athena, please watch over my dear Telemachus now," you prayed, hoping these bad thoughts would fade. But still, the ache in your heart couldn't leave.

...

Telemachus stepped out of the chamber beside Peisistratus, a lightness in his chest he hadn’t felt in years. The scent of salt and something like hope lingered in the air as his gaze drifted toward the distant sea. "I knew it," he breathed, the weight of dread finally lifting—his father was alive. Peisistratus smiled beside him, teasing gently about his first beard and how he was becoming a man, and the two young princes laughed, finding peace in the quiet shore beneath the rising stars, the crackle of a fire and the promise of reunion warming them more than the flames. "What is your plan now, Telemachus?" Peisistratus asked, tossing more wood into the flame, watching the sparks climb.

Telemachus leaned back on his hands, his gaze still somewhere far. "The obvious. I go home. And prepare."

"For what?"

"For whatever may happen. And… hopefully, my father’s return."

That was all he said. Nothing more. Not about Athena. Not about the things he couldn’t put into words and Peisistratus only nodded, silence shared between the sons of kings.

Then, out of nowhere. Telemachus shared a smile—raising the apple of his cheeks as a pink hue flushed them ever so slightly, Peisistratus took notice and smirked. "Did Eros himself perhaps strike you?" The prince of Pylos humored.

Telemachus turns as he sighs with his smile still on, "I can't wait to see her again" He said accidentally out loud with an obvious hint of lovestruck. Obviously not platonic.

He realized what he said as Peisistratus raised a brow, "Oh? Who?"

"Are we talking about a girl?" Peisistratus asks with his smirk linger.

"Huh?" Telemachus tried to trail off, trying to change the subject. Peisistratus smirk continues. "Uhhuh.. I'm assuming this is the same woman who constantly make you go lost in thought with a heavy blush?"

Telemachus sighs in defeat "That obvious?"

"Very." Peisistratus laughs. "Who's the lucky girl?"

Telemachus' gaze wanders down the water, "Oh…She’s unlike anyone I've ever met." Peisistratus raised a brow but didn’t interrupt. Telemachus’ voice grew softer, steadier—like he was speaking to the waves, not to his friend.

"She’s sharp. Quieter than most, but never small. She speaks little, but when she does, even the wind stays to listen." Telemachus recited like a poem verse of love. "She owns my heart completely… and I can’t wait for when she lets me carry hers." He examined mindlessly but straight from his heart.

"Her name is (name)" Telemachus revealed as he glances at the other prince. The reveal of your name slowly triggered a memory into the Pylos's princes mind as something flickered in his eyes. "Huh." He utters,

"That name sounds oddly familiar"

Telemachus piqued. "What?"

Peisistratus looked out toward the ocean again, hesitant, but something in his tone shifted—curious, careful. "You see... When I was a boy, there was this handmaiden who served in my mother's court. She too never talks but she had a daughter—I think (name) is also the name"

Telemachus turned to him fully—the creases of his eyes hardening from the information. "What happened to them?"

Peisistratus recalls, "There was a scandal, I remembered because it affected my mother dearly. The handmaiden was accused of having an affair with a visiting royal—a man already married, someone with power. When she gave birth, the child—(Name)—was said to resemble him." It caused Telemachus' chest to go still, as it was daunting his heart beat.

"The nobleman's wife found out," Peisistratus continued. "It got bad. She humiliated the handmaiden, accused her for seducing her husband. The court picked up the rumors quickly after that. It was cruel." Telemachus hesitantly asks, "And your father?"

"No. It wasn’t him, he was at war" Peisistratus said, shaking his head firmly. "But my mother heard of it. My mother, she… she was the one who went to the handmaiden in private. Offered her support, my mother really pitied them. Said she could stay in the servants’ quarters with the child. That it wasn’t the child's fault."

Telemachus stayed silent, jaw clenched. "But the handmaiden refused, even planning to just leave the child out to die however my mother was horrified, tried to convince the handmaiden." Peisistratus’s voice softened. "Eventually, the handmaiden left Pylos without a word. Took the child and vanished before dawn. And since then I haven't heard anything" He finishes as he looked over the shaken prince.

A silence settled between them. "I always wondered what happened to them," Peisistratus added after a beat. "And now—gods—it’s strange, to think the girl you love might be that same child from all those years ago."

Telemachus looked back toward the sea, but this time his heart was churning. As he tried to puzzle the pieces: the unspoken distance of you and your mother's relationship. Your unknown background and lack of a last name. Your mother's cautiousness among his blood.

It was difficult to assume but it somehow aligned just right. "What was the handmaiden’s name?" Peisistratus thinks for a second and reveals. And it matched. Telemachus’ breath caught in his throat. All at once, the pieces began falling into place.

It’s interesting how,, after all the years he’s known you—both in silence and closeness—there’s still so much he can to discover, even parts you may not fully know yourself.

"But hey" Peisistratus snapped Telemachus out of his thoughts. "Take what I said with a grain of salt. Maybe it's just a coincidence," he said.

Telemachus reluctantly nodded however a part of him was convinced that it could be true. Now he REALLY wants to go home.

...

Were you offended that your mother planned your future so surely of herself? Maybe. However, in your defense, even before you built feelings for the prince, you always had an image of your own future. It wasn’t dramatic or grand, but it was definitely different from the life you have now. You always imagined exploring the islands, witnessing breathtaking scenery and documenting it with paint and paper—seeing all the exotic plants and flowers you once admired in your old encyclopedia. You wanted to discover anything beyond the confines of walls and duty. You never saw yourself in a royal life, despite quietly admiring a prince for years. Maybe it was because you saw him less as a prince and more of a boy your age that you found cute—but still. You didn't want the path of a servant for the wife of your lover who isn't you.

"Mother, can I talk to you" You meekly murmured to your mother who was busy doing embroidery. "That depends," she replied, clipped. "Did you finally consider my request to learn embroidery? It would do you good to know the patience it takes." She said bluntly.

"I- I yeah I guess" You said. You bite your tongue, eyes flickering between her hands and irises. You tried to guess if it was the best time to confront her however there was no telling what your mother was feeling. "I wanted to speak about what you said to me last time" You finally asked, your fingers nervously curling to the hem of your chiton.

The sound of the scratch of thread against cloth was delayed for a second. As you saw your mother's eyes harden quietly. "..I thought about it" You continued despite the growing pounding in your chest. "And I want to tell you that I am not planning of following your plans as a handmaiden"

She finally glanced your way—briefly. "What made you concluded to that?" She asked calmly, too calmly.

"I have my own dreams, Mother. Don't get me wrong I appreciate the opportunity to have something like that but—it's not what I want" You explained.

You had your posture upright, hands neatly on your sides, You carefully measured your tone, each word wrapped in the most respectful edge you could manage—just to maybe. Maybe help her understand. Maybe make her listen.

Conversations with your mother were always unhinged in a binding way. The kind that even echoed hours later when you're alone. They usually never ended without you questioning yourself extensively. So your breath was uneven now, controlled, as if each inhale was being counted. "And what do you want?" She asked bluntly in a way you can't really tell, but she was always like that, you assumed it was an open door—so your eyes perked when she asked you that, maybe she will listen just this time.

Your lips turned upright, "I want to be free," you said. "To live a life that’s mine. I want to see the islands beyond ours. Paint things no one’s seen before. Name flowers that haven’t been named. I want to document the world, not just serve it." You examine, if somebody else was listening right now, they would hear how your words rang full of something rare. Hope. Excitement. Like a child unveiling a dream for the very first time.

"You want to chase winds and color petals?" You hear her faintly scoff. "That is not freedom, (name). That is fantasy, which is not the world we are in." She set her embroidery aside. "You might as well call it nonviable, considering how stupid it is. You should know that." She stood now, fully facing you, no softness in her voice, no space left for your hope to slip through.

"You can’t do it," she said, final as a conclusion. "Trust me, everyone in the world will believe that dream of yours is a joke." Turning away.

That was the blow, and yet, from that place of a bruised heart, the words left your mouth before you could think—before you could stop them completely. "Telemachus believed in me."

The room went still. You felt it like the moment before a storm comes—the shift in pressure, the silence so sharp it hurts.

Your mother stopped, then turned her head, eyes wide, voice flat. "What." It wasn't a question, she heard it. You should deny it. You should say you meant something else, anything else. But you didn’t want to. Not when your heart was trembling—hurt from being small to her for too long.

"My dream isn’t a joke," you said, voice cracking at the end, but it was truth. "He didn’t think it was." Another silence followed, this time colder. You saw your mother's eyes twitch, "..Have you been talking to him behind my back?" she asked, sounding like something preparing to blow.

Your shoulder tensed, clutching the hem of your chiton lightly. "I didn't mean too." You admitted, "But I'm not sorry that I did." You swallowed your fear. "I love him, mother."

An eerie silence can be heard.

"...So the rumors are true, huh."

Your mother didn't blink, as she stood still—staring at you. You weren't even sure if she was breathing which set something unease in your insides. "I told you not to, did I?" She asked, stepping closer—you unconsciously backed away.

"I told you not to entertain those kinds of ideas. You didn’t listen." You could hear her breath again. But she shook her head slowly. "Girls like you are not supposed to be with them." Her words hung there, bitter and cold. You furrowed your brows, confused, scared.

"What are you talking about?" You asked, unsure. You tried to keep your head high as your mother crept closer. "They will come for you, harshly and brutally. And once they're done, they will leave you nothing but tears and shame. He's going to hurt you, (name)." You didn't like how your name sounded in that sentence.

"Telemachus is not like that," you cut in, your voice more fierce than you meant it to be. "You don’t even know him—"

"And you do?" she snapped, her voice rising as it surprised you. "You think you're any different? That he's different?" She stepped forward. "Do you know what men like him are? Who raised him? What blood runs through his veins? They don’t see girls like you. they would not pity you for your kindness." You stare at her wide, as you could only step away. Your heart continues to beat uncontrollably between your ribs.

"You're incredibly mistaken, Mother," you muttered, mustering the last of your composure. "I’ve known the prince since I was a teen. Even when I kept my distance—just like you asked—he never turned cold. When I was humiliated in front of others, he was the one who stood up for me, even when it could’ve cost him. And while you—" your breath hitched as you pushed the words out, "you only stood there, ashamed of me." Your hands trembled now, but the flood wouldn’t stop.

"The moment I stepped out of your shadow and did something for myself—when I went behind your back—I felt free. I felt like I had a name of my own. I was seen. I was loved. Loved in a way I thought I would never feel."

You looked her dead in the eye now, no longer holding anything back. "And what did you do, mother? All of my life, you avoided me, kept me in a distance that I could never reach for you. You looked past me as if I wasn't even yours!" Slap. Your mother's hand met you, as the harsh blow made you stumble slightly. Strands of your hair clung to your skin where her palm had landed, the sting blooming fast.

Your mother looked at you furiously, something you’d never seen before. But then again… none of this had ever happened before. Cupping the heat, you could only stare at her—you can't bring yourself to glare at her, even when it hurts, you looked her with eyes starting to water.

You interrupted her first. "Why." You asked, "Why are you so scared when you act like you don't even care for me." You didn’t move. Your voice trembled softly. Still, she said nothing. "Why do you look at me like I’m a mistake?" you asked again. Your throat ached now, but the words kept spilling. "Did you ever love me?" The question dropped from your lips like a fragile thing—barely a whisper, but it echoed between the walls.

She flinched. Her face was unreadable. Composed, distant. But her eyes were raw.

"I never wanted you to be with me in this world," she said, You blinked, feeling something in your chest rip. "I didn’t want to raise you. I didn’t know how," she continued, almost too steadily. "You were a reminder. Of everything. Of him. Of myself that I could have been."

It hit you like a slow-burning fire. You weren’t sure if you could breathe "him?" You felt small in that moment—so painfully small.

"I tried to keep you safe by staying away. Because every time I looked at you, I saw the life that ruined mine." You shook your head slowly, barely able to speak. "What- What do you mean..?"

She turned back to the window. "I didn't know how to love something I hate" You stood there as you heard her loud and clear.

She turned slowly to meet your eyes. Her gaze was hollow, but steady. "People kept telling me, I will eventually learn to love you. But every glance I gave you makes me sick...I could only hope you wouldn’t walk the same path as I did. But it seems… you take after him. Full of wonder. And never listen."

Her lips pressed into a thin line before she let the next words fall, quiet but cruel in their clarity. "I wish you were never mine." She told you. "Maybe that way, we were both happier."

It felt like she had stabbed you—with her words that was sharper than any blade. Her eyes, once indifferent, now burned with something far worse: disgust, shame, and anger. Probably, buried beneath it all, was regret—but not the kind that soothes. No, it was the kind of regret that screamed you were a mistake.

You couldn’t speak. What was there to say when the person who brought you into this world looked at you like she wished she hadn’t? Like you shouldn’t exist.

It was horrifying. But the pain was louder than the fear. You looked away. Then turned. Leaving the room without another word.

You didn’t understand everything she meant, not quite. But something was finally clear. The woman who gave birth to you was never your mother. And despite being born from her, you were never her child to her.

...Huh. It's storming.

...

You ignored your mother the following day. It wasn’t like it was hard—she was better at it. Didn’t even glance at you, it feels like true solitude. You weren’t unfamiliar with the feeling; however, you didn’t like it—that’s why Telemachus’ presence colored your soul. If loneliness could kill, you’d be on your deathbed.

Word spreads fast. You could hear the multitude of whispers that passes you about the prince’s absence. You wouldn’t be surprised if the news reached the suitors soon… which, honestly, worried you. If they found out the queen was less guarded now—especially after an unknown staff leaked to them about the unweaving—who knew what they might do?

You pressed your hand gently to your chest. "I’ll come back before you know it," he had said, voice barely above the sea wind, his hand lingering in yours. You had replayed it over and over like a lullaby that tried but failed to comfort you completely. You really hoped he would return. You really hoped he'd make it in time.

The door of the main hall shunned open, causing the suitors to stop their noise and mid-boast to look over—their curiosity getting fed as the queen entered with a stern, regal look. A few numbers of sentinels around her weary yet valiant aura.

You leaned closer to the corridor’s edge, careful not to fully reveal yourself, but just enough to see. But it wasn’t just her presence that stilled the room. It was the large, unstrung bow she held in her arms—long, worn, and looked very heavy. King Odysseus’ bow.

The moment their eyes caught it, the suitors stirred like caged beasts at the scent of blood. Excitement sparked in their voices, followed by murmurs, then full-blown chants. Clearly excited for a challenge they have no match for. Penelope stepped forward, lifting the heavy bow before the crowd. The hall fell into silence, save for the distant crackle of a torch on the wall. You caught the queen's eye for a second, softening for a second before gazing back at the men.

"This is the bow of Odysseus," she began, her voice clear and cold. "The man I wed. The man this throne still belongs to."

A stir went through the crowd—some confused, some scoffing. She raised the bow higher, as if presenting a relic to be seen. Penelope looked at each suitor, gaze unwavering.

"You claim to be worthy of me. Of this kingdom. Of my son's future. Then prove it on this day." A murmur rippled across the room.

She nodded to a male servant, who stepped forward carrying a row of twelve axe heads. "Whoever can string my husband's old bow and shoot through 12 axes cleanly. Will be the new king, sit down at the throne and rule with me as his queen." She revealed.

You listen to this with an uneasy feeling, you watch as the suitors gather to the said bow. Already hearing the complaints.

"If none of you can..." her tone darkened ever so slightly, "then you were never meant to stand where he once sat." She concluded.

Even you felt chills run down your spine at her words. The authority in her voice left no room for argument. After the challenge was declared, the queen didn’t waste a second more in that room. She turned swiftly and exited, her robes trailing like waves behind her.

You straightened your posture the moment she stepped out, composed. "Your Highness," you greeted with your head bowed low. "(Name)," Penelope replied, her tone noticeably softer. You raised your head, only to meet her eyes—warm, "How are you, dear?" she asked, her voice gentler than you expected after such a fierce announcement.

You gave a faint hum. "I’m doing just fine… my queen. Thank you for asking," you said, gaze cast downward again.

A short pause followed before then came her soft chuckle, light but knowing. "Your eyes tend to lie with you, (Name)," she said, almost fondly.

You let out a defeated chortle, "Just trying my best to wait, my queen," you answered, your voice lower now, a hint of weariness slipping through. Penelope’s soft gaze didn’t leave you as she stepped closer. "You remind me so much of myself, my dear." Her words caught in your chest.

"Waiting… with only our hope to keep us standing," she said gently. "But don’t you worry, (Name)," she continued, taking your hands into hers. You looked into the queen’s eyes—eyes filled with hope and trust, so much so that you felt it too.

"Our waiting will be over soon." You were left speechless at her sentence, as the queen smiled at you one last time before excusing herself. You couldn’t come up with a response, standing there with her words echoing in your mind.

What does she mean by that? Our waiting? Is something coming? Is Telemachus coming home at last?

From the thought of it—your eyes lit up with hope, the little spark you felt when you were with him beginning to glisten. Your cheeks rose as you smiled—truthfully. You then turned around, a smile still plastered on your face—but when you raised your head, the sight before you slowly wiped it away.

In the quiet distance, you could see Eurymachus staring at you, and though his gaze already burned your skin, another thing made your stomach drop. Your mother standing beside him, as if they had just finished talking. Her eyes met yours, and you questioned her with your gaze.

She stood still, staring at you bluntly. A lump formed in your throat, too hard to swallow. You were about to do something—when a handmaiden called for you.

They reminded you about the chores that needed to be done and it reminded you that you're supposed to be in garden duty right now. You mentally scolded yourself. When you looked back to your mother—she was already gone. So fast that it made you question if you had really seen her at all. But Eurymachus was still there. You could feel his smirk as he turned away to return to his men.

You shake your head, before forcing yourself to not let it get to you. You walked away, pushing down the ache, compelling yourself to stay on the positive side.

You can't let yourself be brought down by the woman who regrets you. For now you could only occupy yourself for safety and distraction. A little more waiting and this may be all over.

Too distracted from the stalking gaze behind you.

...

"Eurymachus!"

The name stretched out, dragged by the voice of a suitor who leaned lazily. "Stop lurking after that girl and give us a hand here! will you?" Another one snorted. "Or at least save your stalking for when her back’s turned, man. You’re so obvious."

Eurymachus let out a deep chuckle as he approached, brushing off their jabs, he let out a rasped chuckle, sauntering over. "Can’t blame a man for watching beauty when it walks."

"You’ve got your eye on her too often," another one chimed in, grinning slyly.

"Sounds more like you’re ready to toss your bid for the queen and go chasing maids instead." Another chimed in.

Eurymachus grinned. "Why not both? Crown’s heavier with a queen beside you, isn’t it? I want the power of a king and a queen to match—but a sweet young thing on the side?" He shrugged. "No crime in keeping options."

A suitor let out a bark of laughter. "Says the man planning a whole buffet at his royal table."

"Don't pretend you wouldn’t all drop your noble wives the second you tasted royalty," Eurymachus drawled, eyes half-lidded. "Loyalty doesn’t crown you. Power does." That earned a few nods and crude laughs—but someone else hummed lowly, glancing sideways. "Still… what was that earlier? Her mother came to speak to you. That woman looked creepy." Eurymachus didn’t answer right away. His smirk only deepened. "You'll see," he said simply, cryptic. "But for now, let the little lamb run the field. No need to clip wings before they fly straight into the trap."

A suitor squinted. "Aren’t you worried someone else might get there first?"

"I can handle boys pretending to be men," he said, dismissive.

Another elbowed him, half-grinning. "You sure about that? One 'Machus' might have something to say. You know… TeleMACHUS?"

"Oh yeah! The prince won't be too pleased, you touching his favorite maid!" That line landed sharply. The laughter dimmed a little, "Come to think of it… when’s the last time we even saw the prince?"

"Hasn’t been around the hall in days," another muttered. "And not a word."

"Not like the prince to vanish in silence," someone else added, tone lower now. "He’s young, sure, but not foolish." Silence briefly fell between them—shadows creeping in behind their half-laughed lines.

...

The palace garden's calming sound was a welcome contrast to the chaotic uproar of the suitors earlier. You physically felt yourself breathe easier as you stepped into the space. A strong storm had passed the previous night, leaving the garden slightly disheveled—damp leaves, bent stems, and fallen flower heads littered the grass. It would be a pain to work on wet ground, sure, but anything was better than sharing air with those men. At least the rain had watered the plants, so there wasn’t much to do. You picked up the broom propped against the stone wall and began to sweep, the wet leaves dragging along the path. Your gaze eventually fell on a scattered pile of dark, fallen petals near the base of one of the flower beds. You crouched down and reached for them.

Black dahlias. Their the few rare flowers that the palace has planted, sadden that the storm destroyed them.

They must’ve snapped under the wind. You gently gathered them up, letting the cool softness press against your palm. They always bloomed by the edges, close to the wall where Telemachus used to work with you. You smiled faintly as the memory came.

You were busy planting the black dahlia your mother had insisted you tend to. It had already bloomed, petals dark as wine and curled outward. You crouched lower, careful as you dug, trying not to bruise its roots. The garden was quiet, the sky still and gray. You were focused, so deeply tuned into the gentle rhythm of your work, that you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching behind you—slowly.

"Boo!" You flinched with a sharp yelp, your hands jerking—and the trowel of dirt you were holding flew through the air, catching its target unexpectedly.

"Ack—!" came the sputtered sound. You turned around, wide-eyed, only to see Telemachus blinking at the dirt, an exaggerated look of betrayal on his face. "Telemachus! You scared me!" You gasped with a frown.

But the prince only laughed—an open, bright sound that lit up the garden more than any morning sun could. He smiled, not at the mess, not at the prank, but only at you. That smile he always specially saved just for you. Upon his laugh, you slapped his shoulder as you couldn't help but to crack a giggle yourself. "Sorry! Sorry! I had to!" Telemachus said.

"You're always so unaware of what's behind you that it's so easy to come from behind," he defended, brushing a clump of soil from his tunic. "I should’ve thrown a whole shovel at you instead, hm?" you scoffed dramatically, giving him a pointed glare before turning your attention back to the flower. Telemachus huffed before plopping down beside you with a pout, his arms crossed like a sulking child. "You wound me, my lady. I come to offer my help and affection, and this is how I’m repaid?"

You smirked, eyes still on your task. "By help? You mean flinging dirt and distracting me from my work?"

"I call it keeping you entertained and companied," he grinned, without looking, you scooped a tiny handful of soil and flicked it at him. It hit the side of his neck, and he stared at you in disbelief.

"Oh, it's war now," he warned.

"Don’t you dare—" Too late. His hand dipped into the dirt, and he threw across your cheek. You gasped, both now laughing, and now turning it into a mini war.

But then he caught your wrist mid-air, holding it between you both. His hand was warm, grounding. You looked up—and found him already watching you, his grin softening.

The laughter died down between you, replaced with a quiet tension. Not the bad kind—the kind that curled in your stomach. You noticed how close your faces were, how his eyes always seemed to trace your features like he was trying to memorize them. "You’ve got dirt on your nose," he whispered, you blinked, suddenly aware of your heartbeat—then quickly pulled your hand away and cleared your throat

"It’s your fault," you muttered, trying to hide your smile.

"Aw I'm sorry, my lady, would you like me to wipe it for you?" he replied, voice teasing, but deep down he meant it. He stayed kneeling beside you, close, as you both resumed working on the garden—but the silence wasn’t empty. It was full of everything unspoken. You could only give him a sarcastic roll as he remained next to you while you resumed your work—shoulders touching but his presence wrapped around you.

The memory brought a quiet smile into your face, looking over the said spot as the wind blew your hair. You quickly finished your work before the wind could fly them too—as your hands now got a bit dirty. You walked towards a nearby fountain just beside the garden, sitting down, your chiton hanging as you carefully cleaned your fingers.

You hummed to yourself—something you do when silence takes place as you let water wash the dirt off, your eyes drifting to the water running down the fountain, admiring the sight of the sea from behind that stole your attention, the sea's view was beautiful from this point. Having the palace being in the high part of Ithaca gave a beautiful advantage for the sight. The calm waves occupying the emptiness of the ocean. Your lips tried to keep a smile but the longer you stared at it, it downcasted.

Then your head shot at a sudden noise—a branch breaking, you lightly tensed up from the sound. You moved a little to peek who was it and to see a hooded figure, they were hunched a little, clothes worn. He walked slow, cane in hand, almost blending with the shadows under the olive trees.

He seemed to be facing you, you blink in surprise. "Hello?" You greeted a little confused but still sounding friendly.

The figure paused at your voice. A moment passed, just long enough for your heartbeat to quicken as his head tilted slightly under the hood, as if measuring your tone, your face, your presence. Then, slowly, he shuffled—his cane tapping.

"Didn’t mean to startle you," the voice that emerged was gravelly, aged… but there was something about it. Something too steady for a beggar. "Didn’t know anyone was still tending the garden."

You rose to your feet slowly, brushing your damp hands down your chiton. "It hasn't stopped storming since this morning so It needed to be tidied.." You gave a careful smile, trying to read his face beneath the shadow of the hood. "Is there anything I could perhaps help you, sir?" You asked the hooded figure carefully as you took notice of how he seemed to be cautious.

"Uh, no. I'm fine… thank you," he said, his voice low and rasped like dry stone against stone. He turned slightly, ready to move on.

"Are you certain?" you asked gently. "The palace is quite the steps uphill. Maybe a glass of water would help?" He paused. There was a flicker of hesitation, like a man weighing whether your kindness was worth the risk. Then, with a small grunt of reluctant gratitude, he nodded. "Alright… a drink would be kind."

You smiled, taking a step forward. "Follow me, then—" But before the words could fully leave your lips, he had already turned and begun walking, "Okay...?" You said to yourself

He did not move like a stranger unfamiliar with his surroundings, you blinked, surprised but decided to keep quiet. He was heading toward the side corridor that led to the older part of the palace—the courtyard with the olive press, and just beyond it, the smaller kitchen used mostly by the handmaidens during the off hours. Few knew it existed.

You didn’t press further. You poured the man a glass of water then you step back to give him space to refine himself, at first the man just stared at the glass, but you let him with his time before turning away. You decided to keep the silence between you two as you cleaned up.

"I want to ask" The man started, you turned your head to face him, his face was hidden through the shadows of his hood that was concealing his identity however you could see the faint irises through the darkness. "I'm assuming you're a worker here right?" He asked carefully.

You nodded, fully turning to face him now. "You seemed rather calm seeing me—some stranger wandering around the palace grounds. Even offered me help." His eyes flicked to yours, unreadable. "I definitely don’t look like someone who belongs here, so I’m surprised you didn’t question anything." You blinked at his words, caught slightly off guard. Your mouth opened, then closed again as you stumbled for a response.

"Uh… well," you began, trying to piece the thought together. "I suppose I’m not surprised because strangers are… becoming more common around here." You looked down briefly. "Especially with the events happening at the moment, it is to be expected. It is my job to be hospitable to guests."

"Are you not afraid though?" The man asked bluntly. You were taken aback by the simplicity of the question. Your lips curved into a faint smile as you let out a soft chuckle. "Well... I'm not really in the mind to judge," you answered honestly. "And, uh—pardon me—but is there something I should be afraid of?" You tilted your head slightly, almost naively.

The man stayed silent at your remark making you feel awkward as you rubbed your hands together. "No. nothing" He said, making you lightly sighing, "But you should have been cautious, I could have been someone different" He said.

You nodded as you looked towards the hodded man. You studied him, You didn't sense danger from him. Mystery, yes. Weariness. Perhaps even pain. But not threat.

He was covered after all and the only indication of his presence was his voice—which now when you listened more carefully, it slightly piqued you. He sounded something familiar, not exact but more similar. Though he sounded more guarded, strict and rough. You could tell he went through a lot. "I think…" you murmured, narrowing your eyes slightly, "it's because you sound similar to someone I have in mind. I guess that's why I don’t see you as any sort of threat." You offered him a small like you were trying to justify your own carelessness.

The man didn’t say anything. He only stared at you under the shadow of his hood as though your words caught him somewhere deep.

You didn’t know why you said that. Telemachus had nothing to do with this man. And yet, you couldn’t help but draw the line in your thoughts—his tone. In your mind, you could almost hear yourself groan. You're really this down bad, huh? So down bad that a hoarse-voiced stranger vaguely sounding like Telemachus made you feel safe.

It was ridiculous. Still, you found yourself standing straighter now. As if that little sliver of familiarity gave you something solid to rest on. "I'm sorry, I must sound like a fool," you chuckled, brushing your hands against your chiton. "Comparing you to him so casually, I apologize" His brow twitched just slightly beneath the hood. "Him?"

You shook your head. "Just someone I miss dearly" You examine mostly to yourself. "Where is he now, may I ask?" the hooded man asked, his voice low.

You turned surprised at the man before your eyes drifted toward the open window again, the distant sea shimmering under the sun’s gaze. "He's at sea," you replied softly. A small silence lingered in the air, broken only by the distant cry of gulls and the rustling wind through the trees outside. 'Is that why you were staring out there earlier for so long?' he asked gently. 

You blinked, caught off guard by his quiet observation. "Forgive me," he added. "I didn’t mean to catch you off guard." 

"No… no, it’s okay," you replied, "Just surprised, that’s all." You paused, letting your fingers trace the edge of the table near you. "But yes… I’ve been staring at the sea ever since we were separated. It's become a habit, really." You offered a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "People say staring at something for too long makes time feel slower," you continued, voice softer now, like you were sharing something sacred. "But I can’t help it. Every wave, every glimmer of light off the tide… it gives me hope." You turned back to the sea, your eyes distant. "I can’t help but wait for a glimpse of him returning."

You leaned against the counter. "He’s like the sea," you murmured. "Some days he’s gentle, warm, soft-spoken, easy to tease. It’s like nothing bad can ever reach you when he’s near. But then there are days he’s quiet… heavy, like he’s carrying too much inside. Still, no matter what version of him shows up, I wait. Because like the sea, even when he’s out of sight, I know he’s there—moving, trying, finding his way back." You paused, voice softening. "And I’ll be here. When he does."

The man beside you didn’t speak immediately, but you felt something shift in the air. Like the silence had deepened somehow. You could hear the man's hum as he shifted, "You're a good kid" He told you. "I can tell your kindness is very tampered through these halls" You looked at him curiously, lips parting—but he didn’t give you time to speak again.

"Thank you for the water," he said, already turning to leave.

"Uh, you're welcome—uh but uh, I didn't catch your name, sir," you called out, a little hesitant, unsure why you even wanted to know.

He paused for just a breath, not even glancing back. "No need, be careful out here" he uttered, voice rough and final, before continuing on his way. You stood there for a moment, watching his figure slowly disappear behind the bend of the palace wall as the breeze picked up again.

He was... definitely something. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to the mystery that clung to him. You couldn’t exactly explain why—but everything about him was oddly precarious, unsettling in a way that didn’t scare you, but made you question. He walked like he already knew where each step would fall. You really should have been more cautious, maybe even more guarded toward him—he was a stranger after all. But you couldn’t bring yourself to treat him like one.

You sighed, gaze trailing after the empty path he left behind. And just like that, you were alone again. The wind stirred the olive branches above, brushing softly against your shoulder. The echo of his voice remained in your head, low and familiar, even if you didn’t know why. And you feel lighter to your chest.

You let a little time pass, purposely dragging out your outside chores to avoid going back inside. You half-expected one of the senior servants to scold you for slacking off—but strangely, no one had passed through the halls near the garden. Not like usual.

At first, you welcomed the quiet, but as time passed by more, the silence began to bother you. It was too quiet. Silence was always a gamble to you. You hated how it could mean two things—peace or danger. And deep down, you always knew which one it was.

With a sigh, you decided to check the palace. Your light steps felt louder than usual, each one echoing, it didn’t help that the halls seemed to absorb every sound. But then—you passed the inner edge of the garden wall, your ears caught something—murmurs. Finally.

But.. these weren’t idle conversations. Voices were low. Careful. The kind where people tend to whisper to hide. Curiosity rooted your feet. You followed the sound until you reached a side corridor—the one where the suitors often gathered. You peered through the slightest crack of the wooden door, just barely able to listen.

It was just voices at first—sharp murmurs scraping against the walls—but then one voice rose. Antinous. The air seemed to shift, heat rising as he stood at the center of the suitors. With a snarl, he grabbed the great bow and threw it to the ground, the wood hit the marble with a crack—but it didn’t break.

"Screw this damn challenge!" he snapped, turning in a full circle. "...I'm telling you, this is a damn joke," Antinous growled, arms wide. "String the king’s old bow? What kind of child's game is this? A little trial to amuse the widow while we rot in patience?" Murmurs of frustration, and anger brewed among the men. Some nodded. Some grunted. But all listened.

"We've been here for hours!" he shouted. "All of us—sweating like slaves, looking like fools. And for what? A bow no one can string. Can't you see it?" He took deliberate steps toward the dais, the shadows clinging to him like a cloak. His hand ran across the throne’s side, rough with age and carved history, before he sat on it without hesitation.

"This," he said, voice dropping low with venom, "is how they hold us down." Everyone stilled, including you.

"This. This is the time where we must charge for action. That burning fire in your chest is what we take control." As he said that the crackles of the flames in room rang as it filled the place. The silence between after sentence made your heart pound faster, not knowing what to expect next. "Haven't you all noticed who's missin'?" Your eyes widen. You felt your breath stop.

"Don't you know, that the little wolf isn't here after all." He chuckles. The men replied. "I heard he's on a diplomatic mission and I heard today he comes back at time" He announced.

"what?" You shot, fixated on what he said. The men started to crack a grin upon realizing the route of plan their leader was hinting. "Why don't we... say gather near the shore, where we wait til his ship arrives"

"And if we leave now, it may be just enough time to strike him." Your blood went cold.

The words slid into your ears like ice through veins, and suddenly the world spun—too slow, too loud, too sharp. You hadn’t realized how tightly you were clutching the wall until your fingers began to numb, white at the knuckles. You tried to swallow, but your throat closed up, breath hitching at the edges of a scream you couldn’t make. It couldn't be. Were they—?

"Hold him down as he stops shaking!" a voice barked, and others responded with a vile kind of cheer. "While I slit his neck open," Then Antinous laughed.

It was wrong. The sound didn’t belong to a man—it was a monster. "As we slowly break all his bones," he said, voice curling with something too dark to name. "Let his pride, his trust, and his faith hang like meat from his broken flesh." You bit your own tongue.

You had to. To stop your teeth from chattering. To stop yourself from sobbing. To stop your breath from making a sound loud enough to give you away.

Oh gods. You wanted to run. But your legs didn’t move. You wanted to scream. But air refused your lungs. Your hands wouldn't stop trembling. They shook so violently you pressed them against your mouth, your chest, anywhere that could silence them.

"After we're done with him," Antinous drawled, his voice dropping low like a closing door, "only the sea and myself will know where his remains are. You turned away, back pressed flat against the cold stone wall. Your heartbeat was a frantic thud in your ears, your pulse so loud it nearly drowned out the rest. You were going to be sick.

Telemachus. They were talking about your Telemachus.

Every cruel word carved its way into your bones, into your chest, pressing so hard you thought your ribs might crack from holding the panic inside. You had to warn someone. You had to move. But even as you willed yourself, your knees threatened to buckle.

They were going to kill him. You have to get up. They said he's coming home today, you just have to beat them first to it—right?

"And then finally.." The phrase caused you to feel like your feet was chained.

"Hold her down." Oh No.

"Now that there is no one that can stop us from breaking the bedroom door." No no.

Their voices start to linger with excitement that burns, you hear footsteps. "As we hold her down."

"While we get a taste." No.

"Hold her down while we share her royal spoils! I will not let any part go to waste!" The men cheered, as you froze. The queen. They were planning not just to kill Telemachus—but to take the queen. By force.

Your breath caught sharp in your chest, You couldn’t move. But you really needed to. You needed to. Now. Move.

Someone was coming. You tried to stand but your knees were useless beneath you—numb, shaking. You pressed a hand to the wall. The stone felt too far, too dark. Everything blurred.

Stand up. You screamed it to yourself. Stand up. You couldn’t hear anything—except the muffled pounding of your heart and—

"Gotcha." A voice, too close, your head turned in slow motion. Your limbs were frozen, and your stomach dropped. Your body knew before your mind caught up. Your lips trembled. You couldn't even muster a scream before a pair of hands yanked you off the floor. You shrieked, thrashing in reflex. You kicked your heels down, anything to get free. The light of the room stung your eyes.

"Get off of me! Let go!!" you screeched, voice cracking under your panic. You fought like a cornered animal—because you knew, you were one. In the blur of the motion, you couldn’t make out the face—but the scent of wine and sweat, the sound of mocking breath too close to your ear, the way the grip tightened to bruise.

You wanted to curse him out. "Well," came the voice, smug and slow, the grin practically audible, "What do we have here?" Your throat closed again as tears lined your eyes, more from rage and horror than fear now. Eurymachus.

He watched your panic state like it was the finest entertainment he’d been served in days. His grip tightened around the parts of you that were too strong to break free from, while his breath skimmed too close to your skin, heavy. "Eavesdropping now?" Eurymachus cooed darkly, like a wolf playfully circling its kill. "Not a very good girl to do, hm?"

He slid his hand to your face, fingers curling cruelly beneath your chin, then clenching your jaw between his calloused fingers like he owned it. You hated it, the way it felt rough and made you rose to your stomach. You flinched instinctively, twisting your face away—disgust rising sharp in your throat.

Without thinking, your lips parted—and you spat, unflinching, right onto his face. The silence cracked. A beat passed. Just one.

Then—SLAP.

The slap stinged loudly. Your head snapped to the side, and your body dropped with it. Your knees collapsed, and you hit the floor hard, shoulder scraping the stone, pain biting through your spine. The ringing in your ears blocked out the first wave of laughter from the suitors. You raised your head enough to stare him dead in the eye—your head messy from his hit, a redden mark forming into your cheek.

Eurymachus wiped the spit off his face slowly, eyes black with fury. "Filthy little bitch," he muttered. Then he grabbed you by the wrist—bruising tight—and dragged you like a disobedient dog.

Your sandals scraped against the floor, you kicked against the tug, but the floor gave no traction, the laughter grew louder. You were thrown down again, right before the throne where Antinous now stood. He stepped forward with the calm of someone who had all the time in the world to decide how you’d suffer as his eyes studied you, dissected you. He crouched low, boots scraping the stone, and tilted his head just slightly.

"Get away from me" You barely whisper, as your knees tried to support you. You backed away, but his steps closer was faster. "Or what?" He mocked with a sly grin on.

You honestly didn’t know anymore. None of this was within your control, your body remained frozen, skin cold, blood hammering in your ears. You could feel the weight of a hundred eyes pressing into you like needles. Watching. Waiting.

Still, you tried. You swallowed hard, forcing your lips into a line and biting down on the bottom one to ground yourself. Anything to stop the trembling. You wouldn’t show fear. You refused to. But you didn’t answer either.

The silence drew longer, heavier.

Antinous scoffed with a breath of humor, the kind that made your stomach twist. "Yeah," he muttered, "thought so."

"Brothers," he called out, voice laced with theatrical cruelty. He stepped closer before you could take a step back, his hand snapped forward and seized your wrist. You gasped. His grip yanked you backwards and locked you there, his arm snaking around to pin you against him. His hold strangled your breath, forcing your chin up so the room could see you clearly.

You were dragged to the center like an exhibit. Faces blurred into a sea of leering eyes—suitors with grins too wide, too sharp. The room was hungry.

"I think," Antinous said darkly, "we’ve just found the perfect bait… for when we kill the prince." Your eyes widened. You opened your mouth to scream, protest—anything—but a rough cloth was shoved between your lips before the words could form. You let out a muffled cry as panic flared. Your limbs jerked, fought, twisted—but it was no use.

Then—a sudden, sharp pain nicked your throat. You froze, the cool press of something thin and sharp lingered just enough to draw blood. "One wrong move and you’re dead, sweetheart," Antinous whispered into your ear, voice low and snake-slick. You shivered as the laughter erupted around you. Your helpless obedience cracked them up.

"Antinous, don’t scare the girl too much!" Eurymachus called mockingly through the laughter. "We want her pretty for the stage!"

They laughed again. And you stood there—crying, gagged, bleeding—caught in a nightmare that hadn’t even reached its peak. "You and the prince have a thing, don’t you?" You froze. The blade pressed deeper. "Oh, don’t act surprised," the voice cooed mockingly. "You fellow servants aren’t as loyal as you think. They’ll say anything when the sheets are warm." He leaned closer, breath hot against your ear. "But you—you’re different, huh? The lucky one. The one the young prince picked."

The dagger traced idle. "I heard from your little friends… you draw. Why don’t you sketch us a picture, hm? One of what we’ll do to your prince." The room erupted in laughter. Loud, echoing, vile. You couldn’t focus—so many voices, so many hands, too much heat and noise.

"You have a pretty face, you know that?" he said again. You didn’t answer. "You’ve got the face of a princess… if you even knew that." The blade jabbed, not deep, but enough to make your breath hitch. Then silence—followed by a theatrical gasp. "Oh. You don’t know?" he chuckled darkly.

You shot him a confused look, your heart pounding louder than the voices. He burst into laughter and looked over at Eurymachus. "Should we tell her?"

Eurymachus shrugged with a smirk. "Nah. Let her hear it from the woman herself." You croaked through the cloth, trying to say something. They just laughed harder.

"Let’s just say… your mother is a hell of a woman," one of them said with a cruel glint. Before your mind could piece anything together, more voices chimed in—louder, hungrier.

"I say we lure the prince in with her—stripped bare and screaming!"

"No, no, we kill her first! Make the boy watch before we take him next!"

"I say we kill them both together—like some twisted Romeo and Juliet!"

The room spiraled with howls and jeers, each suggestion more grotesque than the last.

"Hold 'em down!" They changed continually.

The blade pressed deeper into your skin—any more and it would end you here. Your eyes stayed wide, fixed on the men cheering, their faces twisted by the dancing red flames. Was this hell? You stared at the man laughing at your suffering. His eyes locked onto yours, merciless, enjoying every tremble in your frame. You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

And then—something shifted. A rush in the air. A presence. You didn’t turn. You didn’t need to. The last thing you saw was the sharp ruthlessness in Antinous’ eyes before an arrow tore through his skull.

Silence. Then blood. It exploded across your face and body, warm and sudden. Everything slowed. His eyes widened in blank surprise as he turned—half a motion, too late—to find the source. His body dropped like stone. The sound of it hitting the floor was swallowed by the rising panic in the room.

And just like that, the laughter stopped.

You stared at his bleeding body as the room fell silent, frozen in disbelief. Antinous—just moments ago, laughing—now lay dead in a pool of blood. All eyes locked on his corpse, stunned.

Then, you saw him. A figure. A man. It was the same hooded man from earlier, holding the bow. He looked furious. But he shot away your chance of death.

No one else noticed him yet. Their shock clung too tightly to Antinous. You didn’t wait. You ran, bolted so fast that you couldn’t spare the man a glance—you couldn’t risk it. The wind behind you howled cold, so cold it made the flames burn red.

Your collar was leaking with blood. You pressed a trembling hand against the open wound as you stumbled through the halls. Every part of your body screamed from the abuse. Your head was spinning from the fear and pain, thoughts scattered like broken glass.

You didn’t know where you were going. You had no plan, you just ran.

The queen. She was the only one you could think of—your only hope at the moment, maybe she was in her chambers, which was far from the suitors. But something was wrong. You paused, breath ragged, vision spinning. "W-What...?" you whispered. You looked around. No—no, this couldn���t be right. You recognized this corridor. You'd passed it already.

Had you run in circles? Where were the stairs? The exit? Seven years in this palace, you should know it like the lines in your hands. And yet you were lost—utterly, frighteningly lost.

You kept moving despite your legs barely obeyed, fear and panic burning them to continue. You were falling apart with every step, but you can't stop, you can't stop now, even when all you wanted was to collapse and sob from the pain but they can get to you any time soon, you need to push yourself.

"(Name)..." You heard your name being whispered, head snapped toward the sound, breath caught in your throat. You kept moving but stumbling through the dim corridor, blood dripping with each step. Your mind was so scrambled, so loud with thoughts you could barely tell what was real anymore. "(Name)...!" Louder this time. Familiar. That voice—so achingly familiar.

Your eyes widened. "Telemachus...?" you breathed, your voice cracking as your eyes slightly lit up with hope, you turned around, spun in place, desperate to find where it came from.

"(Name)!" Your knees nearly buckled, gripping the wall for support. The voice echoed again, bouncing in your skull, and tears stung your eyes. You wanted to believe it. Gods, you wanted to believe it was him.

"Where are you?!" you cried out, almost delirious, scanning every corner. You were trembling now, your legs too heavy to carry you any further, your hand smeared blood against the stone as you dragged yourself along the wall, heart racing with every beat that screamed his name.

You kept calling for the male, but he kept repeating your name, you know its his voice however you're starting to doubt if it's him. "(name)..."

"Please come out already!" voice breaking, gripping the corner of the wall like it could hold you up. Your hands trembling, knees ready to give out. "Please... I’m tired," you whispered, sliding down the cold wall as your body finally surrendered. "I don’t want to do this anymore..."

Then came the voice again. "(Name)... I’m here." Your breath hitched. You let your eyes drop, and for a moment it was like Telemachus was holding you—like his voice wrapped around your aching ribs, comforting. "I’m here... You're safe now." You leaned into that sound.

Your lips tremble to a weak smile, Maybe... It's finally done, he's here now. Maybe all of this would finally end. Maybe he did come back to you—just like he promised.

...

Your eyes sprang open, a sharp pierce pushed against your stomach. You were met by the same pair of eyes that is just like yours, the sharpness deepened as the pain finally made its way to your senses. You gasped but didn't scream, your throat closed up as you stared down at yourself.

There was blood. So much blood. You looked down at the crimson spreading from your center, staining the fabric of your chiron, seeping between your fingers, shakily reaching to grasp the ones that held the blade. Your fingers touched skin as you looked up, "..Mom..?" Your voice barely made it past your lips. You blinked, you didn't want to believe it, but yet you weren't surprised.

She didn't answer, you gasped again, pain now fully blooming inside you, tearing through your insides like fire. Your knees gave out and you dropped to the floor, the blade still lodged in you. Blood starting to spread, "W-Why…"

She still hadn’t looked at you. Her face was tilted down, her hair falling freely over her shoulders like a curtain—something you had never seen her wear before. It framed her face so eerily yet beautiful in a way, you felt as if you were looking in a mirror. A mirror with no reflection behind the glass.

Slowly she raised her gaze, finally meeting your own. She knelt beside you—so quiet, so weightless that it was almost cruel. The face that met yours was not of rage or madness yet. It was silent. So quiet it made you shake harder. She looked like you. Exactly like you. Only colder. Lifeless and stripped out of everything that made you human.

"I'm sorry" She said lifelessly, you stared at her disbelief, she said with no weight that it sounded like a joke.

Lips parting you said "Sorry..?"

She stared at your eyes, "This is only fair."

Your blood ran colder than your skin. "Fair..? How is this fair!?" The words tore from your throat. Every breath you took stabbed your chest as you sobbed in pain, "Why are you doing this?! Why—why.." you stumbled. "Why are you hurting me, mother..."

Something flickered then she finally snapped. "This is your fault. You ruined my life!" The scream struck you like another blow, this time to the heart. You flinched, she was shaking, fists clenched, teeth gritted as she leaned to you, you backed away further to the wall even though there was no more space.

A choking silence first came before she spoke, "Do you have any idea what I went through because of you. Because of your bastard of a father?" Her voice became quiet again but harder than her yell. "Any idea of the pain and suffering you've brought me?" she snapped, her voice shattering the air like glass. Her grip tightened around your shoulders, pushing you harshly against the hard wall. "And to make it worse—you just had to look exactly like me." She scoffs while you flinch, eyes wide.

"But worse than that," she hissed through her teeth, "you had his spirit. That fire. That wonder. That same blind defiance that ruined me!" You blinked through the blur of tears. It was true—she didn't look like you, you looked like her.

"It’s unfair," she whispered hoarsely. "So unfair. I didn’t ask for this life. I didn’t ask for you. The gods—" her voice broke, trembling—"they cursed me with a daughter who would grow up with the life they stole from me!" You didn't know what to you say, but your heart burned, burned with guilt and realization as to why your mother this way. "You too caught the eye of a royal. But I wasn't admired unlike you" You bit your lip.

"I had dreams too," she spat, voice rising, shaking you now like she could shake the past out of you. "Did you know that?! I had plans, a future, hopes that were mine! Until he—"

She stopped but continued quickly. "Until I was taken against my will," she said, quietly now. "by your father." Your breath caught, eyes widened in disbelief, the world tilted. "I didn't choose this, I didn't choose to have you."

Your voice tried to speak, to say something even if you didn't know what to say, you could barely even breathe.

"But they wanted you, you know?" your mother said coldly, stepping back, her eyes trailing down to the blood seeping from your wound. "Your father… oh, he really wanted you, he needed a daughter, he said." Her tone dripped with bitterness. She let go of your shoulders harshly as if your touch left burns. "But I refused," she went on. "I refused to let you be a symbol of their love, or peace, or whatever lie they painted it as. I may hate you for existing—but letting you live a life of comfort while I rotted in silence from your birth?" Her voice cracked. "I refused. I'd rather have you suffer with me."

You were trembling now, lips parted to speak, stuttering from both the pain and fear. "I-I didn’t know any of this... and if I did—if I knew what he did to you—I wouldn’t want to be near him. I wouldn’t even—"

"Stop the crap, (Name)." Her voice cold like ice. You flinched. "You say that now, but I saw it," she sneered. "The way you lit up around the palace. The way you clung to that boy. His mother. You loved this place. You loved being close to royal. Don’t lie to me."

Tears were pooling down your face. "He wasn’t my father…and.. I didn't plan to-" you whispered, like it could save you.

She tilted her head. "But you still craved what he would have given you. A palace. A title. A dream.. Isn't that why you whore'd yourself to the prince?" She leaned closer, her face mere inches from yours as your body trembled beneath the heavy weight of everything—your blood, the pain, and the truth she had dug into you more deeply than the blade itself. Your lips shivered as tears blurred your vision.

"No... you got it wrong..." you whispered through your choked sobs. Your voice was too weak to convince anyone, let alone the one who had just stabbed you. She didn’t answer. She just stared. Looked down at you like you were something pitiful, distorted, something like unwanted. Her expression held nothing soft, only an exhausted disgust. But you looked up at her anyway, the way a child would. Your lips trembled again, and your gaze held no defiance like she accused you to have—eyes just guilt. Guilt as if to say: I’m sorry.

She was just like you once. Bright-eyed, maybe even joyful. With dreams that were meant to be more than what the faith allowed her. You saw it now—how the faith she once had was sucked dry by cruelty. It wasn’t her fault. But it wasn’t yours either. But still, you felt like it was, like existing was a mistake, like your dreams were thievery from a woman who had nothing left.

"I’m sorry," you whimpered quietly. Again, and again. "I’m sorry." She didn’t answer, but you saw her shoulders rise and fall unevenly. Her breath also shaking now.

You winced as her hand started to move. You thought she would pull the blade out—but instead, she gripped it tighter. "You don’t have to, please." you croaked, your voice barely audible anymore. You didn't fear death, you said not to convince but to maybe give her a chance to rethink. You were exhausted through a point acceptance was telling you.

Silence. A long, breathless silence.

And then by your surprise… she let go. Her fingers slipped from the hilt, leaving the blade inside you. Not out of mercy, but out of something she couldn’t name. Her hands fell limp at her sides, trembling. She stared at you for a long time. Her eyes weren’t glassy, nor furious anymore—they were unreadable just like always before.

She stared at you—this time you can see a hint of fear as if she was scared, gasping heavily as she stared at your now broken and bloody state. Her hands were shaking with your blood staining her skin, exchanging shaky looks between you—and the evidence.

For a second, you saw her try reaching for you but flinched away like ashamed, she swallowed intensely before her hands gripped your arms again, and you winced, too weak to resist.

"W-where are we going?" She dragged you across the corridor, your body too limp to fight, you were pulled into the old weapon chamber—the cold metal scent of steel and dust crawling in your throat. She sat you against a stone pillar, "Mother... Please..." You stumbled, it was diabolical for you to still call her mother, begging her in a way as if she wasn't evil.

She tried not to pay at you. Despite your tears fell freely, quietly, she couldn't look at you—not when you're looking at her with the last bit of hope still hanging in your eyes.

She stood. Your eyes meeting for very last time. "You were a good kid." She started, you stared at her with your eyes blinking a tear. That was the first time she ever praised you. "I'm sorry you had to be mine." She concluded.

When she turned back, you could only watch her leave. Leave you to rot. Leave you alone. You didn’t want to believe this was your mother—but at the same time, she hadn’t given you a reason not to. So you stayed quiet as she stepped out of the room. And the door closed.

You leaned against the wall, clutching your abdomen, your vision growing blurrier by the second. You didn’t know if this was what dying felt like. But you didn’t want to die like this. Not this way.

You still hadn’t seen him. He still hadn’t come back.

You didn’t want your corpse to be the last thing he saw of you.

At this point, he was only the one you have left.

You didn’t know if you could hold on anymore, so you curled into yourself—anything to feel a little less alone.

Your lips quivered, barely moving as your breath trembled out of you. You pressed your bloodied hand to your side and mumbled low—almost a whisper not even the gods could hear. "Please… any god listening… don’t let it end like this…" Tears streamed down your face as your head leaned weakly against the cold wall. "I’m scared…" It was soft, like a child's voice in the dark. "I don’t want to die here… not like this…" Your eyes fluttered as you forced out one more breath, your voice barely reaching the still air. "Telemachus… please… come back..."

You looked around the dark room, lit only by a faint flicker of light that barely touched the corners. Your breaths were shaky as you scanned the space—every shadow, every shape.

Weapons lined the walls and ground, hidden in cloth—some blades poked through the fabric, their steel catching the slightest of light.

From the way they were stashed, it wasn’t hard to guess—you recognize them as the weapons owned by the suitors. You swallowed the tightening around your throat, if the bleeding didn’t end you first, they surely would. You were trapped in a room filled with things that are made to kill.

Desperate, you reached for the edge of a torn tablecloth nearby, ripping a thick strip of it with trembling hands. You wrapped it tightly around your wound, pressing down hard despite the aching pain. You bit into your lower lip, stifling a cry.

Then—footsteps, multiple of them drawing closer.

"No..no....no..!" Your blood ran cold. Your eyes widened as you looked toward the door, panic rising. With the little strength you had left, you dragged yourself to a shadowed corner, crawling to the only place that won't bite your back. Among the abandoned weapons, you spotted a small blade partially hidden between two larger ones. Your fingers closed around it, slipping it into the folds of your clothes. You held your breath.

The door burst open, crashing against the stone wall as a group of suitors scrambled in, breathes tagged, fear carving into their eyes. "He’s back!" one of them panted, wild-eyed. "The old king—he’s alive!" Another suitor slammed the door behind them, his hand shaking. "That bastard of a beggar! I didn’t know it was him—how the hell were we supposed to know that was Odysseus in disguise?!"

Their words blew you into realization. You froze, your chest tightening. The beggar from earlier?… the old man in the garden… Your eyes widened, breath caught between your ribs. That was… the king?

"Damn, he’s more cunning than I assumed," one muttered, pacing furiously. "While we were busy plotting, he hid our weapons inside this room." Just as he reached for one of the cloth-covered racks, his hand pulled back the linen that only to reveal you, curled into the corner, bloodied, breathing hard.

"Well, well," one of them grinned with amusement. "Look what the gods dragged back into our arms."

"Hello little lamb," another chuckled, cruelly. "Seems faith’s been having a little too much fun with you." You tried to shrink farther into the stone wall as one stepped closer, his boots heavy against the floor. Your hair was the only thing about you that was free as it was soak with your sweat and grime, while your once-white chiton stained with deep red and ruined to your trembling frame. Your cheeks were smeared with dried blood, a dark red result from the violence already done to you.

"Blood looks good on you," one of them sneered, bending down just slightly, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath. "We should put some more on you, yeah?"

Another one chimed in mockingly, voice almost sing-song, the laughter that followed was grotesque, and it shook something in your chest. Bait, they’d called you. Bait. Drawing a blade from the rack, "We’ll use your dying flesh as a shield." Still, you didn’t speak. You could only glared, your eyes piercing despite the tears that welled. That only made them laugh harder. "I find it hard to believe," one sneered as he tightened his grip on a sword, "that the sharpest of kings left his armory unlocked."

"So what?" another spat, raising his weapon. "Now that we’ve armed ourselves… let’s make the bastard rot." The tension in the room sharpened, and then his gaze turned back to you.

"But first—get rid of this already-rotting one."He stepped forward, blade raised, and you felt your heart drop, breath catching. You braced. "Behind you!" He turned too late. A spear drove through his back with sickening precision. As blood smeared—the holder pulling back the spear out.

The room fell into stunned silence. Your widen eyes looked up slowly, your weak iris shakily lifted to the man's body as it dropped to floor.

The shadow behind him slowly reveal from the dim light, their features revealing by the second as your heart stopped, the familiar sense of his presence made the pain numb for a second. Telemachus. He swinged the spear to his hand as an invisible yet strong presence followed behind his reveal. Your brows furrowed low as trembled in pain. Despite the dim light and the chaos around him, Telemachus had found you. His eyes locked onto yours, and something in him broke at the sight of you—battered, bloodied, barely holding on. "(Name)!" he called, desperate, running toward you.

But just before he could reach you, a suitor lunged, grabbing you by the arm. You cried out as he dragged you in front of him, locking his arm around your throat, the cold kiss of a blade pressing once again to your skin, making you hiss. "Not another step, boy!" the man barked, breathing heavy. "Or she gets it."

Telemachus froze, his sword still raised. The fury in his gaze burned like a band, barely held back by his clenched jaw. "Let her go," he said with a voice both sharp and trembling. "Let her go, and I ensure you will be spared."

The man laughed bitterly. "Spare us? After what your father did? No, prince—we know what fate waits for us." His grip on you tightened, his blade pressing deeper until you gasped.

"I don’t want to hurt you," Telemachus warned, stepping forward slightly. His eyes flicked to yours again, and something in them softened—only for rage to return when he saw you wince. "But if you hurt her again, I swear to the gods, I will not hesitate."

Another suitor stepped forward now, weapon drawn, voice snarling. "You think you can save her and fight us all, boy?" he spat. "You can’t even protect her at the first place. We have your little girl."

"We have your weakness," another added, circling. "And that’s how we win. We gut you first, then let the rest of the blood dry on her bones or the other way. Either way none is spared."

"Brothers! We can still defeat the king if we all attack the prince!" Your eyes grew wide. The men started lurging to Telemachus as you were still held back—your lips shunned as the man behind you covered your mouth. "Capture him he's our greatest chance!" Menalaus yelled, as Telemachus roughly hold them back, he dodged the blades flying towards him as he striked back, "Get off me! GET OFF ME!" He yelled.

With what little strength you had left, you gripped the blade hidden beneath your tattered chiton, the metal slick with your own blood. Heart pounding, you opened your mouth and bit hard into the hand gripping your face—so hard that the sharp taste of iron flooded your tongue. The man yelped, jerking back in surprise. You didn’t hesitate. You spun, shoving your body forward, and drove the blade into the side of his neck. His scream tore through the chamber as he collapsed, twitching.

You stared for a moment, your chest heaving—unsure if it was shock, or just the weight of what you’d done. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You yanked the blade free and turned just in time to see another suitor charging towards Telemachus' blind spot. Without thinking, you ran and shoved the blade up into his throat, his blade almost reaching the prince. His eyes bulged as he dropped, lifeless.

Telemachus turned at the sound, his sword mid-swing, eyes wide when he saw you standing over the second body, soaked with mixed blood but standing. His eyes met yours, something tender flickering in the chaos.

"You came back," you whispered, cracked and breathless. He exhaled, jaw clenched. "I promised, didn’t I?" But before the moment could hold, a strong arm yanked you back by the waist. "NO!" Telemachus shouted, panic surging through his voice as he lunged, only to be tackled by two other men. His blade clattered to the floor as they forced him down.

Menelaus held you close, his breath hot and foul in your ear. "Got them," he spat with a grin, and the sound of it made Telemachus’s face fall.

The next second passed like a fever dream. Your heartbeat jumped as an arrow tore through Menelaus—the man holding you hostage. Though your back was to him, you felt it before you saw it: the snap of the air, the wet splatter of blood painting your skin again. You swore if you had the energy to care, the mixture of your own blood and countless others coating your body would have made you sick. But right now, all you could think about was not dying. And you were scared—terrified—that you wouldn’t even achieve that.

The arrow had lodged deep into Menelaus’s neck. He gasped as the blood poured, his grip on you loosening. But your body, sore and broken from everything you’d endured, lacked the strength to catch yourself.

Telemachus and the suitors who were holding him down witnessed this all, they stared in horror as the arrow was now buried deep in his throat. Odysseus stood at the far end of the chamber, revealing himself from the pool of bodies and shadow, with blood already staining his hands, eyes spiked with no more spark.

The scene made the remaining suitors also lose their grip on the prince in great fear—enough for Telemachus to get out of their grasp and run to you.

The brown-haired male caught you just in time before you met the ground. "I’ve got you," he breathed, voice shaking, pulling you into his arms. Your eyes widened as you finally felt the familiar touch you had been longing for, you couldn't help but finally calm down. You're whole body despite in pain was tensed, alert of every single thing as a moment ago you thought you were alone. Your eyes began to swell up; however a slight indication of fear and pain still remained.

Telemachus pressed your head gently against his shoulder, but his breath caught when he felt how your body tensed. Gods, he could imagine how scared you must be.

Intuitively, he brought both you and himself away from the body as the king came closer into the room. Telemachus, who was still unaware of his father’s rampage, shielded you away as he watched the man reveal himself through the dim light.

Odysseus stood in front of the body that had his arrow pierced into it. "M-mercy," a suitor stammered, dropping his weapon, stumbling.

"Mercy?" he repeated, glaring at the man. "Mercy?!" He took another step. "My mercy has long since drowned." The bowstring pulled tight.

"It died to bring me home." He aimed at another man, trembling at the edge of the room. "And as long as you're around…" Thunk. Another suitor fell, arrow through the chest.

"My family's fate is left unknown." He stopped, eyes scanning the room with raw hatred. "You plotted to kill my son…" He gestured to Telemachus, who held you tightly against him.

"Viciously tortured that girl!" Telemachus blinked, eyes darting down to you—realizing he meant you. "You planned to rape my wife!" Odysseus’s voice grew louder, emphasizing the word wife with full grit.

"All of you are going to die!" he growled as he fired again—fast, brutal, unforgiving. The suitors scattered like rats, but it didn’t matter. One by one, they dropped dead, blood pooling on the stone walls and ground. Telemachus could only maintain his grasp on you, shielding you from the carnage. His hand pressed to your side, trying to stop the bleeding, but his eyes never left his father—not once—as Odysseus exacted a wrath twenty years in the making.

It continued, and the smell lingered as screams could be heard—begs and last breaths. "You’ve filled my heart with hate, all of you, who have done me wrong…" he turned to face the men. "This will be your fate!" he declared, holding up the head.

Cries echoed. Everything felt like a horror movie as the king himself marked his presence through this nightmare. Telemachus hitched a breath as he turned back to you slowly. You were still in his arms, trembling, barely conscious. He cupped your cheek as blood roared in your ears.

The king was home. And his homecoming had painted the walls red.

"Tele..?" Barely a full name, your voice cracked, the stab in your side had finally caught up to you, forcing a cough past your lips.

"(Name)... (Name)." Telemachus called, his voice trembling. He sank to the ground, cradling you into his arms with desperation, his eyes locked onto your side, the bloodied cloth soaked through and stiff with dry red. His breath hitched.

"I missed you."

He chuckles a sob, "I missed you too. So much." He pecked the top of your hair. "Don’t move. Don’t say anything yet—just, please, hold on," he begged, his voice rising with panic. He looked so young then, so unlike the prince people spoke of. Just a boy, terrified.

Your eyes fluttered, unfocused but still searching for him. You raised your bloodied hand—barely—and he caught it immediately, intertwining his fingers with yours gently as if that alone could keep you tethered.

"Tele… you're back," you whispered weakly.

"Yes. Yes, I’m here, (Name). I’m here! I’m so sorry I was too late, but I’m here now, okay? I’m not leaving you again!" He pressed his forehead gently to yours for a second, breath shaking.

You tried to speak, but your words were hazy. "I-I waited for you…"

He swallowed, holding back the sob building in his chest. "I know. I know you did," he whispered. "And I’m never letting you wait alone again. Never."

You blinked slowly. "It hurts…"

"I know. Gods, I know." He took a steadying breath. "But Eurycleia—she’ll know what to do. She’ll help you. I just—I have to get you to her." He pulled you closer, gently gathering you in his arms. Your body felt too light, too still, and that terrified him more than anything. As he stood, you whimpered softly from the shift, but your arms stayed around him, just holding on.

"Please… hold on," he whispered under his breath as he walked, fast as he dared. "Just stay with me. Be strong. I’ve got you."

You leaned into him, your eyes barely open, head resting against his chest. You heard the tremble in his voice and tried to speak—tried to reassure him—but your throat burned. Still, you managed a whisper.

"I’m… trying." You tried.

He sobbed then, silently, pressing his cheek to the top of your head as he made his way through the blood-stained halls, whispering again and again: "You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. Just hold on. Please, just hold on."

"Guards! Call for nurse Eurycleia, or the Iatros—the healers! Anyone!" Telemachus shouted, his voice sharp, cracked with panic. The men quickly obeyed, startled by the desperation in the prince’s command.

Odysseus turned at the sound, gaze falling upon his son with tear-stained eyes and the girl who had smiled at him with such unexpected kindness not long ago. He hadn’t realized you were talking about Telemachus—he hadn’t known you meant his son. A tug pulled at his chest, quiet and painful. You were full of life only hours ago. Now you lay nearly limp in his son's arms, barely clinging on.

"Will she be okay?" Odysseus called out. Telemachus turned slightly, eyes flicking to the father he hadn’t seen in years. "She must! I won’t accept it!" he snapped, and with that, he turned forward again, his steps picking up pace.

And for every step, his heart screamed. Please not like this, not her, not now. His arms tightened around you as if trying to hold your soul in place. I didn’t come this far to lose you. You’re not allowed to slip away. The fear wasn’t just choking him—it was devouring him whole. It wasn’t just blood on his hands now, it was the weight of time, of regret, of love he hadn’t had the chance to protect properly. Not until now.

Every step toward infirmary felt like walking the edge of a cliff—one slip and you could be gone. And Telemachus couldn’t let that happen.

He wouldn't. "Your highness, we’ll take it from here. Please—wait outside," one of the healers urged gently, already beginning to gather tools and direct the others.

Telemachus didn’t move. His arms stayed wrapped around your body, your blood staining his skin. His voice came out cracked and trembling, "She’ll be alright, right? (Name)… She’s going to be fine. She’s strong, one of the strongest people I know—she has to be, she—she—" His voice broke into a whisper, barely holding itself together.

"Your highness," another healer said, firmer now, "we will do everything we can. But please—we must work quickly."

They reached for you again. This time, Telemachus let them take you, but his grip lingered—fingers refusing to part as if releasing you might make you vanish altogether. When he finally let go, it was slow, reluctant. His hand brushed against your skin one last time before slipping away, trembling.

As they lifted you from his arms, his breath caught in his throat. You were being pulled from him, and all he could do was watch.

You turned your head weakly, blood still on your lips, your eyes struggling to stay open. "Tele…" you breathed, your voice barely audible. One arm reached toward him.His hand reached back but before either of you could touch, the doors closed between you.

He froze. Staring blankly at the now shut door, tears rolled down his cheeks quietly. He stood there in the silence, the image of you being carried away burned behind his eyes. And then—he felt it. A hand, heavy and warm, resting on his shoulder. He turned slowly, Odysseus stood beside him, blood still smeared across his arms and face, his gaze fixed on the door with a quiet expression.

The father and son stood there, side by side. No words passed between them.

And then, Telemachus broke. He collapsed forward, wrapping his arms around his father, shoulders shaking as a sob tore out of his throat. Odysseus didn’t flinch. His hand moved to the back of his son’s head, steadying him, holding him. He said nothing—because nothing needed to be said. They just stood there, in silence and sorrow, now the one waiting behind the door.

...

The emptiness in silence had gained a fear into you. Every time it occurs, it always lingers disturbingly, that can make your skin crawl. It was never good, always a warning. Every time it showed itself, something bad quickly followed. Always.

And right now, everything was quiet. No voices. No footfalls. No screams. Just...nothing.

You didn’t know if this was death, a dream, or something between. The darkness that surrounded you wasn’t empty—nor was it heavy, it wasn’t even cold. Mostly it only felt like it was just there.

It felt like you were levitating, or stuck in a place with no time, no weight, but for some reason fear hadn't reached you here.

Your mind was blank for the first few while, but soon the emptiness had started to pervade with your collecting thoughts.

Maybe it was because it started with your reflection, but slowly your thoughts had reminded you of her. You remembered her hands, the blade she held, her voice sounding human for the first time, even the way her eyes stared at you with pure enmity and sympathy..?. It almost made you forget that this was your mother.

A mother, who was supposedly love you, protect you—you didn't quite understand.

Growing up, you knew there was supposed to be a father, you saw other kids with them however you never had the courage to ask your mother about yours, so your mind never generated an idea of a father, you never thought that was the reason as to why your mother wasn't a mother to you.

Now you wondered, if you even deserve to live, knowing how you were conceived, how faith had brought you where you are. You start to consider maybe you really did deserve it. It made you wonder, just a bit, if this was what she wanted all along. For you to disappear. For you to bleed. For you to suffer just enough to make it even.

You recalled all your moments with her, the times you never stood beside her instead stood just a few distances behind. From the front it wasn't obvious but to where you were standing, you knew something was wrong, just never had the gut to ask why. You always noticed the distance but tried to think nothing about it.

Maybe that’s why you’ve always been drawn to art—not just for its beauty, but because it’s one of the only kinds of creation you’ve known to be made with love. Because the first artist in your life—the one who made you—crafted you out of pain, and then resented you for existing.

But what does everything about this even mean? You didn’t know. You didn’t want to. You could barely think beyond it anyway now when a sound had reached your ears. It was faint, like slowly starting to form familiar, there was a dull ringing again. Like water in your ears.

Maybe it was the sound of your own blood still moving, or maybe just what silence becomes when it presses too long.

For a while, you were distracted by the undefined sound that you couldn't espy, since all of your sight right now was blank and only your brain picturing your thoughts. However second by second you could start to feel warmth for the first time, feeling it first where the side of your face was supposed to be.

Slowly you began to feel the warm sensation stronger as it brought you back to the feeling of consciousness.

Your eyes stayed closed at first but slowly you were able to peek—the sun shine being the first thing to sight as you blink a couple of times. The light crawled across your cheeks and eyelids, warm enough to remind you you were still here. Still breathing.

You took a breath, you didn’t mean to. It just came. And gods, it hurts. It hurts like your lungs haven’t worked in years, like this was your first breath after holding it underwater.

And the numb empty feeling from earlier now gone as you felt your head ache—your entire body felt so so heavy, like your nerves didn’t know whether to hurt or give up. You stirred a little from all of this sudden presence of pain as your eyelids flattered and let out a faint groan as you barely turned your head.

Your neck resisted, your muscles weak, but you managed it, slowly, shapes began to blur into view. Pale walls. Drapes. A window cracked slightly open. And that—that familiar smell of herbs and linen.

You knew this place, the infirmary.

You blinked, then again. The ache of your body pulled you back into the present, despite the attached confusion in it. You tried to remember everything that had happened—how you got here, why your side burned like it had been torn open. But every time you tried to pull a thread, your head screamed back at you, making you wince and groan.

You then heard a sharp gasped echo across the room, you squinted through the brightness, vision still struggling to focus until it became clear a little. Nurse Eurycleia. Who stood near the doorway, eyes wide, hand over her mouth as if she’d seen a ghost. For a second, she didn’t move—just stared, frozen in place.

You furrowed your brow. Or at least tried to, the two of you quite frankly stared at each other with opposing looks on your faces. You tried murmuring something out though it seems like only your thoughts could speak right now.

Without another second wasted the older woman gasped loudly, "Your.. Your Highness—!" she shouted before spinning and bolting from the room.

Your lips parted slightly, dazed and lost. Your highness? Then of course, your eyes slightly grew, Telemachus.

...

"Are you sure she’s awake?" Telemachus stumbled over the words, eyes wide as if afraid they’d vanish the moment they were spoken. Despite the reluctance in his voice, he was already two steps ahead of the older nurse.

"Yes! Yes—I heard her groan. Twice!" Eurycleia said breathlessly, her urgency bubbling with hope and disbelief.

Telemachus let out a shaky breath as they neared the door, one hand hovering just above the handle. He hesitated for half a second, afraid of what he might see—afraid it would hurt all over again. But the moment passed. He slowly pushed the door open.

There you were. On the bed. Breathing. Eyes barely open. Fragile, but alive.

Alive, Telemachus stared, frozen in the doorway, his throat closing, He didn’t realize he was shaking until he gripped the edge of the door for support.

Nurse Eurycleia saw this as her hand came to soothe his arm—a quiet nudge that he needed. "I'll leave you two be it." Her voice soft.

Telemachus nodded once, barely, as she stepped out.

Telemachus approached slowly, his hands were shaking and fisted closed, as the room was bright with the morning light now, spilling onto the bed, casting a soft warmth against your skin.

He hears you breathed out—slowly your gaze lifted weakly, and your eyes found his. For a moment, neither of you said a word.

Then he knelt beside you, one hand gently reaching to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers trembled as he feels your skin.

"You’re awake," he whispered. His voice cracked, tears starting to build up.

Telemachus sat beside the bed cautiously, as if you're fragile glass that might shatter from anything, his soft gaze didn't leave your presence even a second as his breathing was careful, shoulders trembling slightly—like he was holding himself back. You could tell he was doing it for your sake and your flatter from this detail.

"Telemachus...?" you finally whispered, voice brittle.

Hearing your voice call his name made him sniffle, his head raising just enough to meet your eyes. "(name)..?" He called yours.

Your brows furrowed, eyes softening as you studied the lines on his face. "Why are you crying?" You teased.

He let out a broken chuckle, his head hanging low as his shoulders gave in, you could feel his weight rest gently against the edge of your bed frame, forehead touching the blanket near your lap, his hands gripped the sheets tightly.

"I thought I'd lost you, (name)." he whispered, voice slight muffled from the sheets. "I thought I was never going to hear you again, your voice, your smile, you."

Your hand, shaky and pale, lifted to his hair, threading your fingers into it gently, brushing the strands back. His shoulders stiffen at the touch before relaxing slowly, melting into you naturally.

"I'm here, Tele... I'm here," you said, voice still barely above a breath.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to rest his cheek against you, breathing quite unevenly. The tears came freely now—his hand sliding up to intertwine with yours.

And for a moment, the world went quiet again. But this time, it wasn't terrifying. It didn't bring you fear but instead it was peace. It was safe. A smile made its way to your tired lips.

You gave a faint, tired smile. "You look awful, you know, heavens.. have you been taking care of yourself?" you commented.

He let out a quiet laugh between sobs. "You nearly die, and you're still honest as ever. Good to know you're still the (name) I know"

You chuckled weakly, though the effort made your chest ache. "Just trying to balance things out."

He pulled back slightly, brushing his sleeve across his face before looking at you. "How are you feeling?"

You took a long pause, eyes drifting to the ceiling as if trying to find an answer that didn’t sound like 'everything hurts'. "Numb. Heavy. Like I've been asleep for years and only a part of me actually woke up."

His smile faded a little as his eyes lowered. "That's... expected," he murmured.

Your gaze returned to him, studying his expression. Something was off.

"How long was I out?" Telemachus hesitated. You tilted your head, brows raising.

"Telemachus?"

He swallowed. "...You’ve been in a coma for two weeks now.."

Your mouth parted slightly. "Two weeks?" you echoed, eyes blinking slowly as you brought your other hand to rest your chest.

He nodded. "It was the longest two weeks of my life." His voice cracked again, just a little. "I sat here every day. Talking to you. Hoping you'd... move, or blink, or even just—" He stopped himself. His fists clenched slightly on the sheets. "I would've given anything to hear you breathe differently."

You stared at Telemachus as his fingers against yours slightly tightened, no plans of letting you go again.

A small smile painted your lips, "I guess this makes us equal then," You started, Telemachus tilted his head at you. "Now you know how it feels waiting for someone, dummy." You said.

Telemachus pouted, nudging your hand. "Hey, I didn’t know when you’d come back. I was waiting here hopelessly, alright?"

"You think I knew when you were coming back either?" you retorted sarcastically, a faint huff leaving your lips. "I didn’t get a schedule or anything."

He tilted his head in surrender, his fingers still wrapped gently around yours. "You’re right… gods, I wonder how my mother survived that."

"I asked myself that same question," you murmured, your voice calmer now. "Your mother was by my side when you were out. Being with her highness was really comforting especially since you resemble her so much."

Telemachus smiled faintly, looking down at your joined hands. "I’m glad," he whispered. "I knew she would love you. I mean there's no way anyone wouldn't." He said.

The warmth of his words brought a gentle smile to your lips, but you couldn't help your eyes to lower, as you thought about her.

There was still so much you hadn’t processed yet. Your gaze faltered, lowering slightly to the sheets.

Telemachus noticed, but didn’t press. Instead, he leaned forward just a little, exhaling with a nervous laugh. "Gosh… I hope I don’t get drafted into another war like my father and make you wait twenty years."

You let out a breath—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Don't Jinx it."

You didn’t know what to say at first. So you just reached forward and cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing gently under his eye. "You shouldn’t cry this much. It's gonna ruin your pretty face."

He let out a shaky laugh, shaking his head as he tried to hide his growing blush. "You’re unbelievable."

"And you're easy to tease" you teased back, smiling.

For a second, it almost felt normal.

Then your expression softened, to ask a question that you wanted to ask since earlier. "Hey… who helped? I mean… the blood loss. I know it must’ve been bad. Who do I thank for keeping me here with you?"

Telemachus froze. Your smile faltered slightly, nervous. "What’s wrong?"

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes darted slightly, like he was trying to find the best way to soften something sharp.

"It... it was from your mother."

Silence. You blinked. Not wide-eyed. Not gasping. Just staring. "...Huh?" It came out sounding confused.

He swallowed. "We couldn’t find anyone in the palace with a blood match. Not even the servants or guards. We tried everything. And time was running out. The nurses almost lost hope until, your mother showed up.."

"She offered her blood," he said, quiet. "Voluntarily."

You fell silent again, as you stared at him blankly, notably dubious on his statement. Telemachus opened his lips to say something, stopped. And opened to say, "She confessed what happened between the two of you." You blinked.

Your head tilted to the side, throat tighten and your mind spiraling. It didn’t make sense. You were so confused. "Is she—what.. is she—?" Telemachus seemed to puzzle out what you wanted to ask before you could complete it yourself. "No... She said she would lend her blood for you—on the condition that she could leave Ithaca afterward."

You turned your gaze away then, letting it settle on some quiet place in the room. "We didn’t have much choice before your condition got worse," he added. "So... we agreed."

Another silence followed, hanging longer than the one before it. Telemachus leaned closer, careful. "I’m sorry, (Name). What she did… was wrong. And if you want, we could—"

"No… I—uh…" you exhaled slowly, voice faltering before catching again.

"Let her be."

His face tensed, unsure. "You mean…?"

You looked at him again. Not angry. Not bitter. Just very tired.

"I found out everything. My past. What happened. What she did. And what she lost," you said, softly. "I think… I think I spent so long trying to be seen that I forgot I was just... trying."

Your voice trembled a little, not from crying, but from the weight of all those years. "I tried to understand her, even when she shut me out. Even when she looked at me like I was the very thing that ruined her. And maybe I was. Maybe she couldn’t stand to look at me because I was all that was left of the love she lost. A face that reminded her of a different life. One that died."

Telemachus just listened. Quiet, still. Letting you say it.

"She had the power to take me out of this world, Tele. So easily. And she did try but she spared me. I don't know why she chose to save me now, maybe it had a beneficial side but I can't blame her for it." You sighed softly, your thumb absently brushing his knuckle.

"I’m not really her daughter, not in the way your mother is to you. I’m just a reflection of her grief. Her faith and shame. I don’t think she ever asked for me… and I don’t think I ever asked to be a reminder of something she couldn’t heal from."

You paused. "So… it’s only fair. To let her go. Maybe this way, she’ll finally be free. Maybe she’ll be happier—starting again, somewhere where my face doesn’t follow her. Somewhere her past can’t chase her anymore." You looked up at Telemachus again, eyes quietly soft. "And maybe that’s the greatest thing I can do for her in return for ruining her."

Another silence followed. Telemachus stared at you, stunned—a quiet ache blooming in his chest. He always knew you were kind. But this? This kind of grace? It hurt, gods, it hurt to even hear you say all of this.

You shouldn’t have to be the one to forgive. You shouldn’t be the one offering peace, not after everything.

Yet you still found a way to forgive.

Your eyes lifted to meet his again. This time, they were clearer—crystals forming at the edges, trembling with held-back tears.

"But hey," you whispered, voice tight. "At least… something of her will always be in me now, right?"

You tried to smile. But the tremble in your lips gave way to a quiet, broken sob. "I’ll carry a part of her... and maybe that’s enough for me." It was the way you said it. Soft, cracked, but full of meaning. Like it was your own form of mourning—one without anger, built from understanding.

And that honestly broke him. However he felt like he fell in love with you all over again.

Ever since you woke up, the Prince of Ithaca has not—and I mean it—he REFUSES to leave your side. Sure, a few nurses may have snitched that even before you opened your eyes, he was practically glued to your bedside. They swore he slept sitting up, arms folded on the edge of the bed, muttering things like "Just five more minutes." whenever someone tried to drag him off to his royal duties. 

Now? He’s made it his duty to hover over you like a very devoted, very anxious, very clingy puppy. 

Sitting up to pour yourself a glass of water? Nope. Telemachus is already two steps ahead, tilting the cup to your lips.

Feel your hair's a mess? Don’t worry. He’s brushing it for you—surprising skilled, might you add. Where did he learn that? He mumbled something about his mother and a lot of practice on linen. Lunch? Forget feeding yourself. He insists on doing it for you. "No, no—let me. You’re still healing. What if you strain a finger?" he says with the seriousness of a seasoned general that you can't hold your laughter. 

You feel cold? Blanket. Immediately. And not just any blanket—he throws on two more, and he's already climbing into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms like a heat-seeking missile. "god forbid a man who misses his woman," he claims, deadpan, as his arms lock around you. 

You roll your eyes, but you obviously liked it. 

And the best part? Your wounds were slowly healing. The pain dulls more each day, and his clinginess becomes something you secretly look forward to. Every breath is easier, every laugh a little louder. You can now leave your bed and walk around the room, however you're still prohibited from doing anything heavy.

Honestly, at this point, it’s less you recovering and more like you watching him recover from the trauma of almost losing you. Either way, it’s soft, it's safe, and it’s exactly what you both need.

You shift in bed once He’s at your side in half a second. "What hurts? Where? Tell me."

"Telemachus, I just turned over."

"Well, next time warn me first—what if your stitches reopened?" You stare. He stares back. Dead serious. You sigh. He tucks the blanket tighter around you.

Sometimes he stares at you like you might disappear if he blinks too long. You pretend not to notice—but the moment you catch his eye and smile? He melts. Literally melts. Looks away and mutters something like, "Stop doing that," under his breath, ears turning bright red. He's so adorable. (author is banging their head as they write) 

Even Eurycleia, had to tell him, "Your Highness, if you hover any closer, you’ll be stitched to the bedframe too."

"Then stitch me, I gladly welcome that" he said without missing a beat. You’ve never seen Nurse Eurycleia deadpanned so hard. 

He reads to you, too. Though sometimes he fumbles and gets self-conscious when the words get flowery or romantic. You teased him once, and he refused to read the next chapter unless you "apologized properly." You still haven’t and he still reads to you. 

At night, when it’s just the two of you and the flicker of lamplight, just like the old days. He doesn’t say much. He just lays beside you—still careful not to press against your wounds—and holds your hand like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Maybe it is. And sometimes, half-asleep, you hear him whisper things like, "I thought I’d lost you," or "You don’t even know how much I prayed for you to stay." or "I love you so much." You never interrupt. You just hold his hand tighter. Because if you’re honest? You didn't know either what'd you would do if you did left. 

Sure, Telemachus' technically had princely duties again now that Ithaca had a king back—but let’s be real, the only throne he was interested in was the one next to your bedside. 

Not that he forgot his parents. Of course not. You were there to watch how he now split his time between being your clingy nurse and finally getting time with his mom and dad again—something he hadn’t had in years. 

You’d watch him through the infirmary window sometimes, seated with Penelope by the courtyard, her fingers brushing his curls while he told her stories. Or laughing with Odysseus over something stupid, probably war-related, And honestly? You were so happy for him. They looked whole again. 

One Evening, Telemachus returned with that familiar boyish grin and a tray of figs you definitely didn’t ask for. He plopped on the edge of your bed, nudging your hand with one of them. "So guess what happened today?" he asked, mouth full of his own stolen fruit. "I dunno. Did you finally beat your dad in chess?" you teased. 

He groaned dramatically. "No—but almost though!" You giggled. "Really now?" He hummed, "My mom is unbeatable though, maybe cause my dad purposely loses to her." He rolled his eyes sarcastically. "He's such a simp for her." He chuckled.

You raised a brow with a sly grin. "Speaks for yourself, lover boy." Telemachus blinked. "What me?! Pfft, I am not a simp." 

"Oh?" you smirked. "Remind you who spoon-fed me lukewarm soup while whispering ‘you’re doing so well’ like I was a baby bird?" 

"I—okay that was one time." he flailed. "Two. And you tucked me in after." He covered his face. "That was for medical reasons." 

"Mhm. You and your dad are so the same." You giggled. "Must be in the genes. Simps!" He gasped. "Take that back." 

"Never. It’s in your blood." He pointed dramatically. "I should’ve let you comb your own hair this morning." You stuck out your tongue. "You’d last ten minutes before doing it anyway." He scowled with zero heat behind it, then sighed in defeat as he leaned back beside you. 

"…Okay maybe I am a dignified simp...only for you though," he muttered. 

You patted his cheek. "Sure you are, little wolf" And he let you. Because gods help him, he was. He smirked, then his tone shifted a little softer. 

"He also said something interesting." You blinked, chewing on a fig. "Interesting how?" 

"He said he met you before everything happened." You paused. "…Wait, what?"

"Yeah. He was disguised as a begger and he met you in the garden, said you were really kind to him despite his disguise." 

You blinked once. Then twice. "…Wait—wait wait wait—I'm not mistaken, right? The king… was the man back in the garden?" You nearly dropped your fig. "The suspiciously well-built old man??" 

Telemachus blinked. "That’s… an oddly specific description." You stared at him, frozen.

A slow, creeping blush bloomed across your cheeks as the realization slammed into you. The king. The king. The one you unknowingly gushed to about his own son. No wonder you felt weirdly safe with him. No wonder his voice felt familiar. He was literally Telemachus' father. 

Your eyes widened. You simped for Telemachus in front of his own father. You practically poured your heart out and the man just—listened. Silently. Like a father. Oh gosh. 

Telemachus, of course, was grinning like he’d won a game you didn’t know you were playing. He leaned in, all smugness and mischief. "Something wrong?" he asked innocently, eyes twinkling. You shook your head quickly, trying (and failing) to cool the pink radiating off your face.

"Uhhuh," you muttered, stuffing the fig into your mouth to shut yourself up. 

"Hm," he hummed, clearly enjoying this. "Interesting… ’cause he also said—" he dragged the words slowly, leaning even closer, "that you mentioned his voice was comforting." 

You froze mid-chew. "Said it reminded you of someone special. And how much you missed him." Your eyes widened with betrayal. The blush spread to your ears like wildfire. Telemachus grinned, full on now. "Looks like I’m not the only simp here." 

You groaned, smacking your palm to your face. "Shut up. I’m going to throw myself into the sea." He laughed provocatively leaning his head against your shoulder. "Please don’t. I like you alive. Simping and all." You threw a pillow at his face.

...

It was an idyllic time with Telemachus. Being with him made something in you feel whole. There was no longer threats peeking through the halls, no heaviness creeping at every corner. You spent your days beside the man you love. And the people you love—his family—they were happy too. The queen reunited with the king. Just that alone brought a strange sense of peace to your chest.

The moments felt like soft strings playing in the distance. Silence finally feels peace again.

So you shouldn’t feel so melancholy.

You’re happy. You know you are. Everything feels alright when Telemachus is there—when he’s talking, laughing, sitting close, but the second he's not in the room, when it’s just you and the stillness—the silence gets under your skin again.

Because the silence gives you space to think. And sometimes it lets you think too much.

The first days of your healing, you weren’t allowed to leave the infirmary. Nurse Eurycleia made that clear—no arguments, no sneaking out, no excuses. You didn't love it. You weren’t used to staying still in one room this long. You were always moving, doing something. But you listened.

And now, being stuck here... it's starting to get to you. It bothers you that you can't leave but the same time.. you don’t know what happens after you do leave the door.

That’s the part that scares you. You're not sure where you're supposed to go when this is over. You’re not even sure what you are anymore.

You were a handmaid. You know that. But you were her handmaid. That was the whole point. Now she’s gone. Forever may perhaps.

And it’s only hitting you now how much that meant. She left you. Alive, yes. But still alone.

And it’s confusing, because before all this, you wanted more. You wanted something different. Something for yourself and that’s what led to her anger, wasn’t it? That you wanted out. That you wanted you.

But now that you are out—now that you’re not trapped in the job that defined you, you feel… lost. You thought freedom would feel bigger than this. But all it feels like faith wasn't done with you.

…You’ve been a little quiet these past few days. Not exactly gloomy—just quieter. Telemachus noticed it when you started spending more time by the window. He’d caught you there again this morning, before the sun had fully risen, bathed in a warm orange light. You didn’t hear him come in at first, too focused on the sea, the kind of focus that wasn’t really just looking. 

"I'm already home, you know," his voice finally pulling you out of your trance. You turned, startled, then gave him that soft smile—the kind you wore when something wasn’t quite right. 

He walked over and leaned against the stone ledge beside you, shoulder brushing yours. "You're early today," you murmured, letting your head fall lightly against his shoulder. "Meetings," he sighed. "One in an hour, and more after that. It won’t end ‘til late afternoon." You tilted your head slightly to look up at him. "So, busy day?" You asked.

"Unfortunately, yeah." He pressed a small kiss to your temple. "But I’ve got an hour before all that. So I'm all yours." You smiled. 

"What a generous offering, Your Highness." He hummed. "Only for you." 

Listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat—soft and calm. Telemachus gently rested his chin atop your head, his arms wrapping fully around you. You tilted your face up toward him with a lazy smile. "Is it just me, or have you grown taller?" He chuckled, his chest raising lightly between you "Hm, probably. Mother said so. I think I’m even taller than my father now." 

You hummed thoughtfully. "Really now?" The male hummed back, pulling you a little closer, letting the warmth between you both settle. "My mother missed you, you know?" he said suddenly, "She’s grown so used to seeing your presence in the halls, it feels wrong when you’re not there." You let out a small laugh, your gaze out toward the sea again. 

"I really appreciated her company these past few days," you said. "She brought honeyed bread and a whole basket of figs, I feel like i gained weight from all the fruits you two feed me" 

"Is that why you're cuter than usual too?" He leaned to your ear, you giggled, and he bumped your forehead gently before pulling back slightly, eyes flickering over your expression. "You know… maybe next, you could finally meet my father. Properly this time." 

"Really? That’s… kind of terrifying. The king and all." Telemachus gave you an unimpressed look. "He’s also my father, and he’s already got a good impression of you." 

Your eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What did you tell him?" 

"Nothing!" he said, grinning. "Other than how I really love you and how absolutely amazing you are." He turned you around as now you faced him, bringing his fingers to your cheeks as he rested them gently. Staring at each other as his words sink in, "He also still thinks it was adorable of you in the your first meeting" 

 "Gods, don't remind me" you groaned into your palms. "I’m never going to recover." 

 "Well," he said, leaning back against the window ledge, smug as ever, "you’re in luck. There’s a perfect opportunity coming up where you can redeem yourself." You peeked out between your fingers. "What do you mean?" 

 "The symposion," he said simply. “A feast. Celebration. Whatever you want to call it. My parents are hosting one to mark my father’s return—old friends from Sparta, Pylos, and Of course Ithaca"

The brief mention of your hometown tugged faintly at your smile—just enough for your lips to twitch before you quickly masked it again, brushing away the memory, "Oh… I’m invited?" you asked, playing it casual. 

Telemachus tilted his head, his brow slightly scrunched as if the question didn’t make any sense. "Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be, baby?" he replied with that kind of obvious certainty only he could make sound so soft. You let out a nervous laugh, shrugging off. "Oh—yeah. Just checking." Your eyes drifted down to the floor, settling there.

Telemachus caught the shift instantly, that slight awkwardness. The way your smile was there, but your gaze was somewhere away. His hand lifted gently to your chin, guiding your gaze back to his. "Hey," he murmured, voice low, his thumb brushed lightly along your jaw. "You okay? You know I’m always here for you, right? In everything. Whatever it is." He said so delicately that you could feel it through his touch. He looked at you with that kind of concern that spontaneously ached your heart—for how well he saw through you, it made you feel bad to shift the warmth into something cloudy. 

So you smiled. Soft. Trying. "I know. And thank you," you whispered, leaning into the comfort of his touch. He let out a quiet breath before wrapping his arms around you, you folded into the embrace easily. He smelled like laurel leaves and sunlight—warm and curing. Familiar in a way that managed to quiet your thoughts, even if just for a little while. You felt his breath against your hair as he tightened his hold on you, gently firm, protective in that uniquely Telemachus way. "Tell me," he offered strongly yet soft. "Whatever it is. Anything. I already almost lost you twice… and i won't let it happen again. Not in any way." 

You stayed still. "I’m okay, Tele," you said. "I'll be okay." You murmured more likely to yourself. It was true. Just not all the way. But for now, he held onto you and you held onto him, just a little while, just to maybe fill that lingering hollow in your chest that seemed to not had healed completely yet.

But of course, you can’t just fill something temporarily and expect it to be okay forever. So when you were alone again, you found yourself pulled right back to that same spot by the window. 

The sea was calm that day, the kind of still where the breeze only gently curled the curtains and the light barely moved while the waves kiss the sand over and over again. The soft crash of water against the shore made your skin itch. A part of you wanted to feel that sand under your feet, the warmth of the sun directly on your face. You wanted to leave the room, but also you didn't. 

You could step out. But something about the world beyond the window still scared you, you should step out. Maybe. Maybe you could. You thought to yourself as you stared at the your blanket.

...

The sun had already begun dipping westward, staining the halls of the palace in amber, dragging a palm over his nape as Telemachus stepped out of the council room. The collar of his robes felt stifling as he started toward the infirmary, he hasn't seen you since this morning.

He paused mid-step when he spotted Nurse Eurycleia near the corridor turn, flustered and speaking hurriedly to a group of guards—his brows furrowed at this. "Nurse Eurycleia?" he called, already walking over. "What’s going on?" She turned with an obvious relief flooding her features. "Thank Olympus you’re here, Prince Telemachus—please, come with me." She gestured toward your room quickly. That… didn’t sit well. 

The moment he stepped inside, he noticed no sign of you. His stomach dropped, his breath caught halfway in his throat. "Where is she?" he asked, tension crawling up, Eurycleia didn’t answer at first, leading him to the open window, where a long makeshift rope of blankets dangled down the ledge—tied securely which explains your empty bed. 

"She… she was by the window all morning.. I had to step out.. just for a short while then one of the other girls came to tell me she was gone. She didn’t say anything to anyone....Nothing! She was just… quiet. I—I think this is how she got out." Telemachus stepped closer, eyes trailing the blanket rope, then the view beyond the window. The sea stretched out before him.

The same view you’d been staring at for days. Of course. Of course you didn’t want anyone to know. Of course you slipped out this way. He closed his eyes briefly, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Should I inform the men? We can search the shore if she's—" 

"No," Telemachus said, "It’s okay, Nurse Eurycleia." He opened his eyes again, gaze fixed far ahead. "I think I know where she is."

 ... 

The seashore stretched endlessly, waves brushing softly over the sand with every breath of the tide. The same seashore where you and Telemachus confessed to each other, the same seashore where faith had started to do their job. Now, it was your feet touching the water, your bare soles sank into the wet sand as the tide lapped over your skin, the wind playing with the loose strands of your hair, tangling it up in the breeze. You stared, eyes fixed ahead, letting it all in. The sky. The sea. The ache you’d been swallowing for days. 

This was the itch. A sound broke through the hush of waves, soft steps walking over sand from behind. You didn’t flinch, as you glanced over your shoulder and your gaze meeting his once again. 

Telemachus said nothing at first, letting the natural silence settle awhile, as you both stood there quietly, like the ocean was the only voice needed between you two. Telemachus stood beside you now, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his shoulder through the breeze, "It’s nice here," he said. "You always seem to find the quiet places before I do." He glances to you. You let out a soft hum, almost like a quiet laugh. "It's more like the quiet places always find me first." He smiled at that, it was a small one, but it lingered. 

 "You know," he started, brushing his hand through the strands that fell over his forehead, "I don’t know if you remember... but I first ever saw you was here." You blinked at that, turning to face him fully—a small smile tugging his lips. 

"It’s true," he continued. "I was supposed to welcome the newcomers that day, guide them to the palace. And then—I saw you." You tilted your head, brow furrowing. 

"I thought our first meeting was in the palace?" He shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him. "Maybe for you but I remember seeing you before that. I was surprised, actually… to see someone my age." You looked at him, the wind brushing your hair aside. "You looked so serious back then," he said, smile growing. "You moved so gracefully, and even the way you spoke—it was so mature. I felt kind of childish standing next to you." 

Your eyes widened slightly, "You never told me that." He let out a quiet laugh, sheepish. "I didn’t know how to say it. But the second we actually talked—really talked—you showed your true self." He resisted.

"I got to meet the real you, the one who notices the little things everyone else misses, the one who's kind, but never weak. The you I fell in love with." His voice softened as he continued, "Even if it was a brief conversation, it did something to me. I don’t know what to call it. But I remember it clearly... even when you kept trying to avoid me after."

You looked at him knowingly. For a moment, he just looked back, not in the way people stare, but like he was quietly flipping through all the versions of you he’s seen, trying to understand the one sitting in front of him now. The silence between you wasn’t empty—it was his way of telling you he was here, and you could take all the time you needed to gather your thoughts. 

 "I… I don’t know how to explain it," you started. "I always thought I wanted to be free from her, from the life she tried to shape me into. And she’s gone… I should feel free.." You paused, head hanging low. "But I don’t. She..she never loved me, never truly but I was someone because of her. And now, I don’t know who I am without her." 

 Your fingers curled slightly. "I had a vision. Always. Of who I wanted to be. But this kind of freedom… that came from losing her—" you swallowed, "It feels stolen. Like I don’t deserve it." You refused to look at him—because in that moment, all you felt like was a bastard child.

"I don’t know where I belong anymore, Telemachus. I don’t even know what I am now." You finally said. It was a loss of definition, She wasn’t solicitous toward you, yet she defined your life so much that you forgot you had control over it too. Your freedom came at a heavy cost of guilt that makes you wonder if it’s even freedom at all. You feel illegitimate, alienated from everywhere, and on top of that, burdened by the terrifying uncertainty of what comes next.

"Before your mother left, I was able to have a talk to her." You paused as you stared at Telemachus stunned. "She said she wants you to be whatever you want to be. That she knows you… and somehow, despite everything, you'd still find a way not to hate her." You blinked as he went on. "When you wake up, she hopes you chase whatever it is you’ve always wanted, and that staying far away from you would be her way of supporting you, because.."

A pause. "She knew she doesn’t deserve you as her daughter." Your breath caught, no idea what to say. "She knew she failed you," Telemachus whispered. "And she still left hoping you’d live the life she never let you choose."

You looked down, trying to steady the sudden shift in your chest. That ache that used to tighten—now just quietly stung. "And..." Telemachus exhaled. "If you think you don't belong anywhere, then let me be the place you can feel belonged to." Your eyes met his. His were steady. Warm. True. "I want to be that place, (Name). To spend my entire life making sure you never feel like this way again, where you can be anything you want or be, and I’ll still love you."

You didn’t speak, throat too tight too. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "You don’t need to know what you are right now. You don’t need to have all the answers. Just let me stay by your side while we figure it out together."

You closed your eyes as his hand cupped your cheek. "I don’t deserve you," you whispered.

"Too late," he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You already have me." You smiled against his collar, genuine. "I can’t promise I won’t spiral again."

"Good," he smirked. "Gives me more excuses to spoil you." Your laugh slipped out before you could stop it—and just like that, the air felt lighter. Warmer. He looked down at you, eyes soft but bright, that familiar glint in them—only for you. "Let’s run away," he said suddenly.

You blinked. "Sorry, what?"

"Not forever," he grinned. "Just for a little while. Travel, like you always talked about. See the world. Find your place—not one someone else made for you, but the one you choose yourself. I want that for you. I want to watch you live it."

You stared at him, lips parting just slightly "You’d really do that..?"

He smiled, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingers. "I'll go anywhere if it means being with you." A breeze came in from the sea, the waves stilling for a moment—like they were listening too.

You smiled again, fuller now, brighter than it had been in a long time. The kind that reached your eyes and tugged at the corners of his heart.

"You’re unbelievable." He didn’t say anything to your teasing—just tugged you closer by the waist, catching you off-guard with a startled shriek that turned into a laugh as he laughed too, the sound of it mixing with the sea breeze, his hands settled around you, a sign of his devotion for you.

The world slowed. The waves hushed. The sun dipped lower, painting the sea in amber gold as Telemachus leaned down, his lips brushing just beside your ear, voice barely above the wind.

"I love you, (Name)." You looked up, right into his eyes, and everything in you just… settled. "I love you too, Telemachus."

He kissed you then—your second kiss, but this time there was no rush, no ache behind it. Just the two of you, with all the time in the world, soft, certain, and everything love was meant to feel like.

Faith watched quietly, maybe finally letting you choose what comes next. no prophet can say what will carved the path. But faith didn’t leave you empty-handed. It left you with someone who’d hold and follow your hand to the great unknown. Someone who’d always choose you.

That's a wrap!! It is currently 2:32 am in a wednesday as we speak, i'm sorry if this chapter was glommy than the first part ToT. Writing this, was kind of my way of coping from the fact i relate with reader and her mother

Thank you so much for everyone support from the first part!!! i hope you guys enjoyed this as much as the first one:))))

[ilovemygfbro]

Amphoreus is a Mobius Strip (and Sunday is in the other cycle) 3.4 Theory:

Sunday and Phainon have uncanny parallels. Starting simply; their designs and poses.

Pretty similar, right? Well, there are also some key points in their designs that can’t necessarily be a simple coincidence.

Courtesy of TikTok, we have some side-by-side images of Phainon and Sunday to compare. Starting with the first image, the halos are very similar from a design standpoint. Both golden with points that stick out, the halos both have a part that is open, and they both glow. The two are surrounded by a golden light coming from above (which can be symbolic to ascension). They are both lifted into the air and are levitating. They both have wings — Sunday’s on his head, and Phainon’s on his waist. Sunday would have wings on his waist as well, but they were clipped early in his life, so that could easily be a parallel.

The second image is a simple correlation between Sunday’s badge/broach type-object on his chest, and what is presumed to be Phainon holding it in the 3.4 trailer, but there’s no evidence to suggest this entirely. Also, it’s intriguing because that object is very unique and isn’t exactly common to find. So, what would be the purpose of choosing that object specifically in the scene?

The third image, once again examining the broach, focuses on the gold plating. It resembles the golden stone type object that always accompanies the Flame Reaver.

The fourth image shows Sunday next to a common Amphoreous mob, doing the same exact pose when using his skill.

Now, they have similarities in personality and lore that are also uncanny.

Sunday is a day reserved for rest, and it is seen as holy, pure, and peaceful. Phainon means bright, shining, and is driven from the Greek God Phaenon (Φαίνων). He is the Sky God of the star Cronus and is placed among the “wandering stars” (the planets). Now my theory here for this is either that this is a literal meaning that he is most likely going to become a Planet (maybe a physical Amphoreous?), a star, or more specifically a Stellaron. But, taking it in a non-literal way, “wandering stars” could easily mean the Astral Express, and Sunday is riding along with the Astral Express at the moment.

They were both “guided” into a life they thought would be better by an older and wiser being, only for it to prove as a lie and only inflict suffering. Gopher Wood lead Sunday to believe that a world controlled only by Order would lead to perfection. Meanwhile, Iygus guided Phainon through the cycles because he had been seeking the Flamechase and wanted to live a perfect life.

More on the previous bullet — Sunday was originally going to be “bear a world of perfect order” for the entire cosmos. He was originally going to create a world of perfection for everyone else, even if he had to suffer forever. Phainon is suffering forever simply for the perfect world.

They both had a childhood doomed from the start, with their family dying or being cut off from them. Sunday’s mother is dead due to his homeland’s collapse and he has lost contact with Robin due to the contract. Phainon’s family is dead, also due to his homeland’s collapse.

The update is named “For the Sun is Set to Die”. That can tie into when Mydei says “Become the dawn… Deliverer,” as well as Sunday (his name).

Phainon has endured exactly 33550336 cycles. At E6, Sunday buffs 33% Crit Rate, 55% DMG and 33.6% Crit Damage.

The Fate collab is chosen to take place in Penacony and drops in 3.4. While this could simply be a coincidence, it intrigues me that not only is it placed where Sunday originally lived, but it also features Robin who has the iconic red sigil on her hand.

Images to reference from the 3.4 trailer.

Feathers are often seen as symbols of truth, speed, lightness, flight, and ascension in literature. Not only did Sunday almost ascend to being an Aeon in Penacony, but it could also symbolize the fact that he has ties to the “ascension” of the Flame Reaver.

The halo looks similar to Sunday’s, and right before the massive explosion on the trailer that light appears almost suspiciously similar to the Eye of Order. The halo could also very well represent Kephale (the Titan of World Bearing), and Sunday’s halo could just be very similar to Kephale’s symbol, though not by coincidence.

The feather Sunday holds in his idle looks similar to the pen used in the Amphoreous book. His book also bears a slight resemblance to the Amphoreous book itself, though it is a bit of a stretch to correlate the two.

Also, this may not be too important to note, but the fact Sunday and Phainon are getting banners at the same time might tie into the theory as well.

Instead of the anomaly being the trailblazer, what if it was Sunday? Either him or his parents had ties with Amphoreous. The fact he happened to be on the Astral Express at the same time they head over to Amphoreous must not be a coincidence. The Express is collateral damage of the fact that they stopped Sunday’s ascension in Penacony.

The theory is that the two Mobius Stris will bleed into each other to make the Lord Ravager and it’s going to be a sort of “final form” situation and the cycles end here. Most likely the Ravager will end up with a fused Sunday and Phainon that end the cycles while clouded with grief, with a great possibility that the Lord Ravager dies in the end.

It’s heavily unlikely, but the evidence certainly can’t be a coincidence. No matter what, Sunday does have connections to Amphoreous.

☆ Credits to @femboybootypounder for cooking this up with me over texts and helping me with most of the Amphoreous lore parts of the theory.

[mothofmyth]

Tommy's reactions in the bar scene when Buck told him about Maddie getting kidnapped... imagine this poor man getting caught up on all of Buck's trauma.

Just... Buck definitely does not think before dropping bombs on his poor boyfriend. Why would he? Everyone he knows was either there for it or already knows about it from each other for the most part!

So, occasionally, he just drops some ridiculous fucking lore on poor unsuspecting Tommy without a second thought.

I just feel like Buck talks to his therapist about his actual issues with his trauma, and he feels like he's too much if he talks about the stuff with weight with his friends, but he'll still just casually say shit in conversation with a light tone as if it's normal.

One day over breakfast (once they've gotten over the whole ex-fiancée/himbo thing) Tommy's joking about a terrible date with Abby and Buck's like "oh yeah, we had some rough ones. Like when Patricia had an episode and I wound up riding a hot air balloon back to work. Or the time I choked on bread and she had to give me an emergency tracheotomy right there in the restaurant." And Tommy's just. Gobsmacked.

They're chatting about their younger years and Tommy's making jokes about the time he and his friend smoked a blunt made with oregano instead of weed because they got duped, and Buck's laughing and tats his tit with getting roofied in Peru and the laced brownies sent to the 118. (The Peru roofies didn't happen in canon, if you were concerned)

Tommy's boasting about being a great babysitter when they're asked to take Jee for an evening, and he says "I haven't lost a child in a shopping mall yet!" as a joke, and Buck's conceding "Okay fine but it was one time and you try keeping hold of an 8 year old in a tsunami" and Tommy is horrified and "Evan say more right now".

They're watching some crime drama and making fun of the ridiculousness and inaccuracies and Tommy's like "That is not how blood spatter works when someone gets shot. You're telling me there's no exit wound but somehow the blood still sprayed out the back of his shoulder?" And Buck's laughing along like "Yeah, when Eddie got shot in front of me it didn't look like that at all! Sure, I was tackled to the ground pretty soon after and definitely in shock the whole time but I remember that much!" And Tommy's like "Babe, do you want me to change the channel oh my God that sounds traumatic" and Buck's looking at him with confused puppy head tilt like he has no idea why Tommy's asking him this.

They're working out together and Tommy's hand slips off one of the machines and he accidentally catches Buck in the jaw and he's immediately up and apologising with big wet eyes and gentle hovering hands like "Oh God I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry Evan what can I do how can I fix this I'm so sorry I would never hit you on purpose holy shit I'm a terrible person I'm so sorry" and Buck's laughing it off like "Chimney punched me harder than that when Maddie made me lie to him about her whereabouts for months when she ran off and tried to kill herself that one time, but you can kiss it better if you want" with absolutely zero self awareness.

Buck's complimenting Tommy's cooking like "I would do literally anything for your chicken noodle soup, Babe" and Tommy's blushing and brushing him off like "I think 'anything' is a bit far fetched, but if you really want to suck me off for another bowl, maybe I could be persuaded" and Buck's saying "I jumped off the roof and broke my own arm so my mom would heat a can of Campbell's for me, don't think I wouldn't do something more drastic for yours" so flippantly and Tommy's wide eyed and weakly begging "Please don't hurt yourself in the name of soup Evan"

Tommy's joking about needing a set of Jee's kiddy-reins for Buck when he wanders off a little too far at the zoo and Buck's grumbling "You get kidnapped and held hostage one time" and Tommy's asking "You what???" and Buck's replying "He just wanted to give his heart to his son, but they wouldn't let him because he was on death row! It was more Eddie getting kidnapped than me anyway, I wasn't even in the ambulance when he killed himself, I was with the other guy." "You were what?" "Athena caught my convict while he was dragging me through the hospital at gunpoint, and I only got pistol-whipped like once!" "Evan... please..."

Tommy's staring lovingly at his partner and telling him he's one in a million, and Buck's like "Actually according to the National Weather Service I'm roughly one in 15300, since I got struck by lightning that one time"

Tommy sees Buck grinning at his phone and jokingly asks "Not cheating on me I hope" and Buck's making jokes about the catfish and getting slapped by one of the catfish victims, and Tommy's already slightly horrified, but Buck's fully not noticing as he laughs "Are you gonna use my thumb to unlock my phone while I sleep just to make sure? I did it to Chimney once, when Maddie got kidnapped that one time. Athena got so mad at me but we did find her before she bled out in the snow so clearly it's effective. Then again, I can think of much more exciting things you could do to me in my sleep than just peeking at my phone." And Tommy's not even registering the flirtation because. What?

I just love the idea of Buck thoughtlessly telling people, especially people who love him and weren't there, his absolutely fucking crazy lore.

Ooh, bonus if he tells Maddie or Bobby or Athena things that he thought they knew about (because they were there but they weren't there, like they were in LA and in his life but somehow never actually heard the story).

Hanging out with Maddie and Chimney and Josh again for poker night and he's losing spectacularly and he turns to joke with Chimney like "Man, she's beating me harder than those guys in the rodeo bar on Main and third" and Chimney snorts and chokes on his beer while Maddie and Josh gape in horror and concern. (This one is not from canon if you were worried you missed something).

He's talking with Karen about therapy after the lab explosion and she's joking about wanting to be her therapist's favourite and trying to 'win' at therapy and the such and Buck's laughing along and saying "So long as you don't sleep with your therapist you're doing better than me when I started" and her and Athena go bug-eyed.

Chimney's apologising for punching him in the face that one time and Buck's trying to lighten the mood like "Everyone ends up wanting to hit me at some point. I think Hen is the only one on the team who hasn't injured me at this point. Unless you count Ravi. Pretty sure Bobby gave me a concussion when he slammed me into the wall. Totally deserved, I stuck my nose where it didn't belong." It does not lighten the mood.

They're at family dinner post-Gerrard and Buck's bantering about some of the shit Gerrard pulled in Bobby's absence, maybe even casually dropping how the man made biphobic and homophobic comments and uncomfortable jokes about Buck on some of their golfing weekends or whatever other trips poor Buck got dragged on. And Bobby in particular is giving the Patented Peepaw Side-Eye.

Omg and grown up May staring at her sort-of-step-brother in equal parts horror and awe when he casually drops the whole tsunami thing.

There are just so many ridiculously traumatic things that have happened in that show and I want Buck to carelessly throw around silly little anecdotes (deeply traumatic memories) with people he loves, expecting a laugh and instead receiving love and concern and further evidence that they do indeed care about his wellbeing.

Please tell me your ideas for Buck's Accidental Trauma Reveals, canon or otherwise. I love this concept so much.

[burntheedges]

Falling For You - Part 1

Joel Miller x f!reader | 7.3k | 18+ | masterlist | fic masterlist | ao3

fic summary: Joel Miller gave up on the idea of a soulmate at least 20 years and one apocalypse ago. But it turns out the universe hasn't given up on him quite yet.

Part 1: Back in Jackson, settling in was both easier and harder than Joel expected.

a/n: here's part 1! I hope you enjoy! we're starting out with Joel stumbling his way through settling into Jackson. Ellie, too. see tags/warnings below and check the fic masterlist for the full tags. Thank you again @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta!! 🧡

tags/warnings for part 1: angst, Joel is having a lot of feelings ok, family vibes, family fluff, reference to (unnamed) David, Ellie has a bit of a dissociative episode (school related), get ready for soulmate lore (for this AU)

Part 1

“She’s the one, Joel.”

Joel didn’t know what to make of Maria at first. 

Sure, she didn’t seem to like him much, but he didn’t really expect or need to be liked. She’d definitely heard a few too many stories from Tommy and made up her mind that most of it (if not all of it) was Joel’s fault. 

Fair enough. 

But that wasn’t what was throwing him off, what was making him feel like everything he’d known had picked up and settled just a bit to the left. Leaving him out of step and off balance, trying to move forward but uncertain where to find solid ground. 

Tommy hadn’t told him right away, but once he had him alone, he couldn’t hold it in. 

“She’s the one, my one. First time we locked eyes — over the barrel of her gun, of course, didn’t trust me one bit — I heard ‘em. Ours are bells, can you believe it?” Tommy laughed, and Joel knew with certainty he’d never seen a smile quite like that on his brother’s face before. “I froze, had no idea what to do. Couldn’t hear anything but the song in my head, couldn’t see anything but Maria. And then she said, ‘well. Better come with me, then.’” Tommy laughed again. “Got her to smile at me for the first time later that night. Wasn’t easy.”

Joel huffed a single laugh, trying not to frown for Tommy’s sake. 

“After… well. After everything, I’d given up. And then there she was, last place I ever thought I’d find her.” Tommy sighed and looked so in love Joel wanted to throw his glass of whiskey across the bar.

He didn’t. He downed it, instead. 

“I…” he shook his head. “I’m happy for you.”

Tommy chuckled. “Don’t look it, but I know you, so I’m not offended.”

Joel winced and frowned again. “I—“

Tommy waved his hand in the air. “No, no, I remember. ‘Soulmates? That type of crap don’t matter when the world’s gone to shit. Why bother?’ I’ve heard you say it enough times, Joel.”

Joel hunched his shoulders up by his ears and sighed. “I am happy for you. I know I ain’t… I know how I’ve been.” He glanced at Tommy, whose eyebrows had flown upwards at Joel’s admission, and then back down to his empty glass. “If anyone deserves it, it’s you.”

“Thank you,” Tommy said, voice sincere, if surprised. “I think you’ll like her, though she doesn’t like you much.”

This time Joel did laugh as he replied, “just say it. I know you’re thinkin’ it.” He elbowed Tommy and in unison, they said, “means she’s got good taste.”

Tommy laughed and started telling Joel more about the town and Joel sighed, relieved to change the topic. 

Soulmates. 

He hadn’t thought about finding his since 2003, and he wasn’t going to start now. They were probably dead, anyway. 

Why bother?

…

Joel had never talked about it with Tess. Like so many things, she’d understood him without him needing to say anything at all. 

He worried that he’d taken that for granted, by the end. 

Tess had lost her soulmate in the outbreak, and she wasn’t looking for a replacement, she said.

They fit together. 

(There were stories, rare ones, of people who heard the music after knowing each other for years instead of instantly or after only a short time — usually kids who knew each other growing up and didn’t hear their music until later. 

It was even more rare to have more than one soulmate.

Joel only let himself think about that in his darkest, lowest moments. That maybe one day he’d hear it. Maybe it would be nice if that were in the cards for him and Tess. 

It wasn’t.)

They never talked about it, but he knew that she always knew what he wasn’t saying — I’ll never find them, they’re probably gone, and I don’t want to know if they are gone. 

Who would want me now?

Finding them would be worse. 

Tess never pushed, and he never offered.

After everything, looking back, he only wished he had. She had wanted him. She deserved better. 

…

Jackson was strange, at first. Joel found it harder than he’d expected to settle in after he and Ellie returned from Salt Lake. 

Ellie didn’t take to it easily, either, which made Joel feel both better and worse. 

After the first week, the two of them made a deal that they’d eat most of their dinners at the dining hall for a while, if not the rest of their meals. He was pretty sure getting out of the house would be good for her, and even if he didn’t bother to apply the same standard to himself, he’d never say so where she could hear him. 

Teenagers loved to call out hypocrisy, after all, and this particular teenager could spot it a mile away. 

(He remembered the lessons he’d learned with Sarah, even if recalling them was like flexing a muscle he hadn’t used in 20 years. Getting back in shape wasn’t painless.)

About three weeks after their return, Maria broached the topic at dinner. 

“So, Joel, I’ve been meaning to ask. We’ve got quite a few buildings around town that could use some TLC.”

Ellie made a thoughtful noise. “No one’s ever told me what that stands for,” she interrupted, mouth full of potatoes. “Tough… large…” she trailed off, frowning. “Contractors?”

Tommy laughed and Joel couldn’t help but smile. 

Maria smiled at Ellie. “In this case, not far off. But it stands for tender loving care.”

Ellie hummed and turned to Joel with the look that he knew meant she was about to say something at his expense that Tommy would probably think was hilarious. “Joel, your hair could use some TLC.”

He sighed while Tommy laughed so hard he looked like he might fall off the bench. Maria chuckled and Ellie grinned. 

“Alright, alright.” Joel resisted the urge to shove Tommy the rest of the way off the bench and kicked his brother under the table instead. “What kind of TLC are we talkin’, here,” he asked Maria. 

“Some windows that are letting in air, stairs that are worn down. A couple leaks. A few houses that need to be made livable.” Maria started ticking off her fingers. “A roof or two that need a look at.”

“I’ve got a running list written down in the office,” Tommy said. “Come by tomorrow and we’ll look it over.”

“Tomorrow is Ellie’s first day of school,” Joel said, voice mild. He knew Tommy would know what he wasn’t saying — that he needed to be available and easy for her to find. Just in case. 

“I’ll point out where the office is after dinner,” his brother said, looking at Ellie. “It’s closer to the school than your house.”

Ellie looked like she would rather crawl under the table than acknowledge she had any idea what they were talking about, so he changed the subject. 

“Thought I’d be doin’ patrol,” he observed, and Maria nodded. 

“You will. Everyone who can, does, but we have a rotation, so people can actually use their other skills, too. We need it, and that way everyone can contribute what they can.”

Ellie perked up, and Joel sighed before she even opened her mouth. She elbowed him. “Can I go on patrol?”

“No,” Joel, Tommy and Maria chorused together. 

“Ugh,” she replied, rolling her eyes. 

“Training starts at 16, then actual training runs. Can’t patrol until you’re 17 at the earliest.” Maria’s voice was even and Ellie sighed and nodded. “You’ll hear about it in school.”

After dinner Tommy walked home with them and pointed out the office. “School’s right down the road,” he pointed towards it and Ellie tensed. Joel nudged her with his shoulder. “I’ll meet you there after breakfast, Joel. Have a good first day, Ellie.” Tommy waved and headed towards his house. 

When Joel opened their front door and waved Ellie inside, he eyed her tense shoulders and made a quick adjustment to his evening plans.

“Want to watch that movie? The space one.”

Ellie immediately perked up and grinned, leading the way into the living room, and he couldn’t help but smile. 

She plopped down onto the couch in such a way that she sprawled over most of it. By the end of the movie, she was leaning on his shoulder and covered in a blanket, half asleep.

“Hey,” he murmured, not wanting to mess up the moment or the ease in her shoulders but knowing he needed to say it. “Come find me if you need me tomorrow, alright?”

Ellie didn’t say anything, but the way she buried her face in his shoulder told him enough. 

“It’s ok if you need a break or can’t do the whole day. Just find me.” He nudged her with his elbow. “Ok?”

“Ok,” she mumbled. 

“Ok,” he repeated. He nudged her into a standing position. “Time for bed, kiddo.”

She sighed dramatically and stomped off towards the stairs. When she got there, though, she stopped and looked back at him. “Hey Joel,” she said, voice low.

“Yeah?” He stood from the couch and watched as she worked her jaw over what she wanted to say.

“Thanks,” she said, quiet.

He smiled. “Anytime.”

…

Joel saw Ellie off to school in the morning and almost had an anxiety attack at the way it reminded him of sending Sarah to school Before. 

In some ways, knowing what school had been like for Ellie with FEDRA in Boston made it worse, this time around.

He stood with Tommy by the office while she walked down the street towards the school. When she got there she turned and looked back. He could tell she rolled her eyes when she found them both looking at her. She waved, but even that felt somehow like she was being sarcastic.

They waved back and Tommy laughed as they watched Ellie go inside the school building. “Can’t believe you managed to find your clone running around Boston,” he mused, elbowing Joel in the ribs. “Did she act like that before you carted her across the country?”

“She comes by it honestly,” Joel said, and Tommy smirked. He couldn’t even pretend he didn’t know what his brother was talking about, and besides, the idea that Ellie was like him was filling his entire chest with warmth. Not that he was going to tell Tommy that.

“Well, your terrifying mini-me will be fine. Let me show you the plans.” 

They spent the entire day poring over the various plans and maps Tommy had in the main office, and Joel started to understand the scale of what they were doing in Jackson. There were more residents than he realized, more people who needed a home or needed their home fixed.

“This is a lot, Tommy,” he observed some time in the afternoon. “We need more manpower.”

Tommy nodded. “We have it. I’ve been training some people, and we have a couple more that did some building before.”

Joel nodded. “And supplies. How are we there?”

Tommy smiled when Joel said “we” but didn’t acknowledge it otherwise, which he appreciated. “We’re doing alright. We have a policy to either collect or go back for anything useful when people are on patrol. Got a nice stash, almost like a little hardware store. Can use anything in there for repairs, but you have to barter like normal for personal projects.”

Joel hummed. “I’ll need to go take a look, then.”

“I’ll start prioritizin’,” Tommy said, already rearranging the papers on his desk. “Why don’t you start with that tomorrow – get a lay of the land, stop by Nuts n’ Bolts. See what we’ve got.”

Joel raised his eyebrows at his brother. “Nuts and bolts?”

Tommy laughed. “Ah, right. It’s not official but that’s what we’ve all taken to calling our little hardware store. We even call her Bolts sometimes, ‘stead of her name. The woman who organizes everything and handles the inventory. She should be there tomorrow, she can show you around. She knows it back to front.”

That night Joel told Ellie about his plans once she was done telling him every single thing that had happened to her at school that day. 

“So you think it’ll be alright?” He asked her once she seemed to wind down.

She nodded, and he took a deep breath in relief when she looked away. “I might… I don’t fuckin’ know. It was a lot. But it seemed ok. Can I…” she trailed off, and he thought he knew what she wasn’t asking.

“Offer stands,” he said, nodding. “Come find me. I’ll be at the office again, but in the morning I might be over at Nuts ‘n Bolts.”

“What’s that?” She asked, looking confused.

“The local hardware store, apparently,” he explained, stretching his neck. He’d been sitting around a lot more lately and noticed he was getting stiff. “I need to see what supplies they got so we can start fixin’ stuff up.”

Ellie furrowed her brow. “Will you teach me?”

“Teach you what?”

She curled into a ball on the couch with her knees to her chest and propped her cheek on one knee, looking at him. He smiled. “To fix things,” she replied.

“Course I will,” he said, reaching out to push her lightly on the shoulder. She didn’t release her knees and dramatically fell over on the couch with an oof. He laughed and she grinned. “Anything you want to know.”

“Cool.”

…

After seeing Ellie off to school again, Joel took a walk around town. 

He kept an eye out for the projects he’d gone over with Tommy the day before and spotted most of them. He could see why they were so eager to get going. 

On his way back to the office he swung by Nuts ‘n Bolts. It was easy to spot, since someone had made a wooden sign with a nut and a bolt carved into it and hung it above the door. 

It was an old storefront with actual rows of shelving and big windows. It even looked like a hardware store from the outside. 

When he stepped inside and a little bell rang above his head, he was almost transported back 25 years. He took a deep breath. 

“Morning,” a voice called out from the back. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Take your time,” he called back. “Just lookin’ around.”

“Ah, you must be Joel,” the voice said, and it sounded like they were smiling. “Tommy told me you’d stop by. Alright, I’ll be out there in a bit. Holler if you need anything.”

He sighed, knowing that Tommy had probably told them something ridiculous, and started looking around. 

It really did look like a hardware store. There were tools and supplies of all kinds, neatly organized on clean shelves. There were also signs of a meticulous inventory being kept, with numbers updated in pencil on little slips of paper in front of each item. 

Joel was leaning over some bins of nails when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

Ellie was walking up the street towards the store, jaw set, arms crossed. In a sudden overwhelming rush Joel felt worry rise and begin to choke him. He turned and speed walked towards the door.

“Gotta go,” he barely remembered to call out. “Another time.”

He heard some kind of acknowledgement, but it was faint and he was already mostly out the door.

…

When he stepped outside, he could see on Ellie’s face that she wasn’t ready to talk about it, whatever it might be. He reached out to squeeze her shoulder and said, “office or home?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, despite her hunched shoulders and general fuck-off aura. 

“Office.”

“Alright,” he agreed, and led the way. She trailed after him silently and he worked his jaw as he tried not to draw any similarities with her silence after Silver Lake. “I’ll show you what we’re working on.”

When they stepped into the office, Ellie’s shoulders relaxed just a bit, and he did not allow himself a deep breath in relief. 

He’d learned the hard way on the road that she liked him talking but not asking questions, not when she was feeling like this, so he started showing her the list and the repairs. She eased into a chair and leaned in to look at the town map. 

By the time he got to the smaller projects on the outskirts, she had her chin in her hand and was staring off into the middle distance. 

When she interrupted him, he stopped talking immediately. 

“It was math class,” she said, voice quiet. Joel tensed and then forced himself to relax his muscles. “The teacher here isn’t even a man, isn’t…” she trailed off and frowned, and he could see her wrestling with herself. “But I couldn’t… fucking why couldn’t I—“

Joel was up and around the desk before he even realized he was moving, then on his knees next to her chair. He reached up and ran his hand over her hair and relaxed, just a bit, when she leaned into it. “Ellie, you don’t—“

“I can’t fucking sit through a math class, Joel,” she said, sounding disgusted with herself. She leaned forward and rested her forehead on his shoulder. “It wasn’t the teacher or the school, it was just math, and I ran away like a weak little b—“

“Hey,” he said, voice low and soothing. He cupped the back of her head in his hand and started running the palm of his free hand up and down her back. “Running away does not make you weak. It’s ok to not be ok, baby girl. And look, Tommy told me something.” He squeezed the back of her neck with his hand. “Plenty of the kids here haven’t been able to do school right away. Plenty of ‘em have eased into it.” She started to pull back but he squeezed her again and she settled. “It’s hard… to go from the road to something like school. Turns out they have whole plans here for kids who need more time.”

“Plans?” She asked, finally raising her head and looking at him skeptically. “Like what?”

Joel settled onto one knee and leaned against the arm of her chair. “Like half days, and doin’ some work on their own at home. Or every other day.” He took one of her hands and squeezed it. “I bet we could work out a plan for you to do your math work at home, or here, even.” He waved his free hand around the office. “Seems like I’ll be spendin’ some time here, if you wanted to hang around.”

Ellie frowned as she mulled that over, staring down at their hands. She picked at the seam of her jeans with her free hand and Joel fought the urge to hold that one, too. “Other kids have really done this, too?”

He could hear what she was really asking — she didn’t want to be the only one with a problem. It was a pretty normal thing to worry about, of course, but it was also such a teenager thing to worry about that he couldn’t help but smile. “They have. Pretty sure no one would think you were weird.” He eyed her and took a gamble.  “Not for that, anyway. Got plenty of other reasons, like the way you put sugar on grits,” he said, voice teasing. 

She rolled her eyes at him and he smiled, fully. “You’re the weird one, Joel. No one likes grits, I don’t care what you say. And Tommy told me no one else actually likes those old movies you told me about, too.”

“Tommy ain’t got any taste,” he said, moving to stand. He stopped when her grip on his hand tightened. “I’ll talk to the teachers, alright? We’ll figure it out.”

She nodded, looking much calmer than she had when he’d found her outside. He pulled her into another hug. 

“And we’re in this together, right? We made a deal.” She nodded again, and smiled, this time, the way she did every time he referenced their deal.

When he let go, she started asking him questions about the repairs that needed doing, and he heaved himself off the floor to answer. 

They’d be alright. 

…

Their deal, as they’d both come to call it, had been hashed out on their fifth night back in Jackson.

Joel hadn’t wanted to rush her, he’d known she was feeling like shit. But he knew he couldn’t let the two of them start up a pattern of never leaving the house. Not if Ellie was going to have an actual life there. And that’s what he wanted for her, more than anything – to have a life. 

It turned out she wanted something similar for him.

“How about just dinners, then?” he’d offered, when she’d refused to go out for lunch again. “We can start tomorrow. See how it goes.”

She’d agreed, but their truce had been short lived when she’d discovered he also wanted her to go to school. Not yet, but apparently wanting her to go at all was the problem.

“Why the fuck do I need school,” she’d spat, and he’d thanked his years of experience with teenage anger and discontent for his even response.

“Life here seems alright, don’t it?” he’d asked, and eventually, frowning, she’d nodded. “Seems like we can give things a try, the way things are done here. See how it goes.”

Ellie had frowned down at her hands in her lap on the couch but eventually looked back up at him. “If I’m trying,” she’d emphasized, “you have to, too.”

“Ellie, I don’t need anything, just—“ just you, he’d been about to say. Just for you to be happy. 

“No, Joel. You, too.” She’d been implacable. And at the end of the day, all he wanted was to give her what she wanted. 

So they shook on it. She would try, and he would try, and they wouldn’t just give up because something sounded dumb or like a waste of time. 

They’d try living this new life they’d found, and they’d do it together. And see how it went.

…

The teachers were more than happy to come up with a plan for Ellie, it turned out. So she spent her mornings at school, and her afternoons in the office with Joel or Tommy, doing work they assigned for her to take home.

Joel loved it.

He knew it wouldn’t last forever – eventually she’d feel fine with school, he knew, and he’d lose this time they had together – so he tried to savor it. Tried to find time to teach her about what they were doing, to let her be a part of it. Every time he gave her something to do, she stood a little taller, smiled a little wider.

It turned out actually trying was good for her. And seeing her settle in and start to smile more? That was good for him.

She’d taken to sitting at a little desk Tommy had found god-knows-where in the corner of the office and chattering about what she was doing, which suited him just fine. Sometimes she threw balled up pieces of old homework at him to catch his attention and he always sent them right back, bouncing them off her forehead. It never failed to make her laugh.

About a week and a half into their new arrangement she finished her work early and started rummaging around in office shelves, keeping up her stream of consciousness stories about her new classmates as she went. 

“... and did you hear about that new group that came into town? From somewhere west? Turns out one of them is Miss Jenna’s soulmate.” Ellie fiddled with an old broken stapler she found on a shelf, frowning at it as she turned to look at him expectantly. 

It took Joel a minute to catch up with what she was talking about, but his mind snagged on soulmate. He knew Miss Jenna was her history teacher. “What?”

Ellie nodded. “Miss Tasha is taking over for her for the rest of the week to give them time to, I don’t know.” Ellie shrugged expansively. “What do soulmates even do? Talk, or some shit.”

He raised his eyebrows at her and smiled. “Or some shit?”

She sighed and flopped the stapler open. “What is this thing?”

“A stapler,” he told her, “but I doubt we have any staples. Used to use ‘em to bind piles of paper together with little metal bits.”

“The staples?” She asked, peering at it and then at him. He nodded. “Weird. Anyway, I don’t fuckin’ know. FEDRA never talked about soulmates. We only heard stuff from the other kids.” She shrugged again. “You hear music, right? In your head?” She looked baffled by this idea.

“‘S what they say.” He stretched his shoulders, settling in to talk about this. “I’ve never heard it myself, but Tommy and Maria did. You could ask them what it was like.”

Ellie leaned forward on the desk, stapler forgotten by her hand. “They’re soulmates?!” She looked intrigued. “Why didn’t you say so?”

He shrugged.

She rolled her eyes at him and flopped into the chair in front of the desk. “Useless, Joel. You’re supposed to find out things and then tell them to me. Duh.” She grinned at him when he huffed a laugh. “I’ve never met soulmates before. Everyone’s music is different, right?”

He nodded again. “‘S what they say.”

She hummed and kicked her feet up on the desk. He reached across and nudged them back onto the floor with a ruler and she grumbled. When she was quiet for a long moment, he looked up, and found her frowning thoughtfully at the ceiling.

“Ellie?” he prompted, and she sighed.

“Did most people, Before,” she started, and then cleared her throat. “Did most people find them? Their soulmates?”

Joel thought about it for a moment before answering. “A lot of people did, sure,” he said, thinking about his parents for the first time in years. “Our parents were soulmates, mine and Tommy’s. And I knew a lot of people who found theirs.” He shrugged. “Not sure of the numbers. One of your teachers might know.”

“Did…” she trailed off, looking hesitant, and he figured she was about to ask about him. “You said you didn’t–”

He shook his head. “Never found ‘em.”

She hesitated again, and he figured she was about to ask about Tess. He poked at her memory in his mind and discovered it didn’t hurt quite as much as it used to.

Still hurt, though.

“Did Tess–”

He shook his head again. “Lost hers in the outbreak,” he said, and he could hear the gruffness in his own voice. He cleared his throat. “We weren’t… we weren’t.”

She nodded, looking thoughtful. “Wonder how many there are in Jackson.”

“You’ll have to ask Tommy,” he said, sighing, “Wouldn’t know.”

Ellie hummed again, but before she could ask him another question about it the man himself walked in the door.

“Howdy, folks,” Tommy said, drawing out his accent a bit more than normal. It made Ellie snicker, which was the point. “What are you troublemakers up to today?”

“You didn’t tell me you and Maria are soulmates!” Ellie accused, and Tommy looked slightly taken aback before he smiled.

“So sorry, ma’am, didn’t realize you wanted to know.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Duh. What was it like?”

Joel figured Tommy had brought this on himself and turned back to his work. After all, only the day before he’d told Ellie she could ask him “anything at all” and he’d answer.

“The music?” Tommy asked, propping himself against the desk. Ellie nodded. “Pretty weird. It’s not like when you have a song stuck in your head, it’s like actual music playing inside your head. Full sound.” He tilted his head from side to side. “And it’s a song I’d never heard, never in my life, which made it even weirder.”

Ellie looked captivated by this information. “And Maria heard the same thing?!”

Tommy nodded. “Yep.”

“And were you, like, instantly in love?” Ellie looked both intrigued and put off by the idea, which made Joel smile down at his maps.

“I was,” Tommy said with a wink, grinning. “Maria took a little convincing, but she’s smarter than me, anyway.”

Ellie seemed to mull that over and then nodded. “Did you hear about Miss Jenna?”

Joel looked up, interested to hear the answer on this one, and found Tommy nodding. “Yep. I was standing right next to them when it happened, too.”

Ellie’s mouth dropped open and Joel smiled to himself – she had a true love of gossip, his kid. “What was it like? Seeing it?”

“Now, don’t go repeatin’ this to all the other miscreants, alright?” Tommy fixed her with a look and Ellie nodded eagerly. “But it looked like it went the same for them as it did for me. Mena was getting down off her horse when she happened to look up and catch Jenna’s eye and, well. They both stared, Mena fell down the rest of the way and landed in the dirt. Jenna helped her up and said something like, ‘did you hear that?’” He smiled. “So there you go.”

Ellie squinted at him. “That’s it?” 

Tommy laughed. “What else do you want?”

She shrugged, and Joel smiled down at his maps again. “Guess I thought it would be a bigger deal, or something.”

Tommy hummed. “Well, for them it was. We got enough soulmates here in town that I guess it’s not so novel anymore,” he said, thoughtfully.

“Really?” Ellie asked. “Like, a lot?”

He shrugged. “Not sure what’s a lot. But enough. Not the first time it’s happened at the gates, either.”

Ellie considered that for a minute. “Huh,” she said, sounding surprised. “Maybe mine is here, too. Oh, or Joel’s!” He looked up from his work to find her grinning at him. “Somebody who can fall in love with that grumpy face.”

He frowned at her and she frowned back. “Soulmates–”

Tommy cut him off, and Joel recognized the voice he used as his Joel impression. He sighed as Tommy said in a deep, growling voice, “soulmates? Why bother?” And then laughed. 

Ellie looked between him and Joel. “Was that supposed to be Joel?”

“Duh,” Tommy said, smiling as he repeated the word back to her with the same intonation she’d used when he came in. “Heard him say it enough times.” 

Joel sighed again. 

Ellie frowned at him. “Do you not want to meet ‘em?”

Joel looked at her and fought down his initial response of obviously not and who would want me now? That wasn’t exactly the message about love and relationships he wanted to pass on to his kid, not when all he wanted was for her to be happy. Even if it wasn’t in the cards for him. “Figure they’re not around anymore,” he said, trying to shrug it off. “Been long enough.”

“You are old as dirt,” Ellie said, rolling her eyes. “But they could be here. You never know.”

Joel couldn’t help but notice that she seemed pretty excited about the whole thing, maybe because it was so different from what she knew in Boston with FEDRA. He sighed again. “Maybe,” he allowed. “But I ain’t lookin’. Got plenty of other things to worry about.” Like you, he didn’t say. 

“Joel,” she said, frowning. “We have a deal.”

He eyed her and tried not to notice Tommy looking between them curiously out of the corner of his eye. “Didn’t realize soulmates were part of the deal.”

“Of course they are!” She said, raising both of her arms and then letting her hands fall against her legs in exasperation. “Living, Joel. Life, or whatever.”

“Alright, alright, ok.” He worked his jaw for a moment, figuring out what he wanted to say. “If they’re here, somehow. I’ll tell you, alright? And I’ll…” he winced. “I’ll talk to them, I guess.”

Ellie grinned and Tommy looked shocked. “Deal,” she said, looking smug. 

Tommy gave him a look that said, you really are wrapped around her little finger, you know, and Joel flipped him off the second Ellie’s back was turned. 

…

The soulmates conversation was, thankfully, put to the side after that. Joel was certain Ellie asked Tommy about it more, apparently insatiable in her desire for more knowledge, but she didn’t talk to him about it again. 

Considering that his opinion was still finding them now would be worse, despite the recent, more positive changes in his life, he figured that was a good thing. 

So Joel settled into a daily rhythm of mornings at work and afternoons with Ellie and marveled at how much he liked this new life they’d found. 

Ellie started running errands for them, too, and learning more about the work they were doing. It made him feel proud, which made Tommy tease him, which made him put Tommy in a headlock with a cheering Ellie off to the side. 

It was nice. And Joel hadn’t had nice in decades, so it was difficult to trust. Difficult not to wonder when the other shoe was going to drop. 

He figured if he kept his head down and did his work he’d stay out of trouble. Hopefully. 

“Joel! I’m back," Ellie called, bursting into the office with a box in her arms. “Bolts had everything you asked for except, well.” She snickered. “Except the bolts. She said she’d check the storage area and get back to me.”

This wasn’t the first time Ellie had run over to get something from Nuts ‘n Bolts — she’d mostly taken over the job, in fact. 

“She said you still haven’t been over there to introduce yourself. Not very social of you,” Ellie said, repeating what Maria had said a couple nights before, waggling a finger at him. He rolled his eyes and caught it, smiling when she squealed. 

“I know, keep meaning to,” he said, releasing her but reaching out to mess with her hair as he stepped back. She swatted him away, laughing. 

“Well you can’t have my job, slacker.” Tommy had taught her that word the week before and Ellie had been using it with delight ever since. “You’ll have to go over there on your own.”

He started going through the box and was impressed as always by how meticulously organized it was. Each different item was in its own little box or folded in paper with a tag noting how many were there in neat handwriting. It satisfied something inside of him, to see competence like this on display.

“Still checking her work?” Tommy said, stomping inside. “I told you she knows what she’s doing.”

Ellie nodded, agreeing. 

“No, just looking,” Joel said, knowing they probably didn’t believe him. But he wasn’t. 

He was more appreciating her work than anything else. 

“Well, let’s get going then,” Tommy said, motioning towards the door. “Those stairs won’t fix themselves.”

…

About a month after Ellie started school, Joel did his first patrol. 

It was time, but he was grateful for the extra time to settle in and prepare Ellie for him to leave and come back. 

Well, for him to try to prepare her, anyway. And attempt to prepare himself, too.

“I want to come,” she said, stomping next to him towards the gate. She’d said the same thing every day since Maria had asked him three days ago. 

“You know the rules,” he said, tone mild. “Not—“

“Not until I’m 17, ugh, I fucking know, Joel.” She frowned and crossed her arms. “What if something happens? What if—“

“Hey,” he said, stopping and kneeling next to her on the ground. She looked thrown, like she always did when he put himself below her like that. He hoped she’d stop being surprised by it eventually. “I’ll be with a group, and with Tommy, alright? I’ll be ok. We aren’t even going that far—“

“Just out to the dam, I know.” She finished for him. Her body was coiled as tight as a spring and he reached out to squeeze her shoulder. 

He nodded. “Back by sundown. I’ll meet you right there.” He pointed to the tree by the gate. “Ok?”

She worked her jaw for a minute but nodded. “Ok. And you better not get hurt.”

He smiled and stood up, cupping her face gently. “I won’t. You don’t either, alright?”

She sighed, sounding so much like an exasperated teenager he had to hold in a grin. “I’m just going to hang out with Bolts and sort nails. Ooh, scary.” She waggled her fingers at him. He let his hand drop on top of her head and waggled it gently in response. She made a noise in protest and grabbed his hand. 

“Alright. Be good for Bolts. I’ll see you later, ok?” She nodded and, quicker than lightning, ducked under his arm into a hug. He squeezed her and let his cheek rest on top of her head for a moment. 

He wasn’t going to say so, but knowing she’d be safe with an adult she trusted while he was gone was the only thing letting him go at all. 

“I’ll be right back, baby girl,” he murmured, and she squeezed him once more before letting go and watching him lead his horse to the gate. When he looked back after mounting up, she waved. 

He waved back and ignored the feeling that he was leaving his heart behind with every step his horse took. He knew it was good for them to be separated for a bit, knew he couldn’t let her live in his pocket forever, even if in the moment all he wanted was to turn around and go home.

. . . 

At dinner that night, Ellie sat much closer to him than usual. It comforted him, too, so he didn’t say anything. In between demands for stories about the (pretty boring, all things considered) patrol, he started to notice a pattern in her speech that he was pretty sure had been forming for a while, he just hadn’t noticed.

“Bolts said that Before, people used to put coins in machines and squish them, like, on purpose. And the machine would print a little design on them. That’s fucking wild! I thought money was important? Why would you squish it?”

“Bolts told me that Before people used to do something called glamping. Joel, did you ever go glamping? Why wouldn’t you just go normal camping? And why would you go camping on purpose at all? Didn’t you have a house?”

“When we were checking the storage area, Bolts found a box of staples, those little metal things you told me about! She let me staple some papers but then she said I had to stop because I was helping ‘a bit too enthusiastically and we only have so many staples, Ellie.’”

He knew he could trust her with Bolts, just based on the stories she told and what Tommy had said about her. But he’d never met her. Maybe it was time he made time to do that.

…

In the end, Joel didn’t make it over to Nuts ‘n Bolts for almost a week after he’d made up his mind to actually do it. The patrol had gone well, but Ellie had been more his shadow than ever afterwards, and he spent a lot of time reassuring her – and himself – that everything was fine.

Her teachers had suggested that she start attending the art class that happened in the afternoons at the school once a week on Tuesdays, and so Joel took advantage of her absence to go over and do Ellie’s usual pick up at the hardware shop.

As he walked up to the shop, he realized how strange it was that he’d been in town for so long and hadn’t actually been back there. When he stepped inside, he was again impressed with the meticulous organization and care. 

He recognized the handwriting on all of the shelf labels, now, the same handwriting that would appear on the labels in each of the boxes Ellie picked up on her errands.

Must be Bolts’, he thought to himself as he ran his fingers over the words “washers, 4mm” in clear, tidy handwriting.

“Afternoon,” a voice called from the back. “‘S that you, Ellie?”

Joel called back a greeting. “She has art class on Tuesdays, now,” he explained, voice raised a bit to be heard as he continued exploring the shelves. 

“Ooh, and how’s she feel about you taking over her job?” The voice was teasing, now, and it made him laugh. 

“She warned me I better do it right and be polite,” he said, and he heard a laugh from the back. He turned another corner and found hooks of all shapes and sizes carefully organized and displayed along a shelf. “Said I had a reputation to uphold.”

“She’s right,” the voice called, and he could hear the laugh in it. “It’s an important mantle you’re taking on, you know. And you must be Joel.”

He was grinning at a shelf of caulk, he realized, and blinked. “That’s me. And you must be Bolts? Or should I call you–” 

Another laugh interrupted him. “Bolts is fine! No one calls me anything but that around here.”

Joel was starting to feel like he was walking through a maze, looking for the corner to turn that would take him to the back, where the voice was coming from.

“I’ve heard all about you, you know,” Bolts called. “To hear Ellie tell it, there’s nothing you can’t do, you’re the tallest person alive, and you’re old as dirt.” He snorted. “Now, I know that’s not true from Tommy – maybe just old to a teenager, anyway – but I’ve been looking forward to seeing for myself.”

He couldn’t stop smiling. Walking through this maze of a hardware store was starting to feel like an out of body experience. He was pretty sure he was close, though, to figuring out where she was.

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you too, you know,” he said, and the warmth in his own voice startled him. “Ellie thinks the world of you.”

“She’s a special kid, Joel,” Bolts said, voice softer now, but a bit muffled. 

“She is,” he agreed, and finally turned the corner to where he was pretty sure she was working. He was right – down at the end of the row, at a makeshift sales counter, there was a woman.

He couldn’t tell if she was shorter than him – she was leaning over a box with almost her entire torso inside of it.

She had a very nice ass, he couldn’t help but notice, and her jeans did nothing to hide it.

He blinked away from it as she started to rise, and his eyes trailed along her spine. He stepped forward, and she must have heard because she turned.

And then his eyes met hers.

In all the times he’d been told about soulmates, either no one had ever said, or he hadn’t been paying attention when they did, that the music that played inside your head was loud.

Or maybe it wasn’t that way for everyone. Maybe it was just loud for them.

He looked into her eyes and just like that, his mind was taken over by the most beautiful music he’d ever heard. Tommy had said bells but theirs wasn’t bells – it was strings. Almost like a symphony inside his mind, rising and falling and swelling together into a crescendo that took his breath away.

He couldn’t move, could barely breathe, staring into the eyes of the woman who was his soulmate.

The song started to fade, and Bolts took a single step towards him, face breaking open with some emotion he couldn’t name. 

“Joel?” she said, one of her hands lifting towards him.

He blinked, and felt the space the music had left behind start to fill with panic.

He ran.

...

a/n: I know!! Joel, what are you doing?? find out next Tuesday in part 2! (and this fic has a happy ending, I promise)

| next

[invincibledc]

||DC X SONIC!READER HEADCANNONS||

Summary: HEY?! A wild blue hedgehog that’s as fast as flash?! WHAT THE—

Sonic!reader who accidentally travels into a comic universe, dc as a choice and accidentally standing in the justice league HQ. “Uhhh.. meow?” The hedgehog says with a shrug. Immediately the hedgehog is running as quick as the flash? Barry or Wally, whatever you think is the flash at the moment is trying to catch the damn hedgehog. But the hedgehog only thinks of this as a game! Smiling before feeling his legs get caught in a glowing yellow rope.

“State your business and name!” The lady with the lasso says holding the animal up. Sonic!reader spits the truth out by how he has accidentally traveled into this universe. The team didn’t want to believe it, but you were still in the lasso of truth. So you were telling the truth. The hedgehog is already friends with flash, who wants to see how fast the hedgehog can do. And seeing how they both can do speed off and stop time while staying slow, yeah they both are downing food together.

Hal who literally makes fun of the quick hedgehog, that was before Sonic!reader took the ring off his finger so quick, flash laughed with the others. Batman only smiled a little before it quickly gone away.

Superman is gushing over how small the hedgehog is. He can’t help but not take Sonic!reader seriously. Really he can’t take the male hedgehog seriously because of how small and how funny and how they are determined to help people. It’s adorable to the man of steel!

Wonder Woman who adore the small hedgehog as well, after learning the adventures Sonic!reader has done and fought during. Wonder Woman smiles at the hedgehog, Sonic!reader then tells about how they have a female friend that wields a hammer. Immediately Wonder Woman is sat down when Sonic!reader describes the hammer and how big it is. Now Wonder Woman needs to know lore.

Gotham villains hate to see Sonic!reader coming when literally next minute they are in jail or in the asylum. Literally poison ivy and Harley were ready for their plan to succeed. But when they took a step forward, they were already in the asylum with a hedgehog swinging cell keys playfully in a guard uniform. “Already ahead of ya! Bye bye!” Then the blue hedgehog is gone.

The hedgehog being wrapped in a blanket like a baby because he got a bit tried when running. Clark is trying not to cry while holding the hedgehog. “Clark…give me the hedgehog.—" Bruce tries to grab the hedgehog. But the super immediately flies away.

Sonic!reader Who does his idle animation whenever speeding away from danger, mocking them as he wags his finger. “Gotta try harder than that!”

Catwoman having her whip around the blue hedgehog, having him hogtied. Sonic!reader is grumbling like the gremlin they are while catwoman, aka Selina is contacting Bruce. “Bruce..I got a hedgehog that says he’s with you..” “sigh..here I come.”

Barry and Wally just watching Sonic!reader speed around, they laugh at how adorable and excited the house. They Wally speeds over to try and stop sonic!reader who got stuff in a box.

“That’s so crash!” Bart says smiling at Sonic!reader who burned into a empty street with their speed. The fire shows a detailed chili dog. “I don’t know what that means, but yeah!” Reader says smiling and high giving Bart.

Impulse who likes Sonic!reader like a brother. Always asking for races and who can shove most food, but honestly it makes impulse and the flash family kinda disappointed to see that you aren’t really like them as you throw up. You eat for energy, they have to eat or else they die. Impulse still likes you treat you like you are part of the flash family, just like the flash does as well.

“You’re too slow!” Sonic!reader says when speeding pass impulse, aka Bart. Bart smiles at this and zooms to catch up which his new brother figure.

Batfamily vs Flashfamily wanting custody over the small hedgehog.

Bruce just training and seeing how fast Sonic!reader is and his potentials before treating Sonic!reader like son he just picked up. (He basically did) Bruce seeing how childish and smart mouth he can be reminded him of one of his sons, so he just basically “adopted” this small hedgehog.

Dick is just not amused at another speedster, what he is amused that this so called “speedster” is named Sonic and is fast like the flash. Reader just shows up in the manor holding up a chili dog with a goofy smile. “Want one? It’s still hot.” Dick couldn’t help but smile at the adorable hedgehog male and took the chili dog. Only he took the chili dog because he wanted to seem nice

Damian who couldn’t care what you are and who you are. Thought he is amused by how quick you are to have the audacity to talk back to him. He found out your weakness and smirks every-time the face of the hedgehog’s face drops at the word “pool.

Tim basically being DR. Eggman for Sonic!reader but more chill and totally not a villian. Tim just wants to know how a hedgehog is talking and is fast like the flash. Maybe he would pull on your quills to get a sample

Jason just reading the hedgehog books, maybe even bringing a comic book to Sonic!reader’s liking as the hedgehog has an oversized shirt with a goofy ahh smile. “Sup Jay!” Sonic!reader says with a smile. Jason just stays quiet and prays that he doesn’t show cute aggression at this hedgehog ass motherfucker.

Sonic!reader who just relaxes in the Wayne manor, talking to Alfred who just freshly made him some chili dogs. Yeah reader can get use to this.

[satoruhour]

AY ! SPANK IT.

a/n: had to physically hold myself back from not doing any lore. i failed (for gojo’s at least). enjoy / tagging my babies @redskyvenus @suguella @satorena @screampied @jabamin @marimogf @osaemu @ryovie

wc: 3.5k

warnings: sp*nking for all (i cheated on gojo’s part but we don’t talk bout that), fem!reader, gojo is older than in the series (late 30s), semi-public oral (m! receiving), deep throating, he’s a little rough, a stranger listens in (gojo), implied multiple rounds, unprotected p -> v sex, (geto), implied multiple rounds, fingering, clit stimulation, pussy slaps, unprotected p -> v sex (nanami), you ask soft dom!toji to be rougher, implied multiple rounds, face slapping, unprotected p -> v sex (toji), n*sfw under the cut

✶ GOJO

your mind’s racing. that’s the only thing you can focus on, and maybe also the fact that gojo looks absolutely dashing in the suit he bought, taking you out for a whole day of shopping just because he can, so you got yourself a dress that goes all the way to the floor while he had another suit to add to the collection. it was so terrible, too, because you’re at utahime’s wedding dinner and all you can think about is getting to your knees to suck him off.

“need somethin’?” gojo whispers with hand clasped over yours, voice softer than usual. he’s grown much into his age, now well into his late 30s and you have to physically hold yourself back every waking hour. his way of living is a tad bit softer and tender when it comes to you.

you swallow, “i might ruin the mood.”

gojo laughs and it’s got your cunt throbbing, “nothing you say could ruin the mood, baby.”

sparing a glance towards utahime and her wife, you feel a little bad that you’re going to do what you’re going to do, but it’s only the fourth course and the band on stage is kinda shit. so you’re standing and pulling on his wrist, excusing yourself from the table of sorcerers that already have an inkling of your imminent activities; you even think you can hear nanami sigh.

“where’re we goin—” gojo’s surprised by your eagerness and the quickness in which you say shut it, navigating the second floor of the hotel and even making the effort to head to the bathroom further from the function room. he grins in recognition.

wordlessly, you’re shoving him into the men’s bathroom because you’re past your senses and you don’t care any more, walking your husband back into a stall. there’s a shocked yelp from the occupied stall beside you but you hardly give a shit, locking the door and crashing your lips against satoru’s.

“so eager,” he whispers against your lips, gasping into your mouth when you squeeze his bulge. you waste no time palming it, kissing down his jaw just for a little tease and making your bluish-black mark on his neck before you’re dropping to your knees and fumbling with his belt. you can’t look up at your husband’s piercing eyes because you know you’d cower in shame at your sex-crazed surge, but you do anyway and you only melt further into the floor.

you’re left wondering why his enemies always don’t freeze in awe when he removes his blindfold, because your cheek feels at home on his pelvis as you continue to massage his erection, a small smile spreading when his hand cradles your cheek.

“go ahead, princess,” he takes over, releasing his cock from the confines of his underwear and you’re scooching closer to him, taking his shaft in your fingers as they slowly stroke him to full hardness. gojo’s good at keeping his moans in, fixated on the baby blue nails that he paid for moving up and down, and he swears he catches a hand that goes in between your legs to rub at your clit.

that is until you’re waste no time messing up your make-up, mouth descending on his cock and gojo lets out a drawn out moan at the warmth of your mouth. it contrasts with the intense coldness of the hotel and resembles your tight cunt so well that he almost cums and you smile at the twitch you feel in your mouth.

“yeesss . . take it down your throat like a slut,” he looks at you, possibly hypnotised by how you start bobbing your head, swirling your tongue on the underside of his cock without rest. you slobber over him, gargling noises and your hand pumps the area you can’t reach and the other only draws messy circles on your clit, filling the bathroom with the obscene noises of your mouth paired with gojo’s whines and whimpers. silently, he beckons you closer and you catch his drift, both hands holding onto his thighs.

taking in a breath, you’re going all the way slowly, gently, and gojo lets you, hands cradling your head and helping you — so much so that he’s hunching over in pure pleasure, bent over and chin touching his chest from how he wanted to keep his eyes on you. your eyes never stop looking up at him, variations of mmhm’s leaving your throat and sending vibrations all throughout his length that he groans at.

“f-fuck— mouth so damn warm,” satoru chokes out, feeling a sense of pride when the corners of your eyes fill up with tears and you gag a little, but you press on because he’s trained you well. he can only focus on the gagging sounds and your nose buried in his pubes, mouth muttering out profanities. “just a little bit— s-shit . . just a lil more, baby.” 

it’s not everyday the strongest sorcerer begs, drunk on feeling his tip hit the back of your throat and the dig of your nails in his thighs. your muffled moans only spur him on, another surge of amusement blooming in his chest when he sees the other person hurriedly leaving the stall next to you. gojo’s fingers bury themselves in your hair and pulls, grinning down at your melting mascara and smudged lipstick. you look like the embodiment of filthiness, tongue lolled out and eyes almost rolling back as you try to catch your breath.

“sa— satoru . .” you whine, mouth chasing his cock and manage to catch his tip, suckling and slurping up his pre-cum, “give it t’me.” that gets him grunting and swatting your hands away as he forcibly takes your chin and his cock, slapping it all over your face and you moan at the sheer girth and size of him. you let it rest against your face and your husband wishes he had his camera out to capture this. maybe next time.

“tongue.” and you’re sticking it out, and he slaps his tip along your tongue, too, clear sounds resonating throughout the restroom. outside, he hears the sink stop and with a thumb, drags your jaw to open more.

“let’s give ’im a show, shall we?”

✶ GETO

you see, you’ve always known your man to be an ass man — from noticing the way his eyes follow your figure in a bodycon dress to the special attention he gives it during cuddling, but you’re never truly prepared (you didn’t think he was more obsessed over your ass than you are) for how much he loves it when he’s always got your face buried into the pillows and your lower half propped up.

you’re on god knows what round, drool seeping into the duvet and your juices soaking the sheets and moans leaving your lips. geto’s got you in full nelson, mating press, you can’t even remember any more when the only thing you can think of is his cock easing into you.

“gone so many rounds and still need some dick in her,” he laughs and you burn from embarrassment, and yet you love it, pushing your ass back into him while his grip on your waist tightens, “don’t blame ’er — i love this fuckin’ pussy too.”

you preen at the praise, turning your head to find geto struggling between looking at your face of pleasure and your ass; he lets his desires win, memorising the cute pants and desperate furrow of your eyebrows before he reluctantly pulls his eyes away. but how could he resist — when your butt is pushed up against his pelvis so nicely, the stretch of your dripping cunt in full view and the jiggle of your ass whenever his body meets yours.

his hands leave your waist and spread your cheeks to see how his fat cock leaves and reenters you, full of your mixed cum from the previous sessions that there’s a ring of white that forms at the base of his length with each thrust. it spills all over and down his balls, down your thighs and it’s so sloppy once he starts moving, the wetness of your pussy only encouraging him further.

“pretty little doll takes my cock so well, hm?” suguru hums, fingers squeezing and releasing the fat of your ass. it only anchors him to be rougher and more precise in his thrusts, tip just kissing your cervix that has got you crying out. your head’s foggy but your grip is strong, clutching the sheets below you until your knuckles turn white. in a moment of sensitivity, your hand flies to grab at his wrist.

“sugu—” you gasp, and you meet his eyes, dark with lust while his hair falls all around him. it’s hot, he’s hot and you watch him lick his lips and smile that dizzying smile of his as he changes the pace however he likes to. one moment he’s grinding into your cunt, and the other, he’s snapping his hips roughly.

“yes, darling?” it’s taunting, just like the way he pushes down on your back to accentuate your arch, tugging your hips onto his front.

“s’good, love it, love it—!” you mewl, eyes squeezing shut from the immense pleasure and overstimulation, “feels t’good—”

there’s no answer except a resounding smack that echoes through the room and you gasp again, a choked whine leaving your mouth. you can feel heat forming on your ass and geto’s sick chuckle only makes you open your eyes again to meet him and he’s soothing the place where he spanked.

“yeah? that feel good, huh?” he coos, picking up the pace and ramming into you with the roughness of someone who’s been denied pussy for days and he spanks you again, again and again, the pain so exhilarating. geto cannot keep his eyes off you, watching, hypnotised, the way your ass moves under his hand, “just love this ass so damn much.”

geto catches your smile just as your lips part to whimper out his name and he only props one of his legs up to get deeper in you, a long groan escaping from him when you clench around him.

another smack, another one of your moans, another plea and he laughs breathlessly, cock twitching in you.

“guess i found my girl’s guilty pleasure.”

✶ NANAMI

nanami loved your pleasure. whether it was through oral or just pure sex, the way he knows that he’s making you feel good is enough for him to cum, the satisfaction of doing his job as a partner and the knowledge that you’re the only one to fall apart by his hands. that’s why he never stops until he feels like you’ve had enough, talking you through your many orgasms until you’re spent.

he chuckles lowly into your ear from behind, legs holding down your own as your body convulses from another climax that he’s brought you to. you’re squeezing so much around his fingers that he has trouble removing them, the other hand calming down your heaving stomach.

“you’re relentless, kento . .” you mumble, head slumping onto his shoulder and back, breath hitting the hair that’s at the back. your lover takes the opportunity to mark your neck, alternating between licking and sucking into the skin there. his hands always are so much larger on your body — when they wrap around your middle at events to guide you around, around your arm where you’re cooking at home together — it always sends you into hysterics.

“but you do like it, don’t you, my love?” his tone is soft, sending the hairs along your body to stand, because no matter how soft, the rasp in which he speaks with never fails to thrill you.

“i do, kento, but ’m so sensitive; not sure if you like it,” you hum, removed from your daydream when you feel his cock slap against your thigh. knowing you’re prepped for him, he doesn’t answer but only sighs into your ear when he slips in, your cum providing enough for him to slowly inch himself in.

“of c—” it’s strained, he says it through his teeth, “’course i like it, baby. i love it, even.” nanami groans when he starts to thrust up into you, drunk on the moans and whimpers you feed him. instinctively, your legs try to close but his hands are quicker, holding you open that you need to hold onto him for some sort of grounding, because it was just too. much.

“k-kento,” your voice wavers when you feel him bottom out, watching his hands wander over your sweat-filled body. he hadn’t even fully undressed from his mission duties, still wearing his watch with his trousers pulled down halfway. your pussy was just too good. “so full—!”

“y-yeah . . it is, darling girl doin’ so good f’r me,” nanami’s sounds only send shivers down your body, hands finally coming to rest along your tits. he plays with them, fingers fondling with your nipples and squeezing mindlessly while his hips give you calculated thrusts into your soaking cunt, “doing so good and taking my cock like a good girl. yeah, aren’t ya?”

you nod into his embrace but you wished he’d give some attention to your neglected clit, something that he’s been set on abusing for the past orgasms — and now he doesn’t give it any sort of attention?

“kento— mmfuck—! w-want you to,” your sentence is cut off by your own cries of swears and your boyfriend’s name until he’s turning your head so he can kiss you. devouring your sounds, he speaks against your lips.

“what is it, sweetheart?”

distracted from the kissing, you never notice the way his hands make a beeline for your core, and the first rub of you clit has got you clamping down hard around his length and he grunts.

“was it that?” and you nod again like a dumb slut, hips bucking up into his hold and you can feel his own falter, loving how warm your gummy walls were. it was disgusting; with each move of his pelvis, your juices only spurt everywhere and anywhere, dripping down right onto the sheets.

“m-more . .” you mumble, back arching and body shivering from the intensity of everything, while nanami looks between your eyes and mouth like he’s ingraining the pretty painting of ecstasy of your face into his mind. he makes sure to keep his hazel eyes locked on you, and, rewarded well when his hand comes down upon your clit in a messy slap.

“kento!” your head lols back, muscles pulled taut while your lover only smiles, and he does it again whilst his cock is endlessly pumping into you.

the slaps continue and they’re wet, lewdly wet and it makes you even more flustered and embarrassed that you’re hiding your face into his neck. each slap is like a hit to your head, making you dizzy and giddy and you want nothing more than to cream all over his cock.

they’re harsher — a strength nanami never liked to execute on you but seeing your body convulse like this, seeing your eyes blown wide and jaw slack only makes his spanks against your pussy rougher until you’ve gone silent.

“g’nna cum like this? filthy girl . . simply from my spanks?” he laughs into your hair, knowing to angle his hips just right and that’s got you speaking his name like a mantra, “i’ll definitely need to see my darling girl so ruined again.”

✶ TOJI

“you want me to be . . what?” 

contrary to popular belief, toji has always (mostly) been gentle with you in bed. having come from a rough past, he’s only ever treated you like glass, entirely different from the way he was treated as a child. he’s done that to his ex-wife, as well, and now to you, thinking that if he’d ever do anything wrong, you’d leave him.

“i want you to be rougher . . toji,” it’s not something that warrants the use of his first name when a pet name is more than enough, but you both know this stems from something he’s afraid of and you’re only showing your concern through using his given name. “i can take it.”

toji coos at your big girl words, something he adores even before you’ve gotten in a relationship with him and he brings you closer with a toned arm around your waist, “are ya sure?”

and like always he’s making sure you’re okay with everything that he’s done so far, checking up on you, taking breaks in between, so you work your magic. with one hand on his forearm and one more on his face, you’re asking for more, more, more, even as he’s buried deep in you, pussy still struggling to take him because he’s just so big.

“want more, do ya?” he grunts, both hands holding you by the ankle while he thrusts into you with the force of an animal, of many pleas of you wanting more has landed you in this position — cum spilling out of you, sheets filled with your sweat and your clit feeling sore as hell — and you love every second of it. you nod pathetically, eyes welling up with tears from just how good his dick game was and when he laughs, you swear you feel your pussy flutter.

“c’mon, s-shiiit . . watch me fuck this pussy,” he manages to get out, a mix between a groan and grunt that speech is a little distorted, but you prop yourself up anyway, yelping when his hands caress down your legs to your knees and pushes. you end up with your knees to your chest and a front seat view of his cock moving in and out of you, a clear sheen of slick along his shaft from your combined juices.

without warning, he’s spitting onto your clit, a long string of saliva that hangs from his mouth until it finally reaches your core and you moan from obscene action. your hips only wiggle closer to him, chasing that same thrill. “again.”

he lets out a laugh in disbelief, “again? dirty little slut.” and he wraps his fingers around your chin even as you continue to pant and mewl, further emphasising his overpowering strength over yours and drawing your eyes from the hypnotising sight in front of you to meet his dark green ones that are filled with desire.

your mind is overwhelmed with everything, from the fullness of his throbbing cock in you to the feeling of your knees digging into your clavicle. he doesn’t even need to open your mouth for you before he’s gathering another ball of saliva and spitting it into your mouth. 

“swallow,” and you do so obediently, chest heaving in anticipation while your neediness only prompts a sly grin out of toji. all the while, his hips are still moving, sending you into oblivion with you mumbling that you want even more and toji’s set out to give you something that he remembers you mentioning on a random day to your girlfriends on call.

with the same hand around your chin, he’s giving your cheek a light slap, heat already blooming from the fat of your cheek from the roughness of his hands. and he halts — he’s afraid you’ll think he hates you but all you do is clench tighter around him while a cockdrunk smile spreads across your face.

“like it— love that, toij . .” you giggle, seemingly confused about why his thrusts stop but he wastes no time resuming his pace when he sees your eyes begging for release, groaning out at the freeness he feels upon listening to you. he loves watching your pussy take him, cum gushing everywhere, but with his new discovery, he’s too fixated one seeing that look on your face again.

so he interrupts your never-ending moans with another slap and that only garners another tightening of your cunt, biting your lip with a small grin.

“like it when i’m rough with ya, huh?” toji laughs, holding your chin and slapping, playing with your lips and slapping and each time you give him what he wants — a broken moan or a call out for him, spurring his hips on until all that’s left of the room is the smell of sex and the lewd slapping of skin. “never knew my angel girl was such a cock slut . . i like her like this too, fuck!”

“always been like this,” you giggle, pulling him in just to tease him as your lips leave hot breaths on his, “just needed the right man to get it out of me, right?”

“that’s right, baby,” toji returns your cheeky smile, before a hand lands another slap on your face and you’re sent over the edge, body trembling under him and pussy spilling all over him. you’re clenching so hard that he can’t move, but like always, your lover never forgets to talk you through it. 

“thaat’s it, cream all over my cock, doll,” and he grabs your face lightly again, soothing the area on your cheeks with a small grin.

“at least i know what she likes now . . and i’ll be sure to deliver.”

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS as Exes

AN: I don't need sleep, I need answers.

Pairing: LaDS boys x fem reader

Ingredients: 75 % angst, 10% sulking, 15% comedy (by 👃🏻🩲)

My Fav: Zayne and Xavier (seriously why do you guys force me to write so much angst, I love hate it? 🫂)

Xavier:

Somehow friend-zoned. Again. Just like every lifetime.

He’s around a lot. At work, at your apartment, hell, the man’s still your neighbor. And of course, there’s the past lore.

You were engaged once. It just didn’t work out. Right person, wrong time. The kind of joke your shared story arc thrives on.

But Xavier holds onto the hope anyway.

He knows he’s your soulmate. Has always known. And if that means standing by your side as a friend while you love other people, while you build a life without him, so be it.

He’ll wait. He always does.

Because maybe next lifetime… the timing will finally be right.

(hug him rn 🔪🔪)

Rafayel:

You both have a daughter.

But becoming queen, reviving his kingdom, giving him your heart, had been your breaking point.

You loved Rafayel. But loving a sea god was not your forte. It wasn’t the life you wanted, and that hurt Rafayel more than he lets on.

He couldn’t understand why you left something so perfect. A throne beside him, a daughter between you, a kingdom rebuilt through sacrifice, and you still walked away.

He keeps your daughter. Raises her with so much love it’s almost painful. But part of him knows he’s holding onto her in the hopes that you’ll come back.

For her sake. For his.

He’s heartbroken that you refuse to let go of your world, when he once shattered his kingdom to make you his.

He has waited to long but now...now he has an endearing daughter. His anchor.

Zayne:

He was never there. Not really.

You sort of drifted apart during the end credits. Zayne loved his work—too much. He worked to take away other people’s pain. But somehow, he always managed to hide his own. Even from you.

Your marriage withered slowly. The silence grew heavier each time you sat alone, waiting for him to come home. The distance hollowed you out, until you both existed in separate worlds under the same roof.

And when you left, he got worse.

He doesn’t go home anymore. He works until he collapses in a back alley or some dingy cafe. He ends up in the ER more than once. You’re called in, rushed in, drenched in wanderer blood, to sit beside him while the machines beep steadily.

He punishes himself for failing you. For failing at everything.

And sitting next to him, in the chaos of the hospital, you feel the weight of it all. The unfairness of it.

(You might just have to pull a Caleb and abduct him to a secret island)

Sylus:

Divorce? That didn’t happen.

Sylus is still your boyfriend. He’s delusional, but come on, you’re both fooling no one.

The epitome of on-and-off.

"I’m going to kill you," you groan, waking up next to him for the fourth time this year. It’s February.

"Good morning, kitten," he drawls, already pulling you into his arms. He ignores your glare and peppers your face with kisses until you give up struggling.

The baby monitor crackles. Your son’s cry pierces the air.

"Your turn."

Sylus grins. He gets out of bed, sliding into your robe (tearing the shoulder seam. Again). He always stretches it out, just like he always stretches his way back into your life.

This is your life. Messy and chaotic. But it’s yours.

And Sylus? Yeah, he’s not going anywhere.

Caleb:

lmao no.

Hell nah. Caleb would rather commit a felony than accept being your ex.

Either:

He’s in jail. (Domestic terrorism was involved.)

You’re in his basement. (Voluntarily or otherwise.)

He’s in a psych ward, hallucinating a life where you’re still together.

There’s no clean breakup with Caleb. He’s the man who does not share. If you leave him. He’ll find you. If you try to run. He’ll track you down. And if you betray him. God help you.

Because Caleb isn’t letting you go. Ever.

[ravangie]

ALL THE LESBIAN SHREK AU LORE SO FAR

All the art can be found under this tag

To start things off: Yes. All women. All of them. Lesbians.

Even Puss in boots. Even Donkey. Even Fiona's parents. All of them.

Lesbianland is a completely female-only kingdom. If a lesbian couple wants to have a daughter, they come to one of several Fairy Godmothers, who specialize in magically creating daughters - it's in the name, afterall. The Fairy Godmother that we know and love - Fiona's Fairy Godmother - just happens to be the biggest and the most influential manufacturer. And that's no accident, afterall Fiona's toad mama used to owe her BIG time for keeping her secret safe.

Fiona and Shrek's relationship is pretty much the same as it is in the first and second movie - with the exception that both of them are women. But the one thing I'd like to point out is how changing Shrek to a woman changes the weight of her influence on Fiona. We know from the movie that Fiona struggles with accepting her ogre form, since a Princess is not supposed to be an ogre, she says. You could say that an ogre is not lady-like at all. Fiona worries about fitting into the standarts of what a Princess is suppossed to be like, and then meets miss Shrek - a lady who doesn't fit a single one of those standarts and doesn't want to. Hiding a part of yourself that you've been taught to be ashamed of your whole life and then seeing a woman who is open and proud about it - that's gotta count for something. Miss Shrek is such a good example of accepting oneself.

Now. On the other hand. We have a lady who meets every single one of the societal standarts of what a Princess is supposed to be like. You could even say she IS the standart.

Out of all the characters the most attention was directed towards Princess Charming so far. She went through the most changes from the original so I'll be talking about her the most next.

Princess Charming's relationship with her mom

Just like Fiona was told that she is to be rescued by The Princess, Princess Charming was told that she is to rescue Fiona. She was going through vigirous training to be able to fight a dragon. She was studying all the royal etiquette and going to the royal congresses to get a feel for that life-style. And her whole life she was trying really hard to make her mom proud.

The Fairy Godmother loved her daughter dearly, she spoiled her with expensive gifts whenever she could, Goddess knows she had the money. But her whole future depended on Charming's performance with Fiona, so she asked for A LOT from her in return. She was strict and not really emotionally availible, since she believed that would make the Princess weak.

The Fairy Godmother was the one who put all the beauty standarts beliefs in Princess Charming's head. Like I said: The Godmother's whole future depended solely on whether or not her daughter was able to charm Fiona, so not a single thing was allowed to be anything than perfect. Sadly, it's a rather popular painful subject among daughters, as I've come to know: mothers caring much more about their daughters appearances, than their mental well-being.

As a result, Charming grew up to be appearance-obsessed and constantly looking for her mom's approval. But in the end she never fulfilled her one destiny and never got her mother's approval.

How did Shrek The Third plot change?

DRASTICALLY.

First and foremost: no surprise pregnancy plot-point, horay!!! The main conflict is just Fiona being ready and wanting daughters and miss Shrek being scared of that.

With that out of the way, imagine: your whole life you work towards this ONE thing that is supposed to be your destiny, you hold yourself to the strickest standarts, you deny yourself pleasures for the sake of your overall goal, you go far and beyond to reach the peak of your performance.

And then this OGRESS - the one thing that is the absolute opposite of all the beauty standarts that have been plaguing your brain for years - shows up and rips it all away from you. AND SHE GETS IT ALL FOR THE WAY THAT SHE NATURALLY IS!

Of course she resents her.

I gotta say: Princess Charming is a lot more competent than her male counter-part in Shrek The Third for reasons we've discussed earlier. She didn't get everything handed to her on a silver platter, so she has some handy life-skills to begin with. She ran a business together with her mom for a minute there, promoting the products with her own face, so she knows how to sell an idea and organise the crowd. That's why she had no problem convincing all the villains to rebel.

But when she tries to come up with a plan of attack though? That's where she runs into problems and that's when miss Captain Hook shows up. She tears apart Charming's plan and teaches her how it's actually done. The two start to form a bond and Princess Charming starts to see a mother-figure in Captain Hook. Maybe she can make THIS mother-figure proud?

I like thinking about the time Princess Charming and the crew spend together getting prepared for the rebellion. For example I imagine that Charming bonds with The Witches. They would try to teach Princess Charming how to fly a broom, but she would be afraid of heights, so she would fly at the back of the broom grabbing onto the driving witch for dear life.

And I like thinking about Rapunzel and Charming's relationship.

When Princess Charming gives her little speech at The Poison Apple, Rapunzel is also there. Unhappy with her life, trying to forget her sorrows, she became a frequent customer there. See, just like Fiona and Princess Charming, Rapunzel was destined to get an arranged marriage. Fiona was lucky enough to escape that parental pressure and marry the love of her life, and Rapunzel envies her for it. I think that's why she betrays her in the first place.

Princess Charming and Rapunzel have a lot in common so they start talking and gradually fall in love. Rapunzel would be at every secret rebellion meeting at the poison apple and observe everything Princess Charming does with eyes full of love. She would be the spy and bring the latest news from the castle and promise The Princess that they are gonna show them all what they're worth. And then she would become worried for her love, afraid that she's gonna lose her, try to turn back and convince Princess Charming to do the same. Rapunzel would be the one to visit Fiona and other princesses in their cell and "accidentally" help them out, hoping that mercy on her loved one would be the payback when everything goes south.

Why would it go south? Well, because the more Princess Charming spends time with Rapunzel, the less interested she becomes in the whole rebellion thing. Gradually she realizes that it was never the thing SHE herself wanted, but it was the thing that her mother has inflicted on her. But you can't turn the rebellion back, so she, yet again, has to continue keeping up appearances.

Yet others start to notice that she's become softer - like letting Artie- THE ONE TRUE HEIR TO THE THRONE - go, instead of cutting her head of? What's that about?? The villains start talking about Princess Charming amongst themselves and their opinions towards her start to change. That's why it was so easy to convince them to give up on her in the end.

But the final nail in the coffin of Princess Charming's obedience of parental and societal pressures is her cutting her hair off - the main selling point of her charm.

Princess Charming and Rapunzel's hair

If you all remember, Rapunzel turns out to be bald at the end of Shrek The Third. Judging by the quality of this movie's story, I tend to believe that it's just a throw away joke at the expense of the character with no real meaning behind it. But I wanna see the meaning, so I've thought of something.

In the original fairytale The Sorceress, which locked Rapunzel in a tower, cuts off her hair when she finds out that Rapunzel has been seeing a prince. In our story The Sorceress is a mother figure to Rapunzel and her locking Rapunzel away is a form of overprotection. When the rebellion takes place and it is revealed that Rapunzel has ran away from her arranged marriage with Princess Charming, The Sorceresses curse comes to fruition and all of her hair dissappears.

Now for my favourite part: in order to support her darling, Princess Charming cuts off her hair. First, with intention to make a wig for Rapunzel, since both of them are still trying to keep up appearances and expectations put upon them by society. But later, when both of them escape - yes, they stage their deaths and run away together - they live their best lives together as two short-haired queens.

Phew. Ok. That's enough for one post.

THE END!

P.S. If you saw any grammar mistakes: good for you. English is my second language.

[alive-gh0st]

❝Corruption Complete❞

Mark Grayson x Brainrot Girlfriend!Readerᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

𓊆ྀིfeat. Oliver & Debbie Grayson𓊇ྀི

˗ˏˋ 𓉘 Part 2 — ”Too Far Gone” 𓉝 ˎˊ˗

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

🦖 summary: mark’s trying to enjoy a quiet night at home. too bad his girlfriend has just discovered a new hyperfixation—and now oliver’s in on it. debbie joins next. mark’s officially outnumbered.

‪‪🦖 contains: sfw. modern brainrot. fandom jokes. long-suffering boyfriend!Mark. brainrot!reader. tiktok trends. group roasting. oliver is a smug little shit. debbie is thriving. mark just wants peace. comedic fluff, banter, affectionate roasting, domestic vibes. silly chaos.

‪‪🦖 wc: 722

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: i wrote this instead of doing literally anything productive. it started as a joke and now it’s got lore. enjoy my descent. also, yes—i know, the title is 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It started innocently enough.

You were sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to your phone, tears streaming down your face as you watched an AI-generated TikTok video.

“Mark—Mark, look!” You shoved your phone in his face. It almost smacked him in the nose, but it’s fine. He’s literally [Title Card].

Moving on.

He squinted at the screen. “Is that… a cat in a firefighter uniform?”

“Yes! It’s so tragic and inspiring. The kitten was rescued from a fire, grew up to become a firefighter, and then died heroically saving a child. And—listen to this—it reunited with its grandma in the afterlife.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “You cried over an AI-generated cat video?”

“It’s not just a video, Mark. It’s art.”

➽─────────❥

The descent into chaos was swift.

A few days later, Oliver burst into the living room (nearly crashing into a wall), eyes wide with excitement.

“Have you seen the ‘Ballerina Cappuccina’ trend?!” he blurted, practically vibrating.

You gasped, sitting up. “Yes! The one with the cappuccino-headed ballerina pirouetting into the void?”

Oliver nodded vigorously. “It’s peak brainrot.”

Mark groaned from the kitchen. “Not you too, Oliver.”

“It’s a cultural movement, Mark.” Oliver said, deadpan.

Not even ten minutes later, real chaos began…..Debbie’s curiosity was piqued.

She entered the kitchen, holding her phone while pursing her lips.

“Kids, what’s this ‘Bombardino Crocodilo’ thing?”

You and Oliver made eye contact, then—without speaking—played the audio simultaneously: “FORZA BOMBA!”

Debbie blinked. Then looked at Mark—who didn’t even look up, just slumped lower against the cabinets like the universe was personally attacking him.

“Well, that’s… something.”

➽─────────❥

A quiet evening turned into a bonding session.

With Mark and Oliver out training because let’s be real—that boy needs some serious teaching, you and Debbie settled on the couch. She sipped her wine, a mischievous glint in her eye like she’s about to drop a bomb.

“You know,” Debbie says casually, “Nolan once gave me a whole tree instead of flowers.”

You blink, taking your eyes off the TV. “Like… an actual tree?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘Why bring a branch when I can bring the whole organism?’”

“I kept it,” she says. “Still in the backyard. Useless man, but decent taste in flora.”

You clutch your heart. “That’s the bar. If Mark doesn’t deliver a redwood to my house within 72 hours, we’re over.”

As if summoned Mark walks back into the house with snacks and an expression of pure betrayal. “I brought you chips.”

“Does the chip bag photosynthesize?” you ask sweetly.

➽─────────❥

The ‘Pass the Phone’ challenge ensued.

Feeling strangely inspired (which should’ve been a red flag), you declared: “Let’s do the ‘Pass the Phone’ challenge!”

Everyone agreed way too quickly.

You started the recording. “I’m passing the phone to someone who still doesn’t understand TikTok.”

Mark raised a brow, sighed like a man defeated, and took the phone. “I’m passing the phone to someone who’s been on TikTok for five minutes and already has a fan club.”

He passed it to Oliver.

The purple boy—who was just happy to be here—beamed straight up at the phone screen. “I’m passing the phone to someone who once received a tree as a romantic gesture!”

He hands it to Debbie, who only laughs.

“Guilty as charged.”

➽─────────❥

╒════════════════𝜗𝜚

ACTUAL QUOTES FROM THE EVENING:

➥ „I swear to god if you post that TikTok—”

➥ „Too late. It’s already at 40k views. You’re famous now, tragedy boy.”

➥ „You said you wouldn’t bring up Amber! And—why are people simping over my MUM!”

➥ „Because she’s a baddie, Mark.”

ꪆৎ════════════════╛

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

•∘˙○˚.⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨🐊୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ∘˙○˚.•

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Mark stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching his mom and little brother conspire with you over delusional fan theories and imaginary men.

“…I want in,” he said.

Everyone froze.

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I’m tired of fighting it. I need to understand the brainrot. Teach me your ways.”

Oliver threw his arms in the air. “HE’S CONVERTING.”

Debbie raised her wineglass. “To the dark side.”

You grinned, scooting over and patting the space beside you. “Welcome to hell, babe. First lesson—rank these fictional men based on how they would treat you.”

Mark sighed. “I already regret this.”

“You will,” you promised. “Now take this blanket. We’re about to watch a seven-part edit of Tim Cheese killing John Pork.”

“…and no, you can’t ask questions.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ With Love, @alive-gh0st

[norrisainz33]

the call pt 2 || platonic grid & gr63

summary: y/n finishes out the triple header strong after being called up to race for alpine

pairing: platonic!grid x george russell x rookie!driver!reader

fc & warnings: none and minor hate comments, bad language, and bad grammar from my end

a/n: i've never had this many people request a part 2 before so i hope y'all enjoy!! I'm going to keep her racing in the remainder of the season so keep an eye out for the rest.

part 1 | part 3

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

alpinef1team has made a post

liked by pierregasly, ynuser, yourbff, yoursibling, landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 876,234

alpinef1team: a point in the bag for pierre and another good drive for y/n 💼

view all 435 comments

user2: solid result for the team!!! y/n ate in her second race ever

user99: a team of losers tbh

ynuser: yay for points! let’s go pierregasly

pierregasly: we go again in brazil! points for both of us there 😉

ynuser: everyone better make sure to bet on us 🙂‍↔️

yourbff: let’s go best friend(s)!!!!

ynuser: 🫶🏻

georgerussell63: great stuff ynuser

ynuser: thanks georgie

user1: notice how he is always supporting her…. is there something here?

user2: they’ve been friends since their karting days!! if you asked me back when they were in f2 if they were tg i would’ve said yes bc they were kinda sus but now idk

user1: gonna go research the lore on their f2 days

✿

you let out a huff as you threw your padel racket on the ground and wiped the sweat from your brow, “god dammit lance! how are you so good at this!?”

laughing lance shrugged, “maybe you and george are just really bad!”

george shook his head, “no mate that can’t be it!”

you took a long drink of your water as the pair continued to bicker. “did you both see the weather for the weekend?” you asked changing the subject so they’d stop.

“yeah, lots of rain it seems.” lance put his racket into his bag and looked up at you with concern. “have you raced in the rain before?”

you shook your head, “no not really. i mean when i was karting yes but outside of that not really.”

“blimey y/n/n,” george ran a hand through his hair. “you’ve been going over those scenarios with your team right? there’s a chance of some really heavy rain.”

“i have, i have. i’ll be ok!” you assured them both with a smile but your friends looked anything but reassured.

✿

ynuser has posted to their story

view all story replies

user2: jesus christ you’re so hot

user4: im obsessed with you holy f

georgerussell63: green is a good color on you. tho i think mercedes blue is better

ynuser: you mean alpine blue and pink

georgerussell63: nah i’d like to see you in my colors

ynuser: oh?

georgerussell63: you heard me

francocolapinto: 👀

ynuser: and you’re coming to play with us next time yea?

francocolapinto: si bonita

yourbff: H O T

ynuser: thanks bb

ynuser: also i think george might be flirting in my dms rn?

yourbff: WHAT?!

ynuser: he said he wants to see me in his mercedes kit

yourbff: oh that’s 🤭

landonorris: you look tall here

ynuser: thanks shortie 🩷

landonorris: uncalled for

user5: thanking your parents for doing it tbh

✿

holding in a yawn you turned to walk back to your garage after the brazilian national anthem. the 5am wake up for this ‘super sunday’ as they were calling it was catching up with you despite the butterflies swarming in your stomach. you had had the qualifying session of your life, which despite the cool confidence you played it off with in your interviews after, shocked you just as much as it shocked everyone else. you qualified in 4th. yes, you read that right, p4. something about the car came alive in the rain and you prayed it came alive again during the race but the rain was starting to pick up and it seemed like it was only going to get worse. you’d already seen several red flags in quali and would be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t terrified that that was about to become you in the race.... especially with the threat of the entire field behind you, including max verstappen, wanting to push forward and push forward fast regardless of the consequences.

“y/n!” a hushed voice caught your attention. george had caught up to you and had a serious look on his face. “please be careful out there,” he pleaded.

“you too george,” you squeezed his arm lightly. “i’ll see you on the podium, yeah?"

"yeah," george winked as you turned to head into the alpine garage.

your engineer, james, handed you your helmet as he went over a few more pieces of data. he was stressing over the litany of different plans the team had put together in the very short window between quali and now. the heavy rain and your heroic lap times caused just about everything your team had prepped to be turned upside down.

“right, right i’ve got it james. plan a seems the most logical if i can keep everyone behind me.” you said as you pulled your helmet onto your head and fastened the strap.

things were about to get interesting.

✿

f1 has made a post

liked by alpinef1team, yourbff, yoursibling, yourfriend, ynupdates and 435,725 others

f1: the race is stopped under the red flag for a crash….. and y/n y/l/n is our new race leader! after running a surprisingly strong p4 for the first half of the race, she took the lead when those in front pitted for new tyres. y/n is the only woman in history to lead a lap in a grand prix

view all 432 comments

user1: not them calling her performance surprising 🥴

user2: I KNOW THATS RIGHT!

user12: only gonna last a second. she can’t even compete with the likes of verstappen

alpinef1team: @ everyone behind, y/n.. can we pretty please keep it this way?

yourbff: real tears are being shed rn this is monumental

user9: god is this amazing

mercedesamgf1: we love to see this historical moment! even if we’re coming to take it back 😉

user11: literally the most amazing thing i’ve seen all day

✿

you ripped another tear off from your helmet wishing it would make it easier to see but to your dismay, you still couldn’t see a damn thing. the rain was coming down in buckets, your inters were worn, you were fighting the car even in the straight lines to keep it on the track and worst of all, you were scared shitless. you had no moment to even be happy about your current position in p1 because you were too busy trying not to send your car into the barrier.

“max is 2 seconds behind you and gaining very quickly. gasly is 1.2 seconds behind max and leclerc is 0.9 behind pierre.” james updated you on the radio which sent you into a fit of rage.

“james for fucks sake i don’t care!!! stop giving me timing updates!! i can’t see the road so i can’t do anything about it!!!” you almost screamed. "i can't even pass half throttle!"

“rain is expected to lighten in about 10 laps,” james reported ignoring your outburst.

“10 LAPS?! how am i supposed to survive 10 laps?!?!?” as you yelled you felt the rear of your car start to slide causing you to need to quickly snap it back into place. “there is so much standing water james - i can’t keep doing this. the front straight is like a swimming pool!”

“yes you can, y/n. lock in and calm down. you only have a couple of laps left in this class of rain.”

“lock in? calm down!? and what if i crash this damn car first?!” turning off your radio you tried to take a few deep breaths while focusing on the road in front of you. you couldn’t panic - that would only make matters worse. you had to stay calm. you knew your car, you knew to deviate off the racing line to avoid the slippery curbs in specific turns, and you knew that you had to make it through whether you wanted to or not. panicking was not going to help anyone but there was little way to explain just how scary it was on track at this current moment.

another snap of significant oversteer left you breathless and near tears. “james im so serious - i need wets and even then i don’t think they’re going to be enough. there's standing water on every part of this track. i can't race like this on these tyres. please talk to fia. please we need a red flag.”

“pitting doesn’t make sense right now, you’ll come out in traffic and your race will be over.”

“i care more about making it out of this race alive than coming out in traffic.”

“understood.”

✿

✿

“they couldn’t have taken any longer with that red flag could they?” you snapped as you pulled your race suit down to your hips.

“no they really couldn’t have! it was getting ridiculous out there.” pierre grabbed his water bottle, "driving couldn't have been more dangerous."

“alright you two! thats enough!" your team principal interrupted, looking very serious. "we have a real chance of keeping this double podium finish especially because george and lando pitted before this red flag and lost a lot of time," he explained. "y/n, you’re going to have to push, there’s not much chance you’ll be able to keep max behind you but we’ve got to be fast enough to keep george, charles and lando behind pierre.”

right... keep 3 of the fastest drivers on the grid behind you both.. you were going to need a real stroke of luck.

✿

alpinef1team has made a post

liked by yourbff, yoursibling, ynupdates, rubendias, jackhughes, robmcelhenney, and 843,124 others

alpinef1team: THEY DID IT!!! Y/N AND PIERRE CROSS THE LINE AS P2 AND P3! HISTORY MADE

✿

"thats p2 y/n - great job! the entire team and i are so fcking proud of you."

"AHHH YES YESSSSSSS!!!!" you screamed into the radio, banging your hands against the steering wheel, "WE DID IT!! WE DID IT JAMES!!" the emotions hit you like a brick wall, and tears quickly began falling. "thank you all so much. thank you for this opportunity. thank you to the mechanics, to everyone back at the factory, to every single one of you. thank you for believing in me when no one else did."

"you're welcome, y/n. you deserve it. you deserve it all kid."

pierre rolled up next to you to drive the remainder of the cool down lap by your side. he waved excitedly and you waved back without hesitation - you both had achieved what felt like the impossible.

you were the first woman to ever stand up on the podium and you were the first woman to score points in formula 1, but you knew you certainly weren't going to be the last. if you would do anything with your remaining races, it would be to show the world just how much women belong in this sport.

you pulled into parc ferme and shut off your car as quickly as you could. you fumbled with your straps and when you finally got them off, pierre was standing above you with his hand held out. you smiled, grabbing his hand and allowing him to pull you out of the car. "we did it, p -" you said just loud enough for him to hear over the cheering.

"we did it, y/n/n." pierre replied and with that, you both turned and ran hand in hand to your team who was waiting with open arms to greet their heroes.

✿

ynuser has made a post

liked by georgerussell63, landonorris, pierregasly, lewishamilton, oscarpiastri, yourbff, and 943,124 others

ynuser: we did it 🩷 thank you to alpine for believing in me, thank you to pierre for being the best teammate a girl could ask for, thank you to my friends and family for supporting me through the ups and the downs and thank you to my fans -- i love you all so much

view all 999 comments

user1: i've never shed so many tears over a race before

yourbff: i feel like a proud parent rn

ynuser: thanks for never giving up on me bestie

georgerussell63: you're a force to be reckoned with y/n. congratulations on an impressive drive! today is your day 🤍

ynuser: mark your calendars! 11/3 is national y/n day

landonorris: speechless... i am so proud of you. if someone had to be up there besides me, i'm so glad it was you 😉

ynuser: thank you lanny. only thing that would have made it better is if you were with me up there 🩷

user10: tea LOL

francisca.cgomes: i dont think i've ever been happier?? my two favorite people are on that podium?

ynuser: stop dont make me cry agAIN

pierregasly: thankful for you mon ami

ynuser: 🤍🩷

lewishamilton: being a barrier breaker is never easy y/n but you are crushing it. i am proud to race with you!

ynuser: you have no idea how much this means to me lewis

user9: thank you from the bottom of my heart for continuing to prove everyone wrong

user95: nothing could have prepared me for 1) them running hand and hand to their team, 2) y/n crying tears of joy on the podium and 3) gr63 picking y/n up and twirling her around in parc ferme

user2: george and y/n were so cute it was actually sickening. did you see the way he fixed her hair after putting her down

user95: and how he wiped away her tears??? yeah i saw it 🥹

user2: i want them together so bad

user10: you are going down in the history books

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thank you for reading!!! likes, feedback and reblogs are welcome!! massively appreciate all of the support on this little series. i am really enjoying it too

tag list from part 1: @yawn-zi @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @divagreymare @raizelchrysanderoctavius @ferakillia @stressed-cherry @sassyangel16 @mxdi0 @awritingtree @danielricciardoslut3 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @seasonswinter @rawr-123s-stuff @grussellsprout @belncaldern @ellelabelle @rafeyybabyy

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[zepskies]

Have you seen this https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP86CN7kx/? Since you do little headcanons of each character Jensen's played, what would their reactions be? Bonus if you could do Jensen too please?

Lol I'm not on TikTok much anymore, but this "hat on backwards, hand on the wall" trend is so cute and hilarious in reverse (the woman trying it out on her man). 😝 Love how she had to get up on a chair just to do it and still got him all flustered. 🤭

But as far as how Jackles characters would react...

HEADCANON: Turning the Tables

Pairings: Dean x Reader || Beau x Reader || Soldier Boy x Reader || Russell x Reader

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Sexy teasing, implied smut. Soldier Boy's got away from me a little bit lol

Dean Winchester

Dean's actually doing his due diligence in the library, flipping through a lore book for a case. There's a little stool nearby that Sam found for you when you need to reach the top shelves. A mischievous smile spreads across your face.

Sneaking up behind your boyfriend, you grab the stool and slide it over. Dean glances at you over his shoulder, but his eyebrows raise when you take the book out of his hands and shove it haphazardly back on the shelf.

"What? What's happening?" he says.

Biting your lip, you turn your baseball cap backward on your head, rest your elbow against the shelf above his head, and you draw Dean in with a hand on his cheek, sealing the deal with a slow, lusty kiss.

His furrowed brows of confusion relax a little. His hands find their way to your hips on reflex, grounding himself in the unfamiliar vantage point. When you eventually break away from his lips, you have to laugh at that half-frown, half-amused smile making your man look adorably confused.

"The hell's this?" he chuckles, glancing down at the stool, and how you're still towering over him with your tits in his face. (He doesn't hate it.) "You trying to pick me up, sweetheart?"

You stroke his prickly cheek with your thumb. "Did it work?"

It's his turn to grin, that devilish Dean grin that triggers a warning shiver down your spine. He gathers you up in his arms and picks you up from the stool, smirking even more at your squeal and the way you cling to his neck.

He carries you off to find that solid table in the War Room, finishing what you started.

Beau Arlen

"Are you gonna come down from there so we can hash this out?" Beau asks.

"No, I don't think so," you reply.

He sighs through his nose. "You really think that's wise, sweetheart?"

Your lips purse to hide your smile. You pause on the third rung of the stepladder, setting your paintbrush back in its bucket. Your husband stands there on the ground floor with his hands on his jean-clad hips, raising expectant brows.

You swipe a bead of sweat from your forehead, pushing your hair back when you adjust your baseball cap. Then you turn toward him. You lean over and rest your hand against the part of the wall that has yet to be painted, right above his head.

You grab his face with one hand and tilt his chin up to kiss you. Your lips swallow up his little sound of surprise, while your sensuous tongue lures him in, breaking down his authoritative resolve.

When you finally pull away, still holding his bearded cheeks between the press of your fingers, you find his slightly flustered face. Maybe even the start of a blush warming his skin. He clears his throat.

"I might be pregnant, but I'm not an invalid," you whisper against his lips, giving him one more kiss. "Now, you can let me paint this nursery in peace, or you can pick up a brush and help me. Your choice, Sheriff."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

The rhythmic pounding, timed with his grunts, a couple lines of sweat drawing down his neck, a fine sheen over every dip of flexing muscle, the lines of his back taut and slick...

This is the real reason you agreed to having a home gym built in the house.

You like watching your man work himself out, getting out his pent-up frustrations on the extra-fortified exercise equipment, instead of on the populace. You're mollified when he sets the barbell on the ground instead of tossing them this time, so the force of over 1,000 pounds doesn't crack the cement underneath the weight-absorbing mats.

Ben catches his breath, running slippery fingers through his damp hair and shoving the strands out of his eyes. He joins you by the dumbbell rack, looking amused at the little 8-pound weights you're using to do arm curls and squats.

"You gonna keep pretending to work out with those little baby doll weights?" he says, eying you in your tight yoga pants and fitted tank-top. He begins to unwind the sports tape from his right hand, first catching the end corner with his teeth. Then his left.

You snort. "Who's pretending? You're the one grunting like a gorilla over there. It's just you and me in here, old man. No need to throw your back out."

He shoots you a narrowed look, especially at that little smirk on your face.

"Oh, yeah? Watch it, sweetheart. This old man might just bend you over his fucking knee, see how many reps you can take," he says.

The smooth depths in his voice make you falter, your knees slightly wobbling on the last squat. Ben smirks. He leans against the wall while he watches you finish your exercise, grabbing your water bottle to refresh his thirst.

When you're done, you draw into his orbit so you can place the dumbbells back on the rack. He's still eyeing you with that lazy arrogance that somehow manages to get you hot and infuriated in equal measure. He always thinks he can get the last fucking word.

You grab the small towel out of his hand, the one he planned to mop up his sweat with, and you step up on the bench beside him. He watches you with some measure of surprise, but he doesn't stop you. Maybe you'll dote on him for a little bit, instead of running your fucking mouth as usual.

Planting your arm above his head, you give him what he wants. You slowly drag the towel across his forehead and down his cheek. But then you grab his chin, making him look up at your half-lidded eyes, and you tilt his head up for a kiss—deep, devouring, thorough.

His big hands grab onto your hips in a familiar iron hold, but his brows furrow. He's frowning when you pull away from his greedy lips. Only then does he truly notice the way you've basically cornered him against the wall, like he's the bitch in the steamy rom-com.

"The fuck is this?" he says gruffly.

You tease his bottom lip with a pointed finger.

"Nothing, sweetheart," you retort. You drop the towel, reach down, and slap his ass for good measure. "Now be a good boy and get me some water, would ya?"

Your smirk irritates him on sight, but it still makes his cock twitch.

His jaw ticks. His brow raises.

You bite your lip, knowing it's over. Or it's just fucking started.

He grabs you up before you can jump off the bench. You yelp and laugh and kick your feet, but he's already hauling you over his shoulder, his long, confident strides taking him out of the gym.

"Ben!" you squeal. Trying to get your balance, your nails bite fruitlessly into his shoulders through his sweaty shirt.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now, sweetheart. Time for the real fucking workout."

Just to hear that little squeal again, he smacks your ass hard enough to sting through your spandex, hard enough to make your pussy clench on nothing, already pulsing, warm and wet. You blush hotly.

Goddamn it.

Just this once, you'll let him get the last word.

Russell Shaw

"Damn it," you mutter.

You watch the nail fall to the ground and roll away from you. You're trying to put up a new picture frame in the bedroom, using your vanity chair as a stepping stool so you can reach.

"Baaabe!" you call out.

"Yeah!" Russell replies.

"Can you help me with this?"

When your boyfriend enters the bedroom, he raises a brow at the way you're leaning heavily against the wall with your ass sticking out. But the frame is perfectly positioned between your hands. A hammer is tucked under your left arm.

"I have this thing right where I want it, but I lost the nail. Think it went under the bed," you explain.

Russell hums and roams his eagle-eyed gaze across the hardwood floor. Eventually he finds the nail hidden under the dark abyss of your bed. He not only gives you the nail, but holds the frame for you while you mark the wall where the nail is going. Then you hammer it in, and you take the frame from Russell, flipping it around so you can hang it.

You adjust your baseball cap higher and smile at your handiwork.

"Perfect!"

Russell smiles too, more in surprise. It's a recent picture, a rare and special night: you, Russell, Dory, and Colter out to dinner together, celebrating the eldest Shaw's birthday. You thought it would be the right moment to mark your boyfriend officially moving in with you, albeit with what little belongings he has.

"You like it?" you ask him.

"Yeah, it's nice," he says. Though he becomes a little contemplative as he crosses his arms.

"What?" you ask.

"Well, maybe we should put it in the living room. Not sure I want my brother and sister watching us, uh, you know. Do our thing," he says, gesturing at the new king-sized bed.

An incredulous snort bursts out from you. "Are you serious?"

"What? Sweetheart, this is where the magic happens. We can't mess with that," Russell says slyly. One of his hands slips up the small of your back.

A giggle bubbles up in your throat. "You know what, you're right. My apologies."

You twist your hat backward and lean your elbow against the wall, just so you can dip down and lure your man into a kiss. Your hand travels across his bearded cheek, then tangles into his hair. His hands move steadily down to squeeze your ass, a short groan catching in his throat.

He grabs you up by the back of your thighs and all but swings you into his arms, startling a yelp out of you.

"Russ!" You cling to his shoulders, quickly wrapping your legs around his waist. "Wait, wait!"

You grab the picture frame and take it off the wall. It'll probably look better in the living room anyway. You manage to lay it safely on the dresser before Russell walks you to the bed.

"Time to break this sucker in," he says with a grin, all to the tune of you laughing when your back hits the plush mattress.

AN: lol this was a fun one! Sorry, I don't write RPF (straight up Jensen Ackles fanfic), but I hope you liked these HCs! 💜

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Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Beau Arlen Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy + Russell Tag List (Part 1)

@kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @waynes-multiverse

@mostlymarvelgirl @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester

@deans-spinster-witch @sanscas @hobby27 @kaleldobrev @spnwoman

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat @pieandmonsters @globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean

@lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @deansbbyx @chernayawidow

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @twinkleinadiamondsky

@my-stories-vault @0ccvltism @rizlowwritessortof @cookiechipdough @mrsjenniferwinchester

@fromcaintodean @k-slla @jackles010378 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused

@mrlonelycat @deans-daydream @leigh70 @aylacavebear @kmc1989

@siampie @rubyvhs @winchestergirl2 @winchester-whiskey

[yesimwriting]

Normalcy

A/n deadpool and wolverine drabble bc the movie was a little too good

Summary: Still reeling from the loss of your powers, you struggle to hold it together inside the TVA's void. Thankfully, you find an uncharacteristically peaceful distraction in your old friend Deadpool and in the wolverine variant who wants nothing to do with you.

Warnings/info: reader is a (former) avenger (bc i love the avengers <3), reader is described as having similar powers to wanda and having trained with her (bc i love wanda), implied beginning of an accidental love triangle if you squint ig, maybe too much lore for a drabble (?), me writing for characters for the first time so be nice 😭

----

The lines etched into your palms do not bend and twist to spell out secrets, there are no messages worth decoding pressed into your skin. Knowing this is not enough to stop you from staring at your hands like if you could just think about it hard enough...

"There you are, Peanut." The words are so warm you're briefly pulled out of your internal angst. You straighten, head lifting slightly and arms crossing in front of your chest. "Thought I lost you."

Wade continues forward until he's directly in front of you. He pauses, watching you with an unabashed openness that you'd only ever allow him to get away with. "Kidding," he tries, "I'd never lose you."

The familiarity of the casual affection eases you further, the corner of your mouth tugging itself upwards. "I was like 15 feet away from you."

"Sorry for caring." It's his go to comeback when it comes to defending the displays of affection you have the audacity to find overdramatic.

You blink, lips parting despite your lack of response. The world has felt a little slower these last few days, moving at a pace that leaves you with no choice but to reflect. Maybe it's the void.

"Hey," his voice feels a little flatter without his usual humor, "Are you okay?"

You let out a breath, shocked by this new low. Sure, you've known Wade for awhile and you've both seen each other through plenty of stages, but he's never felt the need to attempt a genuine pep talk for you. He's never struck you as the pep talk sort...for anyone. Do you really seem that off?

It's bad enough that your identity crisis has stolen the abilities that would have helped your trio pop out of the void with no real fanfare, you can't also make your insecurities everyone else's problem. "Yeah." The response doesn't feel convincing, but with Wade wearing the Deadpool mask, it's hard to be sure. "Just y'know...we're in a void and our reality might be ripped apart, so I've been better."

He's still watching you with a level of focus that's unnerving. You've gotten used to his familiarity, his lack of care for personal space or the social rules around watching people. "You're doing it again."

"Seducing you with my ability to have a heart to heart while looking this good in my suit?"

You sigh in an attempt to dismiss your slight smile. Happy or sad, superhero that once fought Thanos or regular person that can't regulate their emotions, Wade always treats you the same. "The staring thing. You said you'd stop."

"No, you said I'd stop." The correction is a return to what you're used to. He takes a step towards you, his proximity now forcing you to tilt your chin up slightly to look him in the eye. "I'd never promise to look at you less."

"Comforting."

He angles his chin downwards, making the limited distance feel more significant. "I thought so." For a moment, he's quiet in a way that doesn't feel very him. "Are you sure you're...good?" His hesitance is another reminder that this is far out of his element. "I know this is your first..." Wade's rarely careful, only ever treading lightly on the one subject you never want to bring. "Outing, since..."

"I lost my powers."

Wade goes quiet again. If this conversation is as inevitable as it seems, a part of you wishes it could have come up elsewhere. Maybe in your shared apartment, definitely without the mask so you could better interpret his reactions. It's not often you keep secrets from him, but the hollowness you feel knowing the part of yourself you've lost isn't something you can just share.

It's more than just about missing your party tricks, it's about losing a part of yourself. They were all that was left of your time with the Avengers, of what Wanda taught you before Westview.

He lets out a breath. "They're not lost." You raise your eyebrows slightly, giving him a look meant to caution him against sympathetic optimism. "We don't know that."

He seems so happy to be able to tell you that there's no proof that any and all magical abilities have been flushed out of your system, you don't have it in you to remind him that that's mainly because you have no one to ask. What's left of the Avengers and your government connections either barely understand what you were or are untrustworthy.

"Educated wish?"

His mask muffles a slight gasp. You press your lips together in an attempt to resist smiling. "The last one worked out great."

Your eyebrows pull together skeptically, a reminder that the two of you are still technically in the middle of the last educated wish he attempted to speak into existence. "Didn't Wolverine stab you multiple times--"

He cuts you off with a heavy sigh. "If I took getting stabbed personally, do you know where we'd be?"

In a reality where Wade holds grudges over those kinds of things, you wouldn't be anything to each other, except maybe enemies. You've never pulled a knife or sword or anything sharp on him, but when you first met he did startle you before you had a total grip on your abilities, which resulted in him getting thrown through a wall.

"I never stabbed you."

His hand finds your shoulder. You let him drag his thumb against against the fabric of your suit. "And that's how I know you really love me, Peanut."

You roll your eyes in an attempt to dislodge the warmth that settles in the pit of your stomach. The last thing Wade needs is encouragement. "I mean, I do go around stabbing everyone I like less than you."

He lets out a sound that feels like a scoff attempting to mask itself as a dry laugh. "There's the sense of humor that'd hurt me if I knew you less."

"Well--"

He squeezes your shoulder, "I know you." Okay. You'll let him have this one because maybe there's some truth to what he's saying. "I'm going to go check on the car, because a fucking Honda Odyssey would break down on us for no reason before we got to the fight."

"For no reason or because of the bitch fight you and Wolverine had in it?"

There's a beat of silence in which all you can do is try to imagine Wade's expression behind the mask. You'd like to think that he's smiling. "Oh, Pumpkin." He sighs as if you've stumbled onto saying something terribly naive. "It wasn't a bitch fight, it was awesome, and probably turned you on."

You deadpan a flat, "You caught me." He hasn't let go of your shoulder, and a part of you is oddly glad for it. "I'd offer you help with the car, but..."

You're self aware enough to acknowledge your strengths and weaknesses, car maintenance being the latter. Wade doesn't even let you get your oil changed by yourself anymore.

"I've met you." He squeezes your shoulder again, the gesture weirdly stabilizing. "Give me 15 minutes to actually look at the car and then I'm all yours."

Wade lets go of you, his arm falling to his side. "Aren't you always?"

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. "You're making me feel cheaper than my usual rate, Peanut."

You smile as he turns away. Things are always a little easier with Wade. It's more than just distraction, it's his way of making things feel a little lighter. You're not sure what to do with your 15 minutes of solitude to avoid falling back into self pity.

You originally broke away from the group of void trapped heroes under the premise of needing fresh air, but even here, with the expansive, sparsely wooded area at your disposal, the oxygen in your lungs still feels flat. If Wanda were around, you'd be able to ask if she felt the strangeness of this other plane of existence as well. At least then you'd know if your dislike of the void is only mental or an actual sign of life from your abilities.

You begin to walk forward, hoping to shed all thoughts of both your former self and the eeriness of this other world. There are other people you could talk to you. The others have been polite enough, or at the very least, passionate enough to be talked into facing Cassandra.

The trees you've been wandering through grow in their sparsity, the edge of the woods revealing a patch of grassland highlighted by a fire's warm glow. You squint past the tree line, attempting to make out the figure sitting in front of the flames. Wolverine.

Secluded from the group and staring at a campfire. Surprising. Though, you guess it's not fair to judge him too harshly, you left the group to brood as well.

He doesn't like you, doesn't know you well enough to dislike you, but it took him no time to find a way to get around that. Maybe it's your proximity to Wade. You've done your best to take his hostility as un-personally as possible. You've seen enough people you really care about go through the guilt ridden, fallen hero thing to know how deep that kind of hurt runs.

You've never known a Wolverine or Logan Howlett variant, so you have no way of knowing what he was like before. Sure, you've heard stories, but you're also overly aware of how the media can twist and turn those stories to fit their narrative. One day, a superhero is the world's greatest protector, and the next their the greatest menace. Maybe he was always a little dark, or maybe he wasn't.

"Don't just stand there." The gruffness of his voice startles you more than it should.

Heat crawls up your neck, a part of you more embarrassed than you should be. You weren't lurking, or at the very least, you weren't trying to.

You sigh as you abandon the safety of the tree line. "Sorry." He turns his head away from the fire. "I wasn't--I was just walking."

He's quiet for such a long moment you almost expect him to not respond at all. "Without your shadow?"

Wow, only a halfhearted dig at Wade. You must have caught him in a good mood. "Friend, and he's looking at the car. I'd be looking at the car with him, but I figured the odds for tomorrow are bad enough as is."

Another uneasy stretch of silence. "Yeah." There's not much, if anything, to take from the comment. "If you're here to convince me to go with you guys tomorrow--"

"I'm not." It's an honest answer. You had been walking around aimlessly and happened to stumble onto him. "I'm not into the pep talk thing." He scoffs, the sound lacking in genuine aggression. "What?"

He lifts his gaze from the fire, his eyes settling on some point past the horizon. "I thought you were an Avenger."

You're not sure what bugs you more, the fact that he's so sure he has you all figured out or the implication that the Avengers spend their days encouraging each other instead of actually doing things. What the Avengers are--or maybe were--is so much more than that.

You step forward, further separating you from the cluster of trees. "The Avengers are about a lot more than that."

His attention briefly shifts onto you before returning to the flames. If the silence is meant to be dismissive, it doesn't feel that way. There's a patience there that doesn't suit his usual brooding.

"Do you care if I sit?" The question is forced out before you can overthink it. "I promise no inspirational speeches or small talk."

After a beat, he dips his chin downwards in a nod so subtle you would have missed it if you had been watching him any less carefully. You're more relieved by his acceptance than you should be, your feet carrying you towards the campfire.

You sit at a polite distance, knees bent in front of you. His silence seems to push against the void's sluggishness. Maybe the issue has been you fighting this world's momentum.

"Why are you with him?" You're not sure if you're more shocked by the question or the break in silence. When all you can do is blink, he continues, "You seem--" He subtly clears his throat, as if struggling to admit this next part, "Nice, normal."

Oh. If you had been focused, you likely would have got what he meant without the clarification. "I know Wade's a lot--especially to you." You place a hand against your knee, thinking about that very specific safety you only feel with Wade. You don't have to try at being anything, or worry about earning your keep in any capacity. "But once you get to know him, he's a good friend."

You look away from the fire pit in time to see the skeptical look Logan throws in your direction. "I'm serious." His expression doesn't change. "He um--after I stopped being important to everyone else, he still liked me ." This isn't the conversation you wanted to stumble onto, especially not with someone who you barely know and actively dislikes you. "That sounds kind of dumb, but the point is, he's loyal."

He turns his head back towards the fire. "You always call him by his name." The observation is so stiff you'd consider it hesitant if it came from anyone else.

You've never thought much about Wade's name. Part of it is familiarity, and the rest of it is a force of habit. Even when you were with the Avengers, you preferred using actual names when off duty. It's easier to separate the mask from the person beneath it when you make an active effort to.

You shrug. "I'm not into off duty superhero names, Wolverine."

He falls silent again. You concentrate on the flames, the way they illuminate the world around you. "You can--" He cuts himself off, attention never wavering from the fire. "You can call me Logan, if you want."

An unsteady warmth roots itself in your chest. You didn't expect any sort of kinship between you and the wolverine Wade stole from some other timeline beyond him occasionally accepting your attempts at creating peace between him and Wade.

"Okay," you focus on keeping your tone measured, avoiding any emotions that might startle him, "Logan."

There's no tension in the quiet that follows. You let the minutes pass until you're certain that Wade's waiting for an interruption disguised as an attempt to help. "I should go, Wade's probably waiting for me."

You push yourself to stand. You let yourself glance at him one last time before turning towards the trees you emerged from.

[bumblehoneybee]

Hello!! I really loved your Curly Drabble ("Easy Smiles"). I was wondering if I could get a (kind of?) continuation of that? Maybe we can see the types of things Reader notices about Curly? And maybe Anya/Daisuke/Swansea tease them for having eyes for the captain? Thank you so much!!! <3

Easy On The Eyes

A soft poke to the shoulder drew you from your daze.

"You're staring." Anya said, a teasing smile on her face.

"Hm?" You hummed, blinking back into reality slow. Still, you refocused on where your gaze was, a remembered why you were so lost in thought.

That god forsaken captain of yours.

You weren't so obtuse as to not admit that he was handsome. He was, and his the slight goofiness he could carry made him charming. Case in point, the smile he tried to keep up as Daisuke showed him his game and rambled on about the lore. Something you all had been subjected to, but now it was finally the captain's turn.

And watching him struggle to understand just what Daisuke was explaining to him made for good entertainment. Curly could be awfully expressive when not focused on the job at hand. His nose wrinkled, brows furrowed, only to lift up with shock at the more nonsensical parts of the lore being explained to him.

Hell, sometimes he even cocked his head to the side, like a puppy. It was terribly cute, and your pride wasn't so strong as to hold you back from saying it.

"What can I say," you shrugged to Anya, watching her silly grin grow, "he's easy on the eyes. We don't got a lot to look at on this ship," you made sure to wiggle your brows at Anya, "and if I stared at you any longer, you'd burst into flames."

Anya shoved your face back, laughing. "Oh, shut up!"

You giggled against her palm, pleased to see that not only did the compliment land, but Anya also had forgotten about your staring problem.

"Hey!" The cry was your only warning before arms encircled your head. "Don't hurt my favorite crewmate, Anya! You're supposed to heal, you know? Not harm!"

"Yeah, Anya," you pouted, doing your best to ignore the blue eyes you could see watching your little act, "you know I'm fragile."

"They're baby!"

"I'm baby, Anya."

Anya, well aware she would not win the fight, raised her hands in surrender. She stood up, stuck her tongue out at Daisuke and you, then trotted off out of the lounge with a simple goodbye to Curly.

Curly, who was now grinning at you and Daisuke.

"I thought I was your favorite crew member." He said, faking his own pout as Daisuke hugged you tighter. It was cute. Cute cute cute. Made you want to kiss him- who said that?

"You're captain," Daisuke said, thankfully not needing your help to keep the banter going, "so I'm, like. . . legally required to say you are."

That earned the boy a bark of laughter from you. "Ha! Don't say it like you hate him!"

"I don't!" Daisuke protested quickly. "I-I didn't mean it like that, it's just that, y'know, Cap has the ability to fire us, and I don't wanna be stranded in the middle of space and have to call my mom and tell her. . ."

He went on, but it was hard to listen fully with the weight of those blue, blue eyes still on you. Curly smiled at you, obviously also not listening to Daisuke's rambling. You smiled back, bashful.

Yeah. He was real easy on the eyes. If only you had the courage to tell him so.

[starvales]

wdym i have a head dent?!

narumi gen / gn!spouse!reader

synopsis : "narumi gen is highly respected in his own division, with every officer following him with determination and every platoon leader dyeing their hair like him as a sign of respect."

content : only crack, fluff, gender neutral reader, reader works in jakdf, a few flashbacks, a little bit more on the lore side, the word beautiful is used to describe the reader, shinonome's age is just a guess, mostly shinonome pov, narumi should have his own warning fr, vice captain and platoon leaders are tired.

words : 1.7k

a/n : you can’t convince me that this man hasn’t went out on a mission with a head dent at least once-

part two of 'a cheers to our youth'

She remembers years ago, newly turned twenty, and nervously standing in front of your desk, arms crossed behind her back, posture rigid.

This would be the first time she will be meeting you in person, rather than listening to your demands through a communicator.

Now is the time to make the best lasting first impression. To prove that she is capable of handling things much bigger than an ordinary officer.

"Thank you very much for deeming me worthy of a rank review! I will not let you down!"

"Don't thank me for something as trivial as just a chance of a promotion. I know you'll do well in the future, Shinonome. The person you really need to impress is the First Captain."

You do not look up from your paperwork, and though many will see this as quite cold and rude, she's heard from numerous people that you simply do not have the time to entertain anything or anyone else within working hours.

The fact that you even spared a one-on-one meeting with her was an honour, and Shinonome will forever respect your dedication. Unfortunately, her lips move to articulate her thoughts before she could stop herself.

"I aspire to contribute to the Defence Force as much as you and Captain Narumi, Head! Please wait for me!" She slaps a hand over her mouth.

Stopping your editing to the paper before you, you look up at her in surprise at her outburst. Shinonome is swift in attempting to correct her statement.

"Uhm...! I did not mean it in that way, Head. A-Apologies for speaking out of line. I'll commence however many push ups-"

"Hahaha!" You made no move to hide your mirth and Shinonome does not know whether to be concerned or relieved at your reaction.

She curses at herself. Dammit, well done, Rin. You definitely made a lasting first impression alright. Great, now Head is gonna see you as a clown vying for their hand.

"No need for the push ups. I appreciate your passion, Shinonome. However, I am already married, so I will have to decline." It seems that you will not let her forget this. How cruel...

Wiping a forming tear at the edge of your eye, you sigh lightheartedly. "It's a good thing that you didn't say that to your Captain or else his head would blow up bigger than it already is!"

By now, the officer is bright red at her blunder before your words catch up to her. Wait, married...? Weren't you only a year or two older than her? Is she already falling behind her peers in yet another department?!

And though she does not say her thoughts aloud this time, you seem to be able to read her befuddled face too well. You hold up your hand and lift two fingers up like a peace sign, a soft smile adorning your own face.

At that moment, Shinonome realises that you are much friendlier in person compared to when you are communicating with Captain Narumi.

During missions, it was like listening to dogs fighting.

"I am two or three years older than you, I think, If I remember reading your files correctly. I just got married really young so don't worry too much about finding love or whatnot for now. Live in the present and all that." You wave off casually.

"If I may be so bold to ask..." Shinonome only now notices the metal band that you adorn around your fourth finger and shyly looks at her own twiddling bare fingers.

"Hm? Go ahead." Your focus is still on her.

"What age did you get married?"

"Eighteen."

"?!"

You burst back into laughter when Shinonome's composed and seemingly nonchalant persona crumbles and she is left there dumbfounded.

A feint 'don't mind' playfully slips out as you excuse yourself to deliver your now finished papers and pat her shoulder on your way to the door.

Shinonome finds that you will truly not let her live down her moment in your office.

Even months later, after she was proven competent and promoted to Platoon Leader. Be it during a mission, passing each other in the corridor, or in a meeting.

("Platoon Leader Shinonome, please wait for me in my office after this." / "Shinonome, please wait for the arrival of new equipment sent over by...." / "Ah, Rin. Thanks for waiting for me, traffic was atrocious today!" All of those interactions being followed by a knowing smirk.)

Despite this, the two of you have grown closer, more casual. Dare she say that the two of you were even friends.

She learnt that you are married to the Narumi Gen and that you have known him since you were children (she had always assumed those endearments he torments you with during missions were a joke).

Learns you prefer drinking iced coffee rather than hot.

You only wear shoes you can very easily slip on.

You like to make edits to documents using a purple pen rather than the standard red.

You personalise your lab coats by stitching your initials and operator number to the cuffs (swearing her to secrecy, you tell her that you also stitch Captain Narumi's initials, but instead at the cuffs, it's hidden inside the pocket over where your heart is).

In spite of your seemingly intimidating work front, you are still very much human.

(Years down the line, Shinonome has well learnt that you were never scary, or aloof, or anything of the sort. She guesses your role in the Defence Force just forces you to seem like it, given your importance.)

Shinonome also learns that you and Narumi dye each other's hair.

"Oh, this?" You motion to the groupings of fresh silver highlights in your hair. The Platoon Leader had to deliver some documents and noticed the change and decided to compliment you on it, it fits you. She asks if you had it done professionally.

It looks really nice... maybe she would suit something similar?

"No, I didn't go to a salon. You think I have the money for that sort of thing?" Yes, yes you do, Head.

"I've been dyeing Captain Loser's hair since we were teenagers, and he decided while we were touching up his roots that it's been a while since we were matching and wouldn't leave me alone otherwise. I didn't get to sleep until two last night!"

You say it with such disdain that if she were a new recruit, she would think that you meant it.

But Shinonome knew you better than that, because you could never hide the adoration that shone through your irises, or the fondness in your smile.

Perhaps, one day, she will meet someone that would elicit the same reaction when talking about her...

"He wanted to do my hair without my help so now there's a chunk of under layer hair that's all silver instead of just highlights. If you look even closer, you might see just bleached bits that he forgot to colour! He botched it!"

She would be lying if she were to say she wasn’t jealous.

You are beautiful and intelligent and considerate and sincere. And though you are not physically strong, you show your strength in a plethora of other ways, your contributions named on newspapers displayed along your office walls are evident of that. Your strategies and tactics have led many to victory and the Eastern Defence Force is as strong as ever.

Truly, you and Narumi Gen are forces to be reckoned with and Shinonome could not be more thankful to be so in reach.

She does not realise she was staring at you for so long until you speak up.

"Ah! Would you like me to do your hair sometime?"

"Oi, Dumbass. Stop trying to act cool in front of the newbies."

Narumi, dramatically posing solemnly atop a fresh kaiju corpse, tilts his head back to face the flying drone's camera and shows off a smirk at the sound of your voice.

"Well, if it isn't my darling dearest, everything okay at Comms?" He waves lazily, but this seems to irk you more.

"You were playing Underwatch, when I told you not to, weren't you." You frame it as a statement, rather than a question.

Everyone in Operations and Officers around Narumi watches as their Captain's jaw drops to the floor, eyes bulging out of his skull.

He is quick to grab at the drone and shakes it wildly, as if it was a person he was trying to gouge information out of. The propellers are swift to turn off, you knew this kind of reaction was coming from miles away.

"Who snitched?!" His face is all up on the camera.

At this point, Narumi knew that it was of his best interest to admit the truth rather than make up excuses on the spot, especially if you used that tone.

But how could you have possibly found out? He even made sure to download a special VPN so you couldn't track his gameplay! Was it Hasegawa? It had to have been Hasegawa. Damn you, Hasegawa-

"Your galactic-sized head dent gave it away. Do you not have enough sense to at least fix it before you leave for duty?" You sigh on the other end of the mic, disappointment evident in your admonishment.

"Huh?"

The drone starts up again and Narumi is forced to let go as it turns to face ninety degrees away from him and projects a hologram of himself, but from his side.

Lo and behold, all of the Captain's hair is sticking straight up, as per usual when he is in combat, except for the areas at the centre of his skull, a clear band of hair matted down with a sheen of presumably sweat.

"Pfft, I hope the news articles capture this very flattering side of you! 'What a loser,' they'll all say." You do your best to cover up a snicker. The drone is now happily emoting like an actual person, tilting side to side as if it were someone's head, taunting him.

"NO!!" Narumi is on his knees, frantically trying to fix his hair while maniacal laughter resonates from the floating device.

From a distance, a certain Platoon Leader watches on, irked. Out of all of the people to admire for the power they bring to the Defence Force, out of all the people to strive to be like, why did it have to be these two?

[ryuu242]

[Ryōshū stuff: again]

Question. Find the similarity between the moment when your mother goes to the parents’ meeting and, on her way home, tells you, “I need to talk to you,” leaving you gnawed by fear like a dog on a bone for those 30 minutes while she’s still out.

And. The scene of a sinner realizing it’s next on the platter—while it’s still lying on that very dish.

Whatever your answer, you can keep it to yourself or drop a comment below. But for now, welcome to the show: “I Play the Analysis Game: The Lore Pieces of Ryōshū Released in Canto 8, Part 1.”

(If any of the theories here are wrong, the worst would just me being wrong… and you still get something fun to read.)

[for this part i have to read on both JP and EN TL of the game to make sure they aren't too different, or else i will more fond on JP TL]

「蜘蛛の巣は恋しいか？まあ恋しいわけあらへんよな。俺っちも行くたびに気ぃ悪くなるし。」 “You miss the Spider’s Nest? Nah, course not. I'd sick by just visiting that damn place.” Spider’s Nest / Kumo no Su / 蜘蛛の巣 — For some reason, the English version chose to render this as “Spider’s House”, which gives off orphanage vibes. Like we’re about to meet a gaggle of mini Ryōshū living inside wwwww (insert spider dance BGM)

Anyway, we can temporarily refer to the Spider’s Nest as Ryōshū’s “home.” A not-so-safe one. In fact, it’s so messed up that even a Capo from the Thumb admits the place makes him feel sick.

“Heebie-jeebies” is a term used to describe a mix of anxiety, fear, unease, or nausea.

and 悪くなる (wakunaru) means "to feel worse / to become unwell," which is why I went with "feel sick"

「あとでまた顔でも見せやぁ。あんとき���たいに、もういっぺん刀の握り方ちゃんと教えたるさかい。」 “Swing by later, yeah? I’ll teach you again how to properly hold a sword—just like the old days.”

「いんやぁ、そんでも・・・あんなかじゃ俺っちが一番格好よく斬る方法を教えてやったやろ？」 “Wait, didn’t I already show you the slickest way to slash someone back then?”

We’ll set aside how effective his “training” was (and whether he’s the one who got her into smoking). But out of everyone present, Lei Heng is the only one genuinely happy to see Ryōshū again—so happy, in fact, that he went easy on someone just because she showed up.

Now, remember: in a syndicate like the Thumb, where hierarchy and protocol are law, talking to a superior without permission is a massive deal. Just a few examples from Library of Ruina:

"When a subordinate dares to speak without a superior’s permission—cut off his lower jaw.” – Dennis

Katriel asked Dennis to cut out her tongue for upsetting Angela.

A Kurokumo clan head lost an arm (mercifully, thanks to sottocapo Kalo) just for apologizing on behalf of an unruly subordinate and asking a question out of turn.

So when Lei Heng only took one arm from Nangong Xianhe's young master, that was him being “merciful.” And that was after said young master’s servant got his hand shot off and tongue removed for stepping out of line just because "seein' a friendly face put me in a good mood."

Even looking at a superior could bring consequences, as Faust gently reminded Ryōshū. Yet Ryōshū made eye contact with Lei Heng—and Lei Heng jokingly called her out for not even saying hi:

「お〜い！目ぇ合ったやろ、挨拶でもしろや！」 “Oi! Our eyes met, didn’t they? Least you could do is say hello!”

This interaction leaves us with two main theories:

Lei Heng wasn’t a capo yet when he trained Ryōshū—or maybe he hadn’t joined the Thumb at that time. Now, their ranks have reversed.

He was already a Capo, but something happened—possibly Ryōshū joining Limbus Company—that significantly lowered her usual standard (or her power).

One of those must be true. Because otherwise, we’d be witnessing a full-on verbal beatdown from our temperamental artist, not some playful prodding from a capo to a muzzled mutt. This isn’t a true “conversation” anyway—it’s completely one-sided, thanks to the Thumb's law: don’t speak unless spoken to.

Then again, maybe Ryōshū just doesn’t want to talk to Lei Heng, or the power imbalance has always existed between them. But hey—you didn’t click on this post just for lukewarm takes, did you?

Another detail: Faust reminds Ryōshū of a promise she made before joining the company, which remind us that moment in Canto III when Vergilius reminded Don Quixote of their deal on the fateful day of her recruitment. It’s subtle, but may imply Faust personally recruited Ryōshū, just like she did with Yi Sang.

Moving on, this next line hints at something foreboding: one day, Ryōshū may be taken back.

「肩の力抜きぃや。お前さんを連れに来たわけやないし、あんときみたいに、なんか教えに来たわけでもないさかい。」 “Relax your shoulders. I didn’t come here to drag you back. And I’m not here to teach you a lesson like last time either.”

(“Teach a lesson” — in this context — also implies beating someone up. Classic Asian parenting energy.)

Most people hate getting smacked around, but in Ryōshū’s case—someone who practically breakdances along the boundary of sadomasochism—it’s a bit more... layered. If Lei Heng thinks that’s what sets her on edge, then it must have been that bad.

His surprise at not knowing Ryōshū had disappeared might suggest:

Ryōshū ran away. The Spider’s Nest didn’t like that and may have sent people after her.

Lei Heng, who only visits the Nest occasionally, isn’t really interested in dragging her back—and doesn’t feel like wasting his breath on her either.

His tone implies Ryōshū is fully aware she’s on borrowed time—that someone might come collect her—and she clearly doesn’t like that. Nor does she like Lei Heng, considering the entire “conversation” is him monologuing while her only line is yelling at Faust to shut up.

(Spoiler: Faust didn’t shut up. And frankly? We should be grateful she didn’t.)

「オメェのガキ、 まだあの家におるやろ。ちゃうか?」 "That brat of yours is still in that house, right? Or not?"

The word "ガキ" or "brat" in English is usually used for a boy or a rowdy, misbehaving child. That’s why I’m bringing this word to the dissection table—because it typically implies two things:

The child in question might be a boy.

The child might be really bratty, just like their parent.

It immediately feels wrong if we think of this “gaki” as Yoshihide’s pitiful daughter. Because clearly the tone and nuance of this word do not match the way the work builds the image of that girl. Now, Yoshihide’s daughter clearly isn’t described that way, but her pet monkey? That does suit the word perfectly.

"Each time he came to the Lord’s palace, he wore a clove-dyed hunting garment and a floppy eboshi on his head, but he had a vulgar appearance and his lips, too red for his age, had an unsettling bestial quality. I do not know for sure the cause of this red colour. Some said he had the habit of licking his paintbrush. Others, more slanderous, compared his appearance and gait to those of a monkey and nicknamed him Saruhide"

それが大殿様の御邸へ参ります時には、よく丁字染の狩衣に揉烏帽子をかけて居りましたが、人がらは至つて卑しい方で、何故か年よりらしくもなく、唇の目立つて赤いのが、その上に又気味の悪い、如何にも獣めいた心もちを起させたものでございます。中にはあれは画筆を舐めるので紅がつくのだなどゝ申した人も居りましたが、尤もそれより口の悪い誰彼は良秀の立居振舞が猿のやうだとか申しまして、猿秀と云ふ諢名までつけた事がございました。

--------------------------------------------

"The Prince, the Lord’s young son, who was at the time in the age of mischievousness, named the monkey Yoshihide. The monkey’s gestures were amusing indeed, and everyone in the palace laughed at the animal. If this mockery had been all, things would not have been that bad for the monkey, but each time it climbed up the pine tree in the garden or soiled the mats in the Prince’s bedroom, everyone chased him, shouting, ‘Yoshihide, Yoshihide,’ to tease the poor beast."

すると何かの折に、丹波の国から人馴れた猿を一匹、献上したものがございまして、それに丁度戯盛　りの若殿様が、良秀云ふ名を御つけになりました。唯でさへその猿の容子が可笑しい所へ、かやうな名がついたのでございますから、御邸中誰一人笑はないものはございません。それも笑ふばかりならよろしうございますが、面白半分に皆のものが、やれ御庭の松に上つたの、やれ曹司の畳をよごしたのと、その度毎に、良秀々々と呼び立てゝは、兎に角いぢめたがるのでございます。 — Hell Screen, Chapter 2

Fusion dances between characters aren’t new now—we’ve already had Linton Edgar, who combines the features of blond, sickly Linton Heathcliff. So, the idea of Yoshihide’s daughter and her monkey being thrown into the same melting pot to create a single character isn’t that far-fetched. The personification of an animal, or the animalization of a human, is a familiar motif in Japanese literature – especially when associated with the image of hell, punishment, or karma.

Of course, it could also just be Lei Heng’s way of talking. But again, what’s the point of reading an analysis if we’re going to ignore details that might be exploitable?

「う~ん、ちゃうんか? もうおらんのか? なんかあったんかいな。 俺っちはそっちの事情はよく分からんくてな。けど、何かあったんは確かっぽいな ?」 "Hmm? I got it wrong? They’re not there anymore? Guess something happened, huh. I don’t really know what’s going on over there. But seems like something definitely went down, yeah?"

So, something did happen at the Spider’s Nest—some event that caused that “brat” of Ryōshū’s to no longer be there. It’s also very likely that this very event led to Ryōshū leaving the Spider’s Nest herself.

If Ryōshū had lost a child (or some other beloved creature that was considered a child), and that animal was a monkey, then Lei Heng's use of the word "gaki" would be both an insult and a dig at the pain.

Or perhaps the "gaki" was no longer human, but had transformed into something else – an embodiment of guilt, karma, or obsession, which Ryōshū could not shake off the past.

Lei Heng’s tone and word choice make it sound like he’s bullying a child. And honestly? It doesn’t seem like it’s the first time. Their teacher-student relationship might’ve always been this one-sided.

This is also the moment he hits Ryōshū’s nerve. She nearly drew her sword if Faust hadn’t chimed in to spare our eardrums with another 5–30 Ultra Pro Max versions of Ryōshū’s wrath.

The only thing Ryōshū seems to feel when facing Lei Heng is a mix of rage and panic (焦りと怒り). This is why have to check other TL as well and English versions—the English oddly decided to go with “anxious.”

The English translation of “anxious” is a bit soft and doesn’t capture the danger of Ryōshū losing control of her emotions. Ryōshū is like a ticking time bomb here.

Saude might’ve sent Sinclair to keep both her and Heathcliff in check, but in this case, it’s Faust who had to intervene—twice—because if Sinclair, by some miracle, tried to stop her, he’d probably end up as a seven-piece chicken nugget.

"Ryōshū-san, now is not yet the time."

Why Faust? Because she seems to be the one who’s made a direct pact with Ryōshū, and also the only one who knows everything about the sinners’ pasts. That’s why she knows exactly what to do.

Let’s be real—when someone’s got deep beef with another person over past events, and then some random third party who knows nothing tries to step in, it’s only going to backfire. Or worse—it’ll throw fuel on the fire.

「次はお前さんたちのオヤジの話でもしようやないか、ヨシヒデ!」 "Next time, let’s chat about your daddies, shall we, Yoshihide?"

Another namedrop just like in Canto 7 for both Sancho and Baoyu, but it still doesn’t take the edge off the shock from the previous line.

お前さんたちのオヤジ — "your daddies."

Yes, you heard that right — plural. Not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine she'd have more than one dad. Is this… LGBT Company?/jk

But there’s something even more noteworthy here. A lot of people interpret Ryōshū as someone in a parental role — in fact, most people do, even non-fans. But have you ever stopped to think: What if Ryōshū is also someone’s child?

— Intervallo IV: Murder on the WARP Express

— Lobotomy Red Eyes E.G.O Uptie Story

— Canto VIII episode 11

From those quotes, we can tell that Ryōshū despises — or at least deeply distrusts — controlling parents. You can picture her life being smothered by overbearing fathers forcing their ideals onto her, burying her under expectations, demanding she follow the future they envisioned.

Judging by that line from Canto VIII Episode 11, it’s possible that Ryōshū was raised to reach some high position — whether that was to become “the greatest painter under heaven” or even... a lord as i mentioned before from the word "領主" (Ryōshu) — Lord.

Speaking of that, we should talk about her name, which is a whole messy process on its own.

If you’ve followed me for long time, you know that the inspiration for “Hell Screen” (Jigokuhen) came from 絵仏師良秀 (Ebusshi Ryōshū), a character from the Uji Shūi Monogatari.

And according to official sources, Ryōshū here is based on Jigokuhen. But let’s be honest — she’s not just from Jigokuhen, right? All three characters — Ebusshi Ryōshū, Yoshihide, and Ryōshū — share the same kanji for their name: 良秀 (Ryōshū / Yoshihide).

Originally, in Uji Shūi Monogatari, 良秀 was read as Ryōshū. Later, Akutagawa came along and read it as Yoshihide. And now, with the release of this Canto, it loops back again — Ryōshū becomes Yoshihide once more.

Anyway, I’m not trying to play ship-theory here, but if we’re talking about who’s the worse father, Ebusshi Ryōshū is way worse than Yoshihide.

I mean, look at it this way — one dad abandons his wife and child in a burning building and watches it like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, totally unmoved. The other dad suffers seeing his daughter burn, only to suddenly light up with joy a few seconds later like she hadn’t just turned into a charcoal brisket.

One’s bad. The other’s horrifically bad. So between “a bad dad” and “a worse dad,” they’re both still bad dads.

With all that in mind, we can tentatively guess that Ryōshū’s “daddies” — the ones Lei Heng referred to — include none other than Ebusshi Ryōshū, since at this point, the only person who out-awfuls Yoshihide is him.

And based on Lei Heng’s promise to “chat about them next time,” I fear we’ll be seeing more of these dads again. Which means we’ll be back with Lore Dissection: Part 2.

[pazziville]

pazzi roman empire list pt. 3

-> previous part

paige with an azzi shrine beside her bed

montana summer trip 2024 - their chair setup

paige's recruitment videos for azzi to uconn

their national park trip

borrowing/matching of clothes pt. 5

clingy babies

full photo of montana trip

february 2018

paige support azzi in one of her hs games

workout together + butt slap + with their son stewie

azzi liking this pazzi edit on instagram

infamous lebron live

their quarantine training yt video

their concern for each other >>>

hand placement

azzi teasing paige

summer 2021

bench shenanigans

paige sleeping with stewie on azzi's bed (presumably)

young pazzi / slightly older pazzi 🥹

this training reel

her usa basketball teammate

some pazzi rares - more

then and now

little pazzi + azzi's comment

paige's hypewoman

pazzi watchlist

them holding back from touching each other

paige being so smitten and azzi being flustered

them to the alchemy

paige constantly wearing azzi's camp bracelet + more lore/context

bueckers cabin week + more

pazzi crumb "husky strength" + more

azzi fouling paige when they played against eo at aau

practicing together in the off season + more

the bouquet

azzi scootching over to paige + photo from the game + wearing rings on the same fingers + paige wants to sit next to azzi + hand placement

opposites attract they say

them being so cutesie on the couch

a rare pazzi sighting while shopping

this is so cute what, family picture????

where's the trophy she just comes running over to me vibes

working out together + more

madison reed shenanigans

paige's biggest supporter

them with ines

borrowing/matching clothes pt. 6

them kayaking and in the same both and together at state fair

eating while sitting next to each other

azzi's stories of paige being the kid she is

more of their tiktok comments in eo's posts

jon, azzi's brother, poking fun at paige

gentlewoman paige carrying azzi's water bottle

fudd-bueckers annual minnesota state fair 2024

pazzi cruise pics

watching a soccer game together + more

pazzi slam cover polaroids

watching a tennis match together + video clip + azzi leaning her head on paige's shoulder + more + paige seemingly comforting azzi + another video clip (gif and zoomed in version) + paige reaching out for azzi's hands + more

precious babies celebrating after a game

pazzi at seattle game + them eating pizza + walking together + sitting together in a diff row

azzi concerned for paige in usc game crumb

gentlewoman paige holding on to azzi's bag

almost a cheek kiss

azzi helping paige out with her bag

cutest play fight ever

gentlewoman paige holding their food/bag

everybody's looking at you but she's looking at her

borrowing/matching the same clothes pt. 6

watching a tennis match pt. 3

usher concert together

azzi fixing up paige + this photo sequence

staring at each other from across the court

just kids playing around on the bench

paige playfully pushing azzi