#this would make more visual sense if I colored it

[legalandnotease]

Counterpoints:

1: Wrong. Bucky, not Sam, was canonically the first person to view Steve as Steve and not as Captain America.

In The First Avenger they have this famous exchange:

Steve uses a line from the period before he became Captain America to break Bucky out of his conditioning.

2: Means nothing. Sam was the only person Steve knew who wasn't affliated with SHIELD at that point. It makes sense he would go to Sam for help when he was being hunted by them.

3: Means nothing. Natasha also helped Steve look for Bucky, even giving him a Soviet file on the Winter Soldier. Does this make *her* a candidate for Captain America?

4: Is simply incorrect: Steve was actually the first person to stand against the Accords. He's also the only person explictiy shown reading them.

The second part is irrelevant. Sam purely made a strategic suggestion about the airport fight which makes sense considering his military background. other characters do this too, including Bucky.

5: Not sure how this is relevant. He just knows Steve doesn't bear grudges and will put the world first. He may have understimated Tony in this regard.

6: I mean sure, Steve was honoring Sam but he was also pining for Peggy right there in that support group.

Also: When the Snap happens Steve the first thing Steve goes is go towards *Bucky*. Not Sam or anyone else.

In fact...Steve's whole look in Infinity War is vey similar to Bucky's including the black outfit and the beard...

It is also confirmed that Steve told Bucky in advance of his plans to stay in the past. He didn't tell Sam. What does that tell you about who he was closest to and most prepared to confide in?

Sam’s impact on Steve was clear and how much Steve listened and trusted Sam was shown as well. Sam had the same convictions and actions as Steve Rogers and would continue to do so as Captain America

The same applies to Bucky many times over. Like Steve, Bucky's defining traits are compassion and resilience.

Bucky was the reason Steve wanted to join the army, the reason for his first act as Captain America. Bucky was Steve's inspiration for fighting bullies.

He fought alongside Steve and was a trusted member of his team in the Howlies. As a Sargeant he would have made many strategic decisions and would have been effectively the second-in-command of his unit.

Bucky sacrificed himself to save Steve, which was the impetus for Steve's own sacrifice.

Bucky also meant more to Steve then his title as Captain America. He threw away the shield for him twice the second time relinquishing the title of Captain America altogether, becoming Nomad for 2 years.

Also foreshadowng: in an interview Chris Evans said had Bucky not been captured he'd have been doing everything Steve was.

Also visual foreshadowing: Bucky wearing red and blue, Cap's colors in Black Panther.

He wears the same color combo in Civil War.

Bucky is also the character who uses the shield most often after Steve.

Then there's the comics... in which Bucky was Captain America before Sam.

Sam was the most obvious choice for Captain America when it came to passing the shield. Since Endgame the complaint that “the choice was random or Sam didn’t prove himself enough to be CA” felt weak because it’s right in the movies. Examples of Sam making the CA type decisions and Steve’s trust in Sam:

Winter Soldier: Steve has trouble disconnecting himself with the role of Captain America, he meets Sam and Sam asks Steve on not being able to sleep on is a problem since Steve’s a vet. When Hydra is exposed in Shield, Steve immediately goes to Sam for help. Sam does not call Steve Captain America until the mission to stop Project Insight. Afterwards Steve asks Sam again to help him find Bucky. Age of Ultron: Steve trusts Sam to look for Bucky during the time he has to go back to the Avengers. Civil War: Sam is the first person to stand against the Accords, suspicious of how much oversight the government will have on the Avengers and jailed if they don’t comply. Sam was the one to suggest that Steve and Bucky split off to Siberia to go after Zemo because they would not win the airport fight and created the distraction. Even at the Raft, Sam tells Tony where Steve and Bucky went because he believed they will reach and understanding. Pre-Infintiy War: there’s a graphic comic about Steve, Sam and Natasha and what they were up to while on the run. During their mission they mention getting Tony’s aid and Sam mentions at the next big threat comes, Steve and Tony would put aside their differences. Endgame: The first time we see Steve, he is leading a support group for those affecting by the snap, very reminiscent of Sam’s job. Sam’s impact on Steve was clear and how much Steve listened and trusted Sam was shown as well. Sam had the same convictions and actions as Steve Rogers and would continue to do so as Captain America. “I do what he does but slower”, was foreshadowing.

[sevenhundred721]

I'm rewatching atla. On book 2 rn.

[relicsongmel]

New Leaf 11 PM is the ONLY piece of music in existence that's allowed to conflict with my synesthesia

[sirfrogsworth]

"UV camera" is probably an inaccurate name. The camera is just expanding the spectrum it can capture to include UV.

The camera is still capturing the rainbow but it also captures a little bit into the purple. The more light reflected, the brighter the overall image. But if light is absorbed, it won't contribute to the brightness of the photo.

And since the sunscreen is absorbing a lot of UV light, their faces expose much darker.

You aren't actually seeing any UV light. Just the absence or presence of it making things lighter and darker. To see only UV light you'd need some kind of false color representation like predator vision.

A whlie back I was restoring a photo for a client and noticed a few people in the photo looked like they were donning black face makeup.

This didn't make a lot of sense because it was a team photo of an Australian rugby team from the 1930s and not a racist minstrel show.

And when I did my corrections, it turned out he was just a regular Aussie white dude.

I was initially very confused as to what was going on. But then I remembered modern camera sensors have a special filter to block any UV light that would affect the image. Cameras and lenses in the 30s did not have that technology and some film could expose beyond our visual spectrum—picking up a little bit of UV and infrared light.

Melanin absorbs UV light. Some white people have more than others. And so the young man in the photo appeared much darker than his teammates. In real life he was probably of similar complexion or a bit more tan. Maybe even sunburned.

It's also possible he was using rudimentary sunscreen. It was invented in the late 20s and I'm guessing athletes who were in the sun all day would be some of the first to be interested in sunscreen.

Another interesting effect caused by expanded spectrum cameras or black light photography—super freckles!

They are just dense spots of concentrated melanin.

Light is neat.

[twilightofthesandwiches]

Okay, so one thought I had rattling in my head for a bit now is that the Dark Sanctuary of Deltarune Chapter 4 really reminds me of Undertale’s Waterfall.

I mean, the Dark Sanctuary doesn’t really have the water theming but… they are both the darkest parts of the game, both in a literal visual sense. With a mostly darker color-scheme and puzzles themed around darkness

and also in the narrative sense, being the most serious, solemn and grim part of the game. While Waterfall has its moments of levity and, y’know, Temmie Village, there’s a lot more focus of scenes of melancholy or fear compared to other parts of the game. While Undyne can be a very silly character, she only shows that side of herself to the Human during her Boss Fight right at the end and she’s otherwise a quiet and no-nonsense antagonist.

Deltarune Chapter 4 is the darkest chapter of Deltarune so far. It also has it's funnier moments but… The Church Dark World concept leads itself to much more serious theming and designs for the backgrounds and the enemies, it has some of the most serious exploration of our main characters' personalities and arcs, and has a lot of emphasize on the fact the stakes have been raised and Shit Just Got Real.

Plus, both Chapters deal heavily in the lore written on the walls of that area

Including a Prophecy

(well, in Deltarune it's exclusively a Prophecy, in Undertale it focuses on History and also includes a Prophecy)

And on a larger scale, both of these writings introduce the idea that the information we/the characters had before on the Lore is not the full picture.

And y'know, Gerson, who is present in both areas but also…

As the Hammer of Justice he also serves as a very heavy parallel to the Boss Fight(s) against Undyne in Undertale, both in visual design and gameplay (the Green Soul Mode).

Also, y'know, Piano Puzzles...

The thing is just… I didn't quite know what to do with this comparison. I mean, speculating on the idea the next Chapter would somehow be a Hotland Counterpart feels incredibly silly considering we already had two Dark Worlds that are very Hotland-like…

Which is when I realized, what if Deltarune Chapters correspond to Undertale areas but in reverse?

The Dark Sanctuary is like Waterfall and before it, TV World is a lot like Hotland, focused on TV-themed minigames controlled by an attention-hungry rectangular Game Show Host.

Cyber World would be the CORE, as the most high-tech themed areas in their respective games

And Queen and Spamton both including elements of Mettaton EX/NEO

Including Spamton NEO having the Yellow Soul Mode.

And Card Castle is the counterpart to New Home. Since these areas are both meant to be, well, a castle and it's surrounding area.

And King obviously being kind of a dark thematic reflection of Asgore.

…That would make Chapter 5 a Snowdin parallel to some degree, then Chapter 6 as a Ruins parallel, leaving Chapter 7 to do something totally off-the-rails and unique and unpredictable… Question is just what would that mean for Chapter 5 to be a "Snowdin Parallel"?

Since the Dark Sanctuary didn't really have water and TV World didn't really have magma-stuff, I don't think that would mean Chapter 5 would necessarily be an ice world, and indeed the only real hint we have to Chapter 5 right now is about a garden.

… It could be a somewhat more light-hearted Chapter after the huge drama-bombs we just had, since Snowdin is probably the most light-hearted and friendly part of Undertale… but there's also plenty of ways for it to be just as lore-heavy and serious and filled with revelations. Since the two things Snowdin was known for is the introduction of the Skeleton Brothers and it's Holiday Theming.

[nikibogwater]

Actually while I'm thinking about it, I just wanna say that the more live-action remakes Disney shlups out like shoveled manure, the more amazed I am that Cinderella (2015) exists. It breaks literally every standard of Disney's LA remakes.

It's not a shot-for-shot remake of the original 1950 animated film, though it does include small references and homages to it, but only when such things can be incorporated organically into the story.

The creators understood and respected the cross-cultural significance of the Cinderella story. They didn't want to "fix" it, or add some wacky twist to it, they just wanted to make the best possible version of the Quintessential Cinderella that they could.

Everything that could be done practically was done practically. The carriage was a real, the horses pulling it were real, and all of the other animals (with the exception of the mice and lizards, since their performance was a lot more involved than the others') were real living animals, the lizard footman and goose carriage driver were wearing prosthetics instead of just having their animal features added in post, the Fairy Godmother's dress had little LED lights sewn into it so that it would actually glow for real, the ballroom set was built by hand and included real chandeliers with more than 2000 total candles that were all actually lit for the scene, and I could go on but you get the point.

There's a ton of attention paid to little details that make the world feel real and lived in. Ella's shoes are always a little scuffed and dirty. Her farm dress is faded and wrinkled. When she breaks down and runs away to the woods, she rides her horse bareback (which, once again, was a thing Lily James actually did, no stunt-double or editing in post), because not only is that something a country girl like her would know how to do, but it also makes sense that with as upset as she is, she wouldn't want to waste time with saddling the horse. When she's dancing with the prince, it's visually obvious that he is leading her and giving her cues because of course Ella wouldn't know the latest ballroom dances, and would need him to guide her through it.

Hey speaking of dancing, y'know what else this movie does that no other LA remake has been allowed to do (at least not to this extent)? ROMANCE. Land sakes alive, this is one of the most unabashedly and yet still tastefully romantic movies I've ever seen. Ella and Kit are just oozing romantic chemistry from the moment they lock eyes for the first time. It all comes down to the fact that these two characters both have the same core values of courage and kindness, which makes their admiration for each other feel grounded and believable. Richard Madden also really sells Kit's feelings for Ella with the way his eyes go all big and soft whenever he looks at her. And don't even get me started on Lily's performance as Ella. Her quiet awe that someone as powerful as the prince loves her. The timidity and fear that she's not really worthy of that. The selfless determination to protect him from her family's cruelty, even if it means she'll never see him again, I'm just-- *banging my fist against the table and screaming into a pillow*

Absolutely god-tier costume design. No notes, I think Sandy Powell's work speaks for itself. Btw, in case you were somehow still wondering, yes, Ella's ballgown is fully practical--those layers upon layers of dreamy silk skirts are real. CG was only used to brighten up the blue color to make her stand out from the crowd more.

Wicked stepmother was allowed to actually be wicked. The movie never tries to make you sympathize with Lady Tremaine, or shift the blame off to someone else. And her villainy is given an extra layer of depth with the reveal that she is a dark reflection of Ella. They've both lost people they loved, but where Ella refused to let her grief get in the way of kindness, Lady Tremaine became utterly consumed by it. She views the death of her first husband as a sort of twisted justification for pursuing all her worst impulses. She despises Ella for her ability to flourish even while enduring terrible suffering, for being everything Lady Tremaine was either unable or flat-out refused to be.

Also Cate Blanchet absolutely SLAYS in this role. Hands-down my favorite portrayal of the wicked stepmother character.

Anyways, TLDR: Cinderella (2015) is the only Disney live-action remake that can justify its own existence and that's because it actively defies everything the LA remakes are today.

[shinysobi]

ecobrutalism (kim mingyu)

because drafting tables are not meant to be anything more than a decoration.

☆ annoyances to lovers: architect!mingyu x therapist!reader ☆ wc: 5k ☆ genres: non-idol au, annoyances to lovers, office setting? romance, fluff, comedy, no angst (this is a first for me) vibes based on second wind ☆ regular warnings apply; mingyu is both delusional and dramatic, jihoon is tired. ☆ notes: tiya was one of my first mutuals here on tumblr, and she's always been one of the people i can count on to listen to my yapping and not think of me as a strange person (is this weird? i dont think so) but our birthdays are only one day apart, and so, because i can't send a gift from so far away, here's my gift, a small mingyu fic that i hope will bring a smile to your face. happy birthday, @gyubakeries, i hope i know you for a very long time <3 thank you to alta @haologram for making the banner at my speedy request, and @mylovesstuffs for betaing this (if there are errors, there aren't.) masterlist

“She’s insane,” Mingyu mutters, holding on to a pamphlet, “she’s insane, and she’s going to make me insane too.”

“She’s not insane,” Jihoon mutters, sipping his tea, “she’s just a therapist. You’re projecting.”

“I’m not,” Mingyu mutters, “she’s the one who’s arguing about stupid rules in the building code that doesn’t even make any sense. I mean, who brings a folder with color-coded tabs to every meeting? Why does she have opinions on how we should build and decorate, for every shop in the building? No one even makes use of these codes in today’s day, they’re virtually obsolete.”

“So, object to them,” Jihoon shrugs, “you’re good at that, right?”

“I’m not, actually,” Mingyu groans, “I’m not even good at ignoring her. It’s making me anxious and irritable. To the extent that it’s affecting how I behave with my clients.”

“Your clients, meaning the old ladies who come here to ogle you and then force their husbands to get their shops redesigned by you?” Jihoon arches a brow, “I hardly doubt those count as actual clients, Kim Mingyu. You’ve got admirers here.”

“They bring money so yes, they’re my clients,” Mingyu snaps, “and you’re one to talk, hyung. Didn’t I catch you yesterday, buying random books from the bookstore? You don’t even read post-war Japanese crime fiction, for heaven’s sake. You were trying to get with the bookstore owner, weren’t you? You even composed a song for her, don’t even think about denying it.”

Jihoon colors, “none of your business, Mingyu.”

“None of your business, Mingyu,” Mingyu taunts, “anyway, help me out with this woman. She continues to get on my nerves at every possible opportunity, and I don’t know how long I can hold on before I inevitably lose my shit and kill her or something like that.”

“Not long for that,” Jihoon muses. 

“Shut up, and try and help me.”

Jihoon sighs. He’s been tolerating Mingyu’s antics since the past year when the younger man decided to open his shiny new office in their dilapidated shopping centre, and while his perfect visuals have helped in footfall, it also means Jihoon has to take care of Mingyu and his tantrums on a semi-regular basis. Semi-regular now that he’s managed to find himself a sworn enemy. It’s not even a big deal, Jihoon does not understand why he keeps swearing to high heavens that he hates her guts. 

“She doesn’t seem so bad,” Jihoon says, trying to get Mingyu to calm down to a certain degree, “you don’t even typically get this angry, do you?”

“I don’t,” Mingyu shakes his head, “imagine how royally annoying she has to be, to get me this mad.”

“Huh,” Jihoon turns it over in his head a few times, “are you sure it’s not just a random one-time thing? She’s not proposing bad things as such, she’s just telling us to be more aware of the city’s building rules and regulations. Something which I thought you would have been a stickler for, given how you are the architect here, not her.”

“I do care about building rules and regulations,” Mingyu seethes, “I’m just not a bloody fanatic about it.”

“Ah, so that’s the problem,” Jihoon shrugs, “anyway, sort this shit out amongst yourselves, all this is seriously cramping my rizz.”

“Your rizz?” Mingyu scoffs, “hah! You’re just going to spend all your money at the bookstore, aren’t you? You’ve got no rizz to speak of.”

“Speak nicely to your elders, you little shit.”

“I’ll speak nicely to you when you actually show me proof of your rizz that goes beyond stupid yearning from a distance,” Mingyu taunts, “wait, have you even talked to her? Or are you just planning to stare at her and creep her out? You know that’s not how anyone asks someone out, right?”

“Shut up,” jihoon ‘s looking intently at the door, “I’m actually trying to get her to go on a date with me.”

“And have these thoughts found any other home outside of your mind, Lee Jihoon?”

“You know she’s friends with the therapist you keep yelling at during the meetings,” Jihoon groans, “until you stop fighting with her friend, she’s not even going to look at me or give me the time of day. Now make up amongst yourselves and for once, let me go on a fucking date.”

He leaves to go back to his regular yearning duties, and Mingyu is left seated in his chair, pondering over two things; the current state of his finances, which would absolutely not withstand the onslaught of a renovation putting it to date with the city’s newest regulations, and Jihoon’s love life.

—

“Why the fuck won’t he just comply with whatever I’m asking?” you yell, throwing up your hands, “it’s the city’s regulations, stuff that he should be familiar with, given that he’s an architect, for heaven's sake, not me! Why the hell am I the person telling him things?”

“Maybe it’s because you can be a bit annoying about these things,” the bookstore owner, your only friend in this goddamn place, pipes up from behind her stack of books, “maybe if you weren’t so pushy about it, he’d hate you a little less.”

“He’s just an asshole," you say, “I need to look into his architecture degree.”

“Not to that extent,” she holds up her hands, “but you can be really pushy and I think maybe, if you’re really this concerned about the building regulations, then you should come to a compromise with him before the next building committee meeting two weeks later.”

“That soon?” You groan, “oh god, he’s going to be so annoying when I approach him first, isn’t he?”

“It’s not about who’s more annoying, it’s about who is more reasonable out here,” she shrugs, “have you ever seen me pick fights I don’t need to?”

You shake your head, “god knows how you manage to do it. If it were up to me, I’d have his head on a pike outside my office.”

“And risk facing the wrath of all the neighbourhood aunties?”

“Yes, that’s the only thing he’s good at,” you seethe, “he’s basically eye-candy for all the neighborhood aunties. Why the hell is he on the neighbourhood watch? He didn’t even live here until a few years ago!”

“Neither did you.”

“I did! I moved back!”

“Look, the point is that you need to make amends with him,” your friend reasons, “or else living in this shopping complex will be difficult for you. People actually like him a lot more than you think they do, which is why it will not be difficult for them to get you out of  here.”

“Out of here?” you shriek, “what do you mean out of here? They can’t do that to me, not legally at least.”

“They can make your life a hundred times more difficult than it already is, which will make it worse for you to run a business,” she replies, strangely calm, “I’ve been here far longer than you have. Being likeable is currency. They want someone likeable, not someone who sticks to the rules and makes everyone more annoyed than they already are.”

“Ugh, I knew I was right about him the moment I met him,” you mutter, and your friend frowns. 

“You really did have a poor choice of words back then.”

You shake your head, ignoring the jibe, “So, I need to be nice with him.”

“Precisely.”

—

Mingyu is trying to be nice, he really is. Jihoon has been blowing up his phone, asking him to fix things so he can go back to creepily stalking the bookstore owner, but he’s a good friend, so he’s going to be nice. 

Which is what he’s been telling himself since the moment he stepped foot into the clinic run by that woman. Happiness Clinic, he repeats, looking at the sign on the wall, how stupid. 

“Kim Mingyu,” you say, surprised to see him walking through your doors in the middle of the day, “strange to see you here.”

“No business?” he asks, offhandedly, making a motion at the empty waiting area. 

“I have a consultation in half an hour,” you reply, “what do you want?”

Mingyu sighs. He’s really not looking for an argument, but your attitude is not helping his current goal. “Look,” he says, after a whole minute, “about the newest resolutions, can we at least work it out? Most of the residents don’t want to upend their entire businesses to make sure their stores are up to code.”

“Yes, but shouldn’t they be making sure they’re not violating code?” she argues, “and you of all people should be making sure they’re not being fined by the city officials. You’re an architect. I’m just a random therapist.”

“You’re not a random therapist,” Mingyu argues, before taking a deep breath, “even the city officials generally give the store owners a window of time within which they have to comply with regulations. At least give them more than a week.”

“Fine,” she snaps, “just so you know, I’m not doing this as a favour to you. I’m doing this as a favour to my friend.”

“The bookstore owner?”

“Yes, the bookstore owner,” The sarcasm is not lost on him, “she’s the one who told me I have to at least make sure the residents don’t hate my guts.”

“See, she’s got it down,” Mingyu suddenly feels a bout of gratitude towards the bookstore owner, whose name he still is not familiar with, but he’s going to give her a basket of flowers the next day. “You need to compromise to some degree, to be able to cohabitate. Life is all about cohabitation and compromise, you know.”

“Yes, yes,” she makes a face, “fine, I’ll tone down the arguing. They can make their arrangements taking as long as they want. When the city officials come knocking on their doors, don’t say I did not warn you.”

“Noted, doctor.” he gives her a mock salute, before turning to leave the same way that he came. You groan, before making a rude gesture, which Mingyu catches. He just laughs, before walking away. Cute. 

—

“Hyung,” Mingyu has been running for an hour, he thinks, knocking on Jihoon’s door, until the older man opens up, angry expression on his face, “why the hell did you take so long to open the door?”

“I was taking a nap, Mingyu,” Jihoon mutters, “it’s four in the afternoon, and I don’t have customers right now, so of course I was doing what any normal person does, and was taking a nap.”

“Wow, you’re such a productive member of society, hyung,” Mingyu scoffs, before opening the door wide open, “okay, I need your help with something.”

“I don’t have money.”

“It’s not—why does everything have to be about money?”

“We live in a capitalistic society, Kim Mingyu-ssi, of course everything is about money.”

“Ugh fine, but this one is not,” he waves a hand, “I think I’m going crazy.”

“And it took you this long to figure out?” Jihoon raises an eyebrow, “wow, you really are a genius, as they say.”

“This is not a time to make fun of me, hyung,” Mingyu wails, which, in retrospect, is not the best look on a grown adult man, “how did you even know you liked the bookstore owner?”

“She has a name, you idiot,” Jihoon swats the back of his head, “and no, why would I tell you?”

“Just help me out once, please,” Mingyu wails again, “I’m seriously never going to ask you for help again if you help me out here.”

“Fine,” Jihoon is not entirely convinced with his declaration, but he sits down at the counter anyway, “what seems to be your problem?”

Mingyu takes a deep breath, “I think I like her.”

Jihoon scowls, “like who? There are eight billion people in the world, you have to be specific here.”

“The therapist!” Mingyu throws up his hands, pacing around the shop, “I seriously think I like her or something like that. I’m going crazy here, just help me out once.”

“Might I suggest a psychiatric hospital?”

“Hyung.” 

“What do you expect me to say?” Jihoon makes a vague gesture with his hands, “until yesterday, you were vowing to kill her with your bare hands or something like that. Now you’re here at my door, telling me you like her. I’m not the only person, you ask anyone else, they’ll all say the same thing; you’ve got to check yourself into a hospital or something like that.”

“You’re not even getting the point,” Mingyu groans, “up until last night, I never even had thoughts about her in that way.”

Jihoon raises an eyebrow. It reminds him of his elementary school teacher, just as terrifying, “Mingyu, what have we said about catching feelings from a sex dream?”

“It was not a sex dream!”

“So it was worse,” Jihoon leaned back into the chair, “go on.”

“I don’t know man,” Mingyu sighs, “I went to meet with her yesterday afternoon about the upcoming meeting, and she was actually nice to me.”

“You mean she did not actively argue with you?” Jihoon tries to smile, although it’s more of a grimace, “you seriously need to rethink the reasons for getting attracted to someone.”

“It’s not even like that!” Mingyu protests, “she was actually nice to me. And she didn’t even yell that much!”

“Mingyu, last week, at the committee meeting, she told you to go fuck yourself.”

“And I’m coming to that,” he holds up a hand, “she actually did flip me the bird when I was about to leave.”

Jihoon’s got an expression on his face that makes it very clear he does not understand anything Mingyu’s saying, “she flipped you off? Made the sign which tells you to go fuck yourself?”

“Yes, but there was no real malice behind it,” Mingyu waves, “that’s not the point here.”

“I think you’ve gone insane,” Jihoon sighs, “and what, she flipped you off, and you fell in love with her?”

Mingyu makes a face, “why would I fall in love? I’m not that stupid.”

“Yes, you just dreamed about her and are now yapping to me,” Jihoon mutters under his breath, “nothing stupid.”

“Anyway, last night, I literally saw her in a dream,” Mingyu explains, waving his hand about, “it was not even an explicit dream, I legitimately just dreamt of us going on a picnic. And I woke up, and kept thinking about her. Now, whenever I think about her, my heartbeat rises just slightly, not noticeable enough to be concerned, but just enough to make me stop and think, ‘oh? Do I actually think about her in my spare time?’ and it turns out, I actually am thinking of her in my spare time! I even went down to her clinic today, to make sure what I was feeling or thinking about were not just random feelings, and I saw her through the glass doors, and my heartbeat increased to 119, I’m not even kidding, hyung, look at it—”

“Mingyu!” Jihoon yells, “calm the fuck down, you’re rambling.”

“Am I?” Mingyu clutches at his hair, “I really don’t know whatI’m supposed to do, it’s so embarrassing, I want to die.”

Jihoon sighs. This is new. “Look, Mingyu,” he says, cautiously, as if approaching a spooked fawn, “are you confused or are you scared?”

“What do you mean?”

“These feelings, for her,” Jihoon shrugs, “do they confuse you, or do they scare you?”

He pauses, and then replies, “scares me. I’m terrified.”

“That’s good,” Jihoon replies, going to the small fridge in the shop and offering Mingyu a diet coke, “being scared of your feelings means you’re at least acknowledging the attraction. If you were confused about what you were feeling, I would have told you to drop it.”

“Yes, but like you said, I’ve only had about three civil interactions with her, and now I’m feeling attracted to her? Is this normal?”

“Attraction does not follow the rules of normal social behaviour, Mingyu,” Jihoon replies, feeling very much like the father of an emotional teenager, “it does not follow what we want it to do. And being attracted to someone is not a bad thing. She’s not a minor, nor does she have a boyfriend or girlfriend. You’re allowed to like her.”

Mingyu groans, before shoving his entire face into his hands, “I just feel like I’m going to mess everything up if I even try to like her. I mean, she’s never really going to give me the time of day, so why bother? Just look at it this way, hyung, if I go up to her right now, in that stupidly well-lit mental health clinic of hers, and tell her, ‘hey, I think I am attracted to you’, what do you think she’s going to do?”

Jihoon muses, “Probably take your teeth out with a punch.”

“See!” Mingyu wails, “even you know she’s going to think this is all a giant joke or a prank and that I am exactly what she thought of me in the first place.”

“And what exactly did she think of you in the first place?” Jihoon raises an eyebrow, although he’s perfectly aware of the exact words you had said. Mingyu had agonised over it for a whole hour, before deciding to just embrace the misconception and go with it. Shallow, you had called him, a shallow man with no sense of right and wrong. “And you’re sure if you go ahead and tell her you’re attracted to her, to a certain degree, she’s going to label you as a shallow person?”

Mingyu nods. 

“She does not seem like the person to do that,” Jihoon says, “and if she really does do that, then I’ll tell you to just forget about her, because that does not seem like the characteristics of a good person.”

“So, what do I do right now, hyung?” Mingyu asks. 

“For starters, go to your office, and leave me the fuck alone,” Jihoon shrugs, “and in the evening, just go over to her office with a cake or something, and ask her to work with you on which regulations the business owners should adopt in the upcoming meeting.”

“Wow, hyung, look at you go. Who would say that you’ve been single since birth?”

—

“I think I’m going to be killed.”

Your friend stares at you, seated across the table in the bookstore, two lunch boxes open in front of you both. She takes a gulp, swallowing down a large piece of kimbap, and manages to warble out a “come again?”

You sigh, “I think I’m going to be killed soon.”

“By who?” she half-yells, taking a swig from her water bottle, “who the hell wants to kill you?”

“Kim Mingyu.” You whisper conspiratorially, and her face falls. “What?” You protest, “he’s really out to get me, you know that, right?”

“You told him that he was a shallow, self-centred man within thirty minutes of meeting him,” she replies, going back to eating, “I’m going to be surprised if he hasn’t made any attempts on your life yet.”

“You don’t get it,” you wail, “yesterday, he came to my office, asking about the committee meeting next week, and even made an appointment to draft a joint resolution that accommodates both the new regulations of the city and complies with the business owners’ demands of more time and extra funds.”

“And?” She's still not getting the point, which is making you slightly frustrated at this point, “he’s trying to make amends, and he’s actually doing something about what the larger community wants and needs, instead of yelling at everyone and annoying them in public meetings.”

“I’m going to ignore that jibe because I’ve got better things to think about,” you mutter, “he also smiled at me when I flipped him off! He smiled!”

“And you flipped him off, like a middle schooler,” she sighs, “was it a creepy smile, or was it a normal one?”

“Pretty normal, but you can’t really know with Kim Mingyu, right?” 

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say he’s much more normal than you,” she replies, still calm in the face of your anxiety, which in other circumstances would be a good thing, but right now, it is not, “has he done anything else that would give you the impression that he intends on killing you?”

“He’s also asked me to meet him in his office this evening to discuss the joint resolution.” You say, “why the hell would he do that if he did not have nefarious intent?”

“Maybe he just wants to draft a joint resolution,” she counters, “after all, you both argued for so long last time, the committee had to disperse on their own. They even postponed the whole voting process and argument over the resolution because they wanted you to come up with a joint solution to the problem. And he’s the one who’s been making steps towards peace, not you.”

“You’re my friend. You’re supposed to be on my side, not his.”

“I am on the side of whoever makes me not attend those boring meetings,” she yawns, “the last time it ran for over an hour and half, just because you two were fighting so much. This time, please make  sure you play nice with him.”

You narrow your eyes, “Are you sure you’re saying that because you want me to be nice to Mingyu, or are you saying that because you want to flirt with the music store owner?”

“At least I have better social skills than you,” she counters, “and I’m not running out my only chances at normal socialising out with a proverbial broom.” The last part of that sentence is said in English, which goes over your head. 

“What the hell do you mean by that? Stop using complicated  English words because you’re a bookstore owner.”

She sighs, ignoring the second sentence, “the music shop owner is Lee Jihoon, and him and Kim Mingyu, yes I know you hate him, are the only people in this shopping centre who are of our age. The rest of them are all thirty years older than us. People don’t come here to have fun and open up swanky offices, they come here to retire in peace and get a sense of community.”

“I do not get the point you are trying to make.”

“The point is, if you at least tried to be friends with those two, we would have someone of our age to at least talk to. We could go on dinners, trips, ask them to set us up with their friends—”

“Hold on,” you raise a hand to stop her, who’s rattling off things to do with friends, “why do you even want to hang out with those two after work? We already see them here seven days a week, is that not enough for you?”

“No, it’s not,” she makes a face, “I cannot be fraternising solely with senior citizens, you know. I’m not old. But talking to these women, every day and every week, has made me feel like I’m some sort of ahjumma, too. Last week, I corrected a child’s posture.”

“You probably spared them some very expensive spinal surgery down the line.”

“Does not matter!” she snaps, “I don’t want to be correcting a child’s posture, I want to actually go out and have fun, after I close up my shop, instead of just sitting around my house and doing nothing!”

“You actually spend a lot of time doing inventory.”

“And you are going to go and talk to Mingyu,” she practically chases you out of the door, “and don’t even think about coming back here without fixing this mess!”

—

“There, all done,” Mingyu holds up a document, waving it around like he’s won a war, “this is the joint resolution we are proposing, right? Don’t go back on it, please.”

“Now why would I do that?” You ask. 

‘I don’t know, general issues. Maybe you’ll hate the way I dress in the meeting.”

“Do you plan on wearing something wildly inappropriate?” You ask, eyes narrowed, “then I will reconsider.”

“No!” Mingyu yelps, taking a step back, “I do not plan on wearing anything inappropriate for the meeting. In fact, I shall be the most appropriate man in the room that day.”

“That’s good. Bare minimum, but good,” you snipe, wondering how and why your friend wants you to be nice to him, given his penchant for saying the wrong things at the wrong times, “let’s get a meal next time, yeah?”

It’s a polite question, of course, one that does not require a proper answer, of course, no one expects an answer for this question, but Mingyu perks up instantly, wide grin in place, “do you want to get dinner with me right now?”

“Right now?” You check your wristwatch, it’s ten p.m already. If you were to stick to your usual schedule, you would have been at home by now, sitting in front of the television to catch up on your daily hour of peace and entertainment. But the man in front of you seems unable to take no for an answer, nor does he look like he’s someone who has been told no very often. Did no one ever reject him, you wonder, and contemplate idly how it would feel to be the first person to ever say ‘no, thank you’ to his face. 

But he’s looking at you with an open and honest expression, so you sigh, picking up your bag, “let me close up.” another day. I’ll tell him to fuck off another day. 

—

Mingyu is going insane, really. He should have left her alone, their work was done, so why bother to even hang around for another couple hours? But Jihoon’s words from earlier have kept bugging him for longer than he would care to admit. He’s even messed up a semi-important meeting and has been forced to reschedule it. Hell, he’s been so fucked up over this one little thing, he even went back to drafting plans by hand, using the same vintage drafting table he’s used exclusively as decoration. Even that failed, and he spent the rest of the evening wallowing in his misery. 

Why the hell was he looking forward to spending time with her? 

Even now, he’s aware that she doesn’t really want to get a meal with him, and he really feels bad, he does, but he’s also slightly selfish, and he wants to make sense of his own feelings, preferable in a setting separate from their usual one. Proximity breeds affection. Maybe all this is because I’ve been spending too much time in that shopping centre. 

“What’s your favorite architectural style?” She asks, picking up a piece of mushroom from their soup. 

“Huh?”

She rolls her eyes, “I asked you what your favorite architectural style was. I assume you have one, since you are an architect.”

He ignores the jab, “Organic architecture, actually. All throughout university, I was obsessed with the works of Frank Lloyd Wright.”

“The architect of Jiyu Gakuen, right?” She asks, shrugging, “I had an architect as a patient. Back in Seoul City Hospital.”

He files that information for later, “yes, the architect of Jiyu Gakuen. I was so obsessed I even took a trip to see the Fallingwater house in Pennsylvania. And yes, I made several trips to see all his Japanese works.”

“What draws you to him?”

“It’s interesting, how he uses nature, not as a foil, but as a companion to human existence,” Mingyu replies, smiling slightly, “I think I fell in love when I saw pictures of the Pope-Leighey house, when I was in my first year. Honestly speaking, I don’t think I would have been an architect if it was not for—” he pauses, “are you trying to therapize me?”

She laughs, “is it that obvious?”

“You are not as slick as you think,” he laughs, “you said you moved here from Seoul.”

She sighs, “I was hoping you would not hold on to that.”

Mingyu shrugs, “if you don’t want me to, then I won’t, but if you don't mind me asking—”

“I mind, actually.”

“—why did you move to a new clinic? From Seoul City Hospital, too.”

She sighs, “look, there were personal reasons, that’s all I will say. Other than that, I just realised one day that the big hospital did not allow me to look after my patients as well as I could. So, I moved here.”

“And opened the clinic?”

“And opened a clinic.” She smiles suddenly, broad and open, and Mingyu’s smartwatch beeps; abnormal heart rate detected: 109 BPM. 

Damn, he’s fucked. 

—

She’s actually having fun. Mingyu might be out to kill her, but he’s a terrific dinner partner, to the point where she does not miss the warmth of her familiar house and her familiar sofa and the familiar tv dramas. This is concerning. 

—

“Traitor,” your friend scowls, over lunch the next afternoon, “did you get dinner with Kim Mingyu?”

“How the hell do you know that?” 

“Mingyu posted it on his instagram story,” your friend holds up her phone, where Mingyu had posted a picture of her, seated across from him in the restaurant, eating dinner. It could very well have been mistaken for a soft launch picture, if no one was aware of the facts. It should be embarrassing. 

“Huh,” you mutter, going back to organising your notes for all your patients, “I did not think he’d post a picture of me.”

Your friend narrows her eyes, observes her for a full minute, “you like him, don’t you?”

“I—what the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t even give me that act,” she scowls, and for a split second, you hesitate, thinking back on the whole evening, and whether or not it would have been embarrassing if anyone had caught you out with Mingyu, of all people, and, “answer the question.”

“It wasn’t embarrassing,” you murmur, half in disbelief. 

“What?” Your friend asks, but she’s heard it too, only asking you to repeat yourself. 

“I said it was not embarrassing!” You yell, and immediately clap your hand over your mouth. What the hell was that about?

“Knew it. Lee Jihoon owes me ten thousand won.” Your friend grins, self-satisfied, before settling back into her chair. 

“Were you actually betting on this?” You shake your head, “you’re such a traitor.”

“A traitor who will buy you coffee after work,” she grins, “happy now?”

“Ugh, I would be happier if I was not attracted to him,” you sigh, finishing your lunch, “and he was really respectful about the whole thing too, which makes it even more annoying. How can I hate him in peace when I know that he likes Frank Lloyd Wright’s work and wants to repurpose old concrete buildings into designated ‘breathing spaces’ filled with greenery? Like, that is objectively a beautiful idea.”

“Selfless, too.”

“And selfless!” You wail, “I cannot even hate him in peace. All I can do is be annoyed with myself.”

“You like those concrete buildings, don’t you?” Your friend asks after a beat, “they’re symmetrical.”

“And orderly! I like order in my life, which is why I like those buildings.”

“And he wants to turn them into ‘breathing spaces’.”

“Who the hell has heard of something so annoying?”

“It’s not a bad thing at all, you know,” she says, putting a mini sausage on your rice, as though she were comforting a small child, “not everything goes according to plan at all times. Order is well and good, but some sunshine is also good for your health.”

“I’d rather die.” You scow, “just wait, I will never even talk to Kim Mingyu ever again. Even if he shows his stupidly handsome face back in here, I am never talking to him! Never, on my life, never again—”

The door swings open, and a brightly-smiling Kim Mingyu pokes his head in, “what are you doing for dinner?”

“Nothing,” your friend says on your behalf, “she’s free after eight.”

“Great, I’ll see you for dinner, then!” He waves again, and it’s annoying, how you automatically blush, “it’s a date!”

The door closes, and your friend laughs, “should I look up architectural style names now?”

You sigh. I’m really screwed. 

[kitsuneisi]

Outside of hermitcraft + Life series, was there any other inspiration for ddvau? (Sorry if this doesn't make sense, I'm bad at wording)

Im gonna take this question as like, art/visual inspirations (im sorry if it's not the focus of the question) There's a lot of inspo from different places, I think the most recent and easier to pin point, is the paneling of Rumiko Takahashi, specifically her work with panneling and organization of the comic + the focus she always has in the expressions of the characters, every face, sweat or look means something and has a deep thought on what it means. Other artist i would mention are Ryōko Kui, Miyazaki and more classical artist like Goya, Sorolla and Monet. When it comes to colors, ways to represent the figures and storytelling in the images they make. If it's regarding the storytelling and kind of world the comic is build up i would need to take more time to think about it, I'm not sure where the inspiration it comes specifically but im sure there are some crucial works the defy the kind of world i enjoy to work and build

[kumikuzushi-kun]

HIS NOCTUARY𓆝 𓆟

Telemachus x Fem! reader 𓆞

WARNING(S) : Harassment, Disturbing acts performed by the suitors, Reader is hinted to have mommy issues, a few inaccuracies to the Odyssey, slight intimacy

Word count : 14k (forgive me, i got carried away)

PART 2 - HER NOCTUARY

ART CREDITS GOES TO GIGI IN YOUTUBE ( @gigizetz in Tumblr! )

𐔌 When Telemachus turned thirteen, that was when his father’s absence start to weigh. The Trojan War had long ended, yet Odysseus had not returned. Around the same time, the number of workers in the palace began to dwindle—some retiring, others quietly leaving as the palace began to shift.

That was when you and your mother arrived at the palace. The queen was in need of a personal handmaid, and your mother, having served as a handmaid in a neighboring kingdom, was sent to Ithaca. She was a trusted woman—regarded as one of the most loyal workers in her homeland—so it didn’t take long before Queen Penelope came to see her the same way.

Along side your mother—was you, you looked around the same age as Telemachus though he never officially met you. It was quite a turn for Telemachus to have another person his age in the palace walls however it only ever remained as that. Just another presence that worked for his family.

In rare events, Telemachus would ran into you while you're helping your mother or the other handmaidens. You stood professional despite you being the same age, it was clear that you were more mentally mature than the prince, heck probably more sensible than any other teen in Ithaca.

𐔌 One time, Telemachus was walking back to his room when he passed by you. Though you were looking out through the open window at the view, you immediately sensed his presence and turned to acknowledge him.

"Good day, your highness. The sky seems to be in a good mood today, isn't it?" That was the first time you'd ever spoken to him beyond simply greeting him by title.

The young prince wasn’t exactly used to speaking with girls his age, so an awkward chuckle escaped his lips as he stepped a little closer to you. “It quite is,” Telemachus replied, his voice slightly uncertain.

You looked out towards the sky "The sky has been gloomy nowadays.. It's nice to see the sun shining more often" You said, he glanced up at the sky then back at you. "Yeah.. It has been awhile since the weather was this calm" He said. "It's quite beautiful, if you look into it"

You visually agreed as you gave a soft smile, "..Do you prefer it like this?" Telemachus asked almost too awkwardly.

“I do,” you answered honestly. “The garden’s easier to work in when it’s not soaked with rain. Besides, the sunlight brings the colors out. It makes things feel a little more alive… even if just for a while.”

He raised a brow, a little surprised. “You tend the queen’s garden?”

“Sometimes,” you said. “Other times, I’m just the one who passes through it delivering things. But I know it better than most—it’s beautiful there, especially with this weather”

Telemachus looked at you curiously, you noticed and only let out a chuckle.

A few seconds of silence were occupied between you two—as he followed your gaze and landed on the palace's garden, and you did not lie—the garden was indeed beautiful with the sun's grasp.

He thought you were about to say something more, your lips just beginning to move, but your eyes flicked to the corner, catching sight of something—or someone.

Before you could continue, you stopped yourself and quickly excused yourself with a slight bow. Curious, Telemachus turned in the direction you left and saw your mother standing a short distance away, wearing an unreadable expression. The two of you greeted the prince one last time before walking off together in silence.

That was probably the last time you made small talk with Telemachus—you didn’t completely brush him off, still greeting him with a soft smile whenever he was around, but there was a quiet distance that formed between the two of you. One he couldn’t quite name, as there was no word in the dictionary existed for it. Still, he noticed. He noticed how you always looked like you had something to say, but held your composure. He didn’t do anything about it—maybe because he barely knew you, or maybe because he assumed you prioritize your duties over forming any friendship.

However he would be lying, if he says it didn't bother him completely.

𐔌 When Telemachus was sixteen, murmurs of concern began to stir among the people of Ithaca. Even though Queen Penelope managed the kingdom just fine, the prolonged absence of a king was becoming harder to ignore. That was when a few suitors began to appear at the palace—coming not out of loyalty, but in hopes of claiming the throne through Penelope’s hand.

Telemachus could smell their dirty intentions from a mile away, and more than anything, he wanted them gone. He hated how easily they assumed his father was dead, as if his memory could be buried so simply. Thankfully, his mother was no fool—Penelope remained clever, holding off every suitor with such grace and patience.

Time passed, and the number of suitors grew—eventually even gaining a leader among them, as if they ever needed one, when all they did was abuse the hospitality of their home. They demanded a new king, insisted the queen to choose a new husband already. Telemachus begged his mother not to lose hope. Fortunately, she was just as cunning as his father and came up with a plan to keep the suitors at bay.

"Today I will begin to weave a shroud for my lost husband, if he is not seen in Ithaca before I finish, I will choose one of you to take his place beside me"

"I will send for maidens to help you" One of the suitors pointed out.

𐔌 A year passed and the presence of the suitors affected not only the queen and Telemachus, but also everyone who served in the palace. You were no exception. Despite holding no grace in your blood, your features carried them all, your presence was warm that drew eyes—an unspoken beauty that didn’t beg for attention, It was the kind of presence that carried itself with dignity, not vanity. Unfortunately, that was enough to catch the notice of the suitors themselves.

"Girl," You could feel their eyes land on you as you tried your best not to take notice, focusing instead on your chores. Unfortunately, you had been tasked with sending something to the kitchen—and that path meant passing by the suitors. You mentally prepared yourself as you stepped forward, keeping your chin up, doing all you could to ignore the lingering stares that followed your every step.

Your attempt to ignore the call quickly backfired when suddenly your arm was harshly tugged by force—it caused you to let out a yelp—immediately stepping back when you saw one of them drawing closer. "Are you deaf in one ear or are we playing pretend?" A mischievous tone of voice rang in the crowd.

You immediately knew who's voice it was—as your face immediately turned sickened.

Eurymachus stood infront of you, his taller figure casting a shadow into you however your glare was no invisible.

"Why are you such in a rush? hmm? you don't have to act like you don't like the attention" Cheers and chuckles of men followed.

"You're interrupting my work, Eurymachus. If you have a shred of decency, you and and the others will move and let me do my job." You spat back—keeping your composure straight, a grin plastering on the man's face causing a churn in your stomach. "Aww, so dedicated, aren’t we? Of course you are—you’re the daughter of the queen’s precious head handmaiden, right? Always so eager" He mocks—stepping closer.

Instead of backing away or showing even a hint of fear, you stepped closer, narrowing your glare at the man. “Instead of insulting my mother, I suggest you to keep your mouth shut. The queen wouldn’t be too pleased to hear such a foul tongue from one of her guests.” Though your words dripped with venom, your eyes held only boredom, and your posture remained calm, unshaken. The way you looked at Eurymachus—as if he was no one to fear—only made his ego swell, stung by the quiet defiance.

The room fell silent at your remark. You turned your back on him, taking a step—only for Eurymachus to seize a fistful of your hair, yanking you back towards him with brutal force. A sharp cry escaped your lips as pain arched through your scalp. You clawed at his hand, but his grip only tightened, making it worse.

“Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?!” he snarled. “Don’t forget—you’re just a maid here! the youngest!, you little tramp!" He yelled at your face.

"Since you talk shit with that pretty mouth of yours, why don't we use it for more useful things, yeah?" Eurymachus looked around, asking for validation as the men all around nodded—disgustingly agreeing.

He tugged your hair more as you fought the tears of pain. Eurymachus grin widen.

"Let go of her, in this instant!" Another voice had joined in the chine, everyone in the room Including you, turned to its direction seeing no other than the young wolf himself. An awkward silence followed but then Eurymachus let out a chuckle and his men of pigs pathetically followed.

His laughter rang as he released your hair with a harsh shove. The force of his grip—and the sudden release—disrupted your once-neat bun, sending strands down in disarray. You stumbled back, but quickly regained your footing, eyes locked on Eurymachus as he turned his attention towards the eighteen year old prince

He walked toward Telemachus, who stood in the doorway. Though fear might’ve churned in his chest, his face held firm—brave. Telemachus had happened to pass by when the suitors' unusually loud cheers reached his ears—tones too rowdy, too mocking. Curious, he paused by the door. But it wasn’t until he heard your voice, strained and unmistakable, followed by Eurymachus’s cruel mockery, that something in him snapped. He didn’t think—he moved.

His eyes immediately found you. Disheveled. Hurt. And his face changed.

“Is the young prince trying to cosplay a hero now? Run along back to your mommy’s chambers while we borrow one of your precious maids. Can’t blame us, can we? Your mother’s been taking her sweet time choosing.”

Telemachus jaw clenched but did not flinch as he glared back. “This is my father’s hall,” he said. “And until he returns, my mother rules it. You forget yourselves. No one here—maid or not—is yours to touch, command, or mock." He spat back—his eyes meeting yours.

"Touch (name) again and you will regret it" He said, stepping closer.

You in the other hand, was quite in shock, you sensed more troubles if you simply just stand there.

Eurymachus fell silent for a moment, though the flicker of a thought passed through his eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed…” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough to be heard—before suddenly grabbing Telemachus by the collar of his chiton and yanking him forward. The room tensed. Not with fear or shame but with a smile.

“Eurymachus, stop this at once! He’s the prince—you have no right to lay a hand on him!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the heavy air. Without hesitation, you shoved past the suitors, forcing your way toward them,

“Your father isn’t here, boy—he’s nowhere. Dead!" He shouts, Telemachus clenched his fists tighly. Eurymachus whispered, "You don't have to be so greedy.. we can always take turns with her"

Before anyone could react, the prince stepped forward and drove his fist into Eurymachus’s jaw. The force sent the man stumbling back, stunned. Silence followed.

It was the first time Telemachus had ever thrown a punch—and succeeded. His eyes widened in disbelief.

Eurymachus recovered with a snarl and lunged, but before the blow could land, you threw yourself in front of Telemachus, gripping his arm and pulling him back. A ring of shouts exploded from the suitors, feeding off the tension like a pack wolves.

Then the doors slammed open.

“That is enough!” a voice commanded. All eyes turned to the entrance—Penelope stood tall, flanked by guards and, trailing behind, your mother. The queen’s gaze flicked to you, then to her son.

You bowed. “Your Highness, forgive the disturbance. I was only fulfilling my duties. The guests chose to interfere.”

Penelope’s stare hardened, especially as Eurymachus stepped forward, smirking. “Don’t scold the boy, my lady. Maybe he’s just trying to learn how a real man rules a house in his father’s absence.”

Few dared to laugh. Penelope ignored him. “Why are you here, son?” she asked.

Telemachus finally lifted his head. “They were mistreating (name).”

He glanced your way—quick, but meaningful. Eurymachus scoffed and walked off, dragging some of the suitors with him.

A quiet hand landed on your shoulder. Your mother. Her eyes avoided yours.

“I apologize for the inconvenience (name) may have caused, my queen,” she said. Inconvenience. The word stung more than you expected. You bit the inside of your cheek—hard enough that you nearly tasted blood. You could feel it. The way her fingers tensed ever so slightly on your shoulder, the way she refused to meet your eyes. You really should’ve taken laundry duty today, at least clothes don't glare.

"It’s not her fault, by any means. I’m glad both of you stood up for yourselves," Penelope said, glancing between you and Telemachus with a faint, approving smile.

But you barely heard. You only bowed, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. Telemachus noticed—how tightly your lips pressed, how closed off you looked.

He hadn’t realized he was still watching until you turned to leave. Your eyes met, just for a second, before the door closed behind you.

“Thank you, my prince,” you said—and then you were gone. The words lingered, quiet as the slam of a heart too full.

The moment you closed the door, your eyes settled on your mother’s back—posture straight, chin held high, hands placed on either sides of her chiton. You couldn’t see her eyes, but you imagined them blank, yet somehow heavy with sentiment. She paused. "I told you to stay out of trouble, the prince will think of you as a hassle with this." she said, her voice flat and distant. Hassle? You didn’t answer. You’d learned by now that it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t really listen.

𐔌 Word had spread among the servants, and many took it upon themselves to spare you from any chores that meant crossing paths with the suitors—you couldn’t have been more grateful. As for the young prince, he too kept his distance from the suitors more than ever, trying to push the whole ordeal to the back of his mind. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t quite forget about you. It had all happened so quickly, yet his thoughts lingered—on your voice, your bravery, the way you stood your ground. That moment clung to him more than he expected.

So much so that Telemachus snapped out of his thoughts, suddenly realizing what he was supposed to be doing. His eyes landed on the scroll sitting untouched on his desk—the one he was meant to deliver to his mother. Panic hit him as he noticed the fading sunlight; the deadline had passed hours ago. He shot up from his seat, hastily rolling the scrolls and rushing out of his room. As he moved quickly through the halls, he mentally scolded himself—he'd been so caught up thinking about you that he hadn’t even realized he collided with someone’s shoulder.

"I'm sorry—" His words cut off as he realized it was you. Telemachus’ eyes widened, a small smile forming on his lips without him noticing. Recognizing the voice before the face—your eyes widened too, but not in the same way as his. "(Name)! Hello—" he started, a bit breathless.

"Excuse me for bumping into you, sire. I need to deliver this urgently," you interrupted with a quick bow. His smile faded into a thin line, blinking at the sudden change in tone. "Oh… yes, you’re excused," he said. You gave a short nod before walking off, leaving the young prince in the hall, scrolls in hand.

He quietly watches you disappear, as he reluctantly walks away himself—reasoning your skeptical hurry as important.

𐔌 "Good morning, (name)," Telemachus greeted one early morning as he entered the kitchen. The suitors were still asleep, and for once, both of your worries felt lighter. Still, you flinched at the sound of his voice, your hands pausing mid-task as you looked over at the prince.

"Your Highness! Uh—good day also. What are you doing—"

"Can I help with anything?" he asked, stepping closer to the counter you were working on. You gripped the edges a little tighter as he neared, your mother words reminding you. "Uh—no! It's no problem, sir, uhm..." you trailed off, clearly avoiding his gaze. "Actually, I think I'm needed in the courtyard this time. Please excuse me."

With a quick bow and a wipe of your hands on your chiton, you hurried off. Telemachus opened his mouth to say something more, but you were already gone. Your rushed steps still in the air.

Did he say something wrong? He wondered—maybe you were just busy. Still, the way your voice tightened and your hands clenched the counter… it left a quiet thought in his chest, though he said nothing and moved on with his day.

𐔌 While walking the palace halls, Penelope and Telemachus paused at an open window. Below, the garden bloomed—olive trees winding along the walls, vines heavy with green. The two spoke softly, their conversation slow and warm, until Telemachus’s gaze drifted downward.

You were there, moving quietly beside your mother, watering can in hand. He watched as you poured water carefully over each plant, steady and focused. “Telemachus?” Penelope’s voice brought him back. She followed his line of sight.

You felt eyes on you. Glancing up, your breath caught—there they were, the prince and queen above. You quickly looked away, heart thudding. “Too much water,” your mother said dryly. You mumbled an apology, hands trembling slightly as you resumed your work.

Still, you kept glancing upward. From above, Penelope’s attention shifted between her son and the scene below. You caught Telemachus looking again. This time, your eyes met—brief, fleeting.

Your mother noticed. She gave your arm a light tap, drawing your attention. Then, with a composed smile, she lifted a hand in greeting. Penelope nodded in return. You followed suit, smiling too—but something about it was off. Too polished. Too faint.

It wasn’t the usual smile he often caught on you. This one looked tired, almost practiced, as you placed the watering can gently on the ground. Maybe it was the contrast—your mother’s expression beaming while yours seemed to just go along with it. You… you looked distant. And you still hadn’t met his gaze again.

His chest tightened. Had he done something? Since the incident, you’d kept your distance—never cold, but never quite open either. Every time he tried to speak, you found a reason to leave. Not angry. Just… guarded. Holding something in.

And somehow, that quiet hurt more than anything else. And for the first time, the young prince began to wonder… did he do something wrong?

𐔌 Telemachus could not sleep that night, the stars and moon hovering the sky—he sighs for the fifth time that night as he pulled himself out his sheets, rubbing his eyes and grabbing a light lantern. He couldn't sleep—so might as well do something productive.

The prince travelled to the palace's library, careful not to make any noise on the way, this part of the palace during the day would often have workers in it as the queen's attendant and scribes would often work their scripts or reports in there.

Telemachus expected the room to be empty and dim—silent, as it usually was at this hour. So imagine the surprise on his face when he sees a source of light glowing from behind one of the tall bookshelves. The prince quietly shut the door behind him, careful not to make a sound, his steps slowing until he was nearly tiptoeing. Who else would be awake so late?

He crept closer, weaving between shelves until he could peer around the corner. And there you were. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, a small pile of books and scrolls at your side, completely absorbed in the parchment in your hands. The soft light of a lone lantern and the moon’s glow through the high windows illuminated your face. Something about the sight—your quiet focus, the shadows gently swaying on your features—stirred a strange pull in his chest.

"Room for one more?" Your head snapped up at the voice, eyes wide in surprise. The paper in your hand trembled slightly, your fingers loosening their grip. Telemachus stood a few paces away, hands behind his back as he made his presence known. "Prince Telemachus! What are you doing here so late-?" You asked trying to cover up the building tension in your hands.

"I could ask you the same thing" He says, you did not answer. "Do you mind?" He asks again with a small smile.

Your eyes start at him as you look away slowly—gripping the paper. It took a few seconds before you deliberately nodded, shifting slightly, making space among the scrolls without saying a word. That was all the invitation he needed.

His eyes drifted to the scrolls and books spread before you. “Do you always stay up this late?” he asked, voice quiet. "Sometimes" You murmured, keeping your gaze to yourself.

An awkward silence followed, you weren't even reading anything at this point as you were still as a rock. Telemachus turned to you—you tensed, he noticed.

"I didn't expect to see you here" he said softly. "You've been.. hard to find recently" The sound of fire from both of your lanterns crackle.

"I was starting to worry that if I did something to offend you" at that, your attention was piqued.

"You seemed to be distant and tensed lately, you were always calm and open most of the time so I wondered if I was the problem" Your head turning to meet his eyes.

"Your highness-"

"Telemachus, we're practically the same age" He corrects.

You blink, "Prin— Telemachus"

He hummed, "I keep thinking back. If I said something wrong or made you uncomfortable last time, if I did then I'm probably stupid for not noticing" He laughs.

Silence followed.

"Who am I kidding, we were never friends.. this shouldn't bother me so much, I'm sorry" He humors with a laugh that seemed forced.

You didn't say anything about his statement for a moment, your continuing silence caused the prince to turn away—debating if he should just excuse himself.

"..You didn't do anything wrong" You finally said, causing the prince to focus on you.

"In fact, I should be the one saying sorry" You started, "You went out on your way to protect me and I did nothing but to brush you off so harshly" you looked down at your palms.

You let out a heavy sigh, your voice soft with concern. "You even punched Eurymachus… dear gods." Palming your face.

Telemachus only laughs "It was a stupid move but i would do it again, he deserves it" He says leaning down the shelf.

...

"I'm sorry for ignoring you, the truth is..." You hesitantly spoke, "I was told to avoid you"

"What?" The prince furrowed his brows. "By who?" He followed

"Not in the way you think! It’s just… my mother believes she was sent here to Ithaca because her service back home wasn’t good enough. She’s afraid that if we make any wrong move, the queen might do the same thing to us." You trailed,

"She told me from the start not to cause any trouble here in the palace. Then one day, she saw me talking to you and completely flipped—said you might take it the wrong way. So, to be safe, she told me not to interact with you at all."

Telemachus stayed quiet for a moment, processing your words, his gaze softening. He hears you continue "It actually bothered me, because I knew you weren't the one to think like that" the prince continued to listen.

"And.. also because a part of me just wanted to talk, which is silly—you’re a prince after all, but most people around here are either much older or… well, a threat. I just wanted someone my own age."

You pulled your knees to your chest, leaning into the motion as your arms wrapped around them—an action you find comfort in. "But I love my mother," you murmured, voice muffled behind your knees. "Even if she can be a handful sometimes… she’s all I have left. So, I just obliged."

"Is that why.. whenever your mother is around you look extra tense?"

You chuckled, “You notice?” you said, turning to the prince. Telemachus turned his head too—now you were both eye to eye.

“Since I was around thirteen,” he said. “You were kind from the start—always composed, more mature than I ever was. And when the suitors came, you stood your ground for you and your mother… I really admired that.”

"Really?" You tilted your head at the prince.

"I never knew my father, but I’ve always heard he was a great man. That’s why it hurts—seeing how easily the suitors dismiss him and disrespect my family. I want nothing more than to put them in their place... if only I were as strong as he was. But you..you’re brave. You stand up for the people you care about. I wish I could do that, too." Telemachus said, turning his head away

“Who says you aren’t brave, my prince?” you said, your voice cutting through the quiet. He turned to look at you, and you met him with a soft, reassuring smile. “You risk getting beaten every other day just by standing your ground. You’ve held yourself together despite your father’s absence. You’ve been there for your mother, defended her name—and your own, even mine… you stepped in when no one else would.”

Your gaze lingered on him a moment longer. “Maybe you haven’t reached yet the place your father once stood… but I think, if he saw you now, he’d be proud. Proud of the way you carry yourself, of how brave and strong you are—every single day."

Telemachus eyes searched yours, as if trying to find something he couldn’t quite name. His lips parted slightly, then closed again. Your words had sink in.

Both of you continued to stare into each other’s irises as a quiet breeze brushed against you. Neither of you noticed how, with every word shared, you had both unknowingly scooted closer—like it was the most natural thing in the world. Now, you sat in silence, closer than you had ever been, with no more words left to fill the space.

"That's..." Telemachus searched for the words, "That's really kind of you to say" He worded out.

You laughed, covering your chuckle with your fingers in a soft, graceful way. Telemachus followed with a quiet laugh of his own, the tension between you both slowly melting away. Just a while ago, neither of you could look into each others eyes—now, you were talking like old friends catching up. The two of you shared stories, small memories, thoughts you had never voiced before, as if making up for all the quiet years spent under the same roof.

Telemachus listened closely, learning things he never knew about you. You spoke of how you taught yourself to draw, how creating art gave you peace, how expressing feelings through sketches felt like breathing—and that beauty was your favorite word. He watched you with growing interest, his pupils quietly widening every time you laughed at something he said—whether it was a passing comment or a joke. There was something in that sound that made him want to hear more.

"You want to be a painter?" He asked curiously. You nodded happily, "Mhm! It's been my dream since I was a kid, that's why I'm here at night, to study color theory, and also i can't do it in the morning"

Telemachus raised his brow at this, "Why so?"

"My mother. As always" You started, "She's training me to become a good handmaiden after she retires, which is a long time by the way!" You playfully rolled your eyes.

"Don't get me wrong, I do love helping people and I definitely love tending-"

"The garden, especially on sunny days," he finished your sentence.

You turned to him, your smile widening into a grin. "You remembered?"

He gave a small shrug, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Maybe."

"But yes," you said, a warmth in your voice, "I love the garden… but I love painting a portrait of it even more."

Without warning, you shifted slightly and reached into the pile beside you, rummaging through your books. Telemachus watched curiously as you pulled out a small stack of parchment—each one softly inked with delicate lines and shapes. Drawings. Sketches of flowers, leaves, moments caught in beauty.

He even caught a glimpse of sketches of faces, though you quickly shuffled them to the bottom of the stack. He swore one of the portraits looked familiar.

You cleared your throat softly, holding up a sheet. "Here's one of the garden," you said, revealing a colored portrait. Telemachus leaned in, his mouth parting slightly in awe as he took in the way the colors blended together, how alive the scene felt.

"This is so good—what the hell?!" he blurted, genuine admiration in his voice. You chuckled at his reaction, watching as he carefully began to look through the rest of your work. With each piece, his awe seemed to grow.

"Is this one unfinished?" he asked, pointing to a painting where only a quarter of the paper had been colored.

"Oh yeah, I ran out of pigment," you admitted with a soft laugh. "And getting new ones here isn’t exactly cheap… plus, I haven’t had the time to go out to the market."

Telemachus watched as you started to fix your stuff, "It's getting late, I should probably go" you announced.

He helped you with some of the scrolls, and soon you both were face to face—the two of you looked at each other sheeply before you cleared your throat.

"It was nice getting to know you.. Telemachus" You said, with a bit of hesitation in saying his name bare.

"It's nice to also get to know, (name)" He replied, with a low breath—he brought his hand in front of you. "Friends?" He said with his lips kissing his teeth.

You stared at his hand for a second then back at him—immediately taking his invitation in yours. "Friends!" You grasped.

The two of you exchanged giggles that night.

Being friends with the prince was something you didn’t expect—especially because it was an order by your mother. However, you learned that this small disobedience—was worth it. You noticed how colors seemed more vivid ever since that day.

Your friendship with Telemachus wasn’t loud, at first it only consisted of shared glances, whispering of each other's name and exchanging constant waving like kids in the park.

Then he started to stop by the garden with obvious excuses, "The queen sent me," "I'm checking the vines," "I'm just passing through"—but you both knew better. When you're the only one working in the garden—he’d offer to carry the watering can or sit beside you, tossing small olives at the wall and missing on purpose, just to hear you laugh.

You recently told him how your nose always get itchy whenever you gathered wildflowers, but that you bore through it anyway. The next morning, you found him waiting by the hill, basket already in hand, ready to help you pick them. A small tug pulled at your heart that day.

You started to notice how Telemachus began doing his scrolls in the palace library more often. He used to prefer the privacy of his own room, but lately, he seemed to want to cross paths with you. There were moments when he’d peek around the shelves, tap the top of your head with a scroll, and whisper, “I win,” before settling beside you to read.

He has a habit of randomly scaring from behind, yelling "Boo!" and laughing at himself.

He tried drawing once, because you asked. The sketch was... awful. But you laughed until your stomach hurt, and he looked so proud of it that you kept it tucked between your books.

Though the friendship became something deeper one late night, the two of you were in your usual spot in the library. It was already dark, and only your lanterns cast a glow over the two of you. You tended to ramble about the details of your sketches, and Telemachus listened, his eyes half-lidded but still focused on you.

Then, in the middle of your words, you felt the weight of his head gently fall to your shoulder.

You paused, startled at first, but when you turned slightly, he was already asleep. His breath was steady, calm. The closeness made your heart thump—but you stayed still, careful not to wake him. You didn’t want to wake him, partly because you were embarrassed… and partly because you kind of liked it.

Your heart stopped when you heard him mumble your name in his sleep, did you hear that right?

Then came your 18th birthday.

Birthdays weren’t exactly something you grew up celebrating. At most, your mother and a few kind handmaidens would quietly greet you when the day came, a soft smile, a gentle hug—and that was enough. You were always grateful they remembered at all.

So imagine your surprise when, early one morning, you stepped out of your room to find a small bundle of color pigments carefully placed by your door. Each one wrapped in cloth, tied with a simple bow.

At first, you assumed the bundle was misplaced—perhaps something meant for someone else—until you noticed a small, neatly folded piece of paper tucked beneath the string. You opened it, and the handwriting was instantly familiar. You’d come to recognize it easily.

Dear (𝒩𝒶𝓂𝑒),

You didn’t mention it was your birthday—figured you wouldn’t. But someone in the staff said a handmaiden turns eighteen today, and I just knew it had to be you.

It’s nothing too grand, but when I saw these, I thought of you immediately. I hope they come in handy... and maybe you’ll let me see what you make with them?

Anyway—happy birthday.

~𝒯𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓂𝒶𝒸𝒽𝓊𝓈

You stood still for a moment, holding the letter. A small smile crept onto your face. The pigments were ones you hadn’t had in a while—some expensive, some hard to find. He remembered.

You and Telemachus had grown used to meeting in the library, and one late evening—weeks after your birthday—was no different. The moment he stepped inside, his eyes scanned the room, already knowing where to find you. Your back was turned, but without a doubt, he knew it was you. Quietly sneaking up behind, he grabbed your shoulders and “Boo!” with a laugh.

You turned and gave him a look—unfazed, a clear “Hahah, very funny” written across your face.

He grinned as he took a seat beside you.

"I tried looking for you earlier," you added, hands busy with something he hadn’t noticed yet, "but you were nowhere to be found."

"Oh! Sorry about that—I was out for a bit," he said.

You nodded, turning slightly away to focus on what you were doing. Telemachus didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered. He watched the way your hair had loosened, strands falling around your face. Your cheeks were faintly flushed, and something about that made him bite the inside of his lip.

Then, without thinking, his hand moved to tuck a strand behind your ear. You turned your eyes to him just as he blinked, caught in the moment.

"Uh—it was in the way," he mumbled, quickly finishing the gesture. "Sorry."

You only stare at him for a second before cracking a chuckle, Telemachus looks at you as his embarrassment washes away. "I was looking for you earlier because I wanted to give you something" You revealed making him tilt his head.

Then you shift so you can face him properly—your hands behind your back.

"As a thank you"

"Huh? For what?"

"For my birthday last time"

Telemachus' blinks. "You didn't have to"

"Yes but I want too"

"Close your eyes!" You said, "and give me your hand" You added—Telemachus looked at you confused but followed.

He closed his eyes and felt something placed on his palm—for a moment he felt your finger tips touched his.

"You can open them now" You said,

Telemachus peeked open one eye, then blinked fully awake when you brought forward a small clay figure—messy around the edges, a bit lumpy, but unmistakably him. Down to the blue sash, his tousled hair, and the faintest little pout painted on his lips.

He stared. Then blinked again.

"Wait—what—" he stammered, reaching out like it might shatter if he touched it too fast. "Is this… me?"

You nodded proudly. "I used the paints you gave me. Thought it was fitting."

He took it, carefully, like he was receiving some sacred relic from the gods. His ears turned pink. "Why am I… is this how you see me?" He commented

You tilted your head. “Tiny and pouty? Sometimes.”

He let out a loud laugh. “Gods, I love it. He looks like he’s about to cause trouble."

“I was going for princely charm, but that works too.”

Telemachus looked at the doll again, then back at you—his grin stretched wide, but his voice a little softer this time. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” He paused, then gently set the figure beside him. “Except maybe you.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He coughed, suddenly red. “—you because you made the doll!"

You laughed as he buried his face in his hands. "I experimented with clay the other day, this is my first attempt to do something that isn't flower pots" You told him.

"Well you did a great job for a beginner" He joked—earning a slight slap from you, "Excuse you! I've been doing pottery since I was 12!" You hollered.

Telemachus only giggled as he clenched his stomach.

Your shared laughter lingered in those quiet corners of the library that day, soft and light, drifting between the shelves and settling like dust on the edges of old scrolls. It became easy to lose track of time when it was just the two of you—moments folding into each other so naturally that the rest of the world seemed far away. Sometimes you swore the palace looked different. Livelier. Colors warmer. Even the way the wind blew through the halls felt lighter.

But, like most sunny days, it wasn’t meant to stay forever.

It was late morning when you returned from the market, you were asked to fetch some ingredients by your mother, arms filled with your basket and a soft cloth over. You hummed quietly to yourself until you entered the palace.

Before you could even take a step past the main corridor, a pair of handmaidens hurried past, whispering frantically. You stopped them out of instinct, brows furrowing.

“What’s going on?”

One of them glanced at the other, hesitating, then leaned a little closer.

“They say Antonius provoked the young prince during this morning... And he fought back... I don't think it went well.."

The words didn’t register at first—not entirely. You stood there, blinking, as your arms suddenly felt a little heavier.

The halls were quieter. Never in peace—but in tension.

You hurried through the halls, each step making the corridors feel longer, heavier, as you reached the dining hall. The first thing you noticed was the broken table, splintered as if something had been thrown against it—blood staining the wood and dripping onto the floor, enough to make your chest tighten.

Then, in the distance, you saw Antinous and his men laughing. He turned, nose bloodied, wiping it off with the back of his hand. He caught your stare. Your eyes widened. He smirked—slowly licking the blood from his lip in an almost disturbing way.

Your heart dropped. You searched around the room, searching for Telemachus, but he was nowhere in sight. Without a second thought, you turned and hurried through the palace again.

Your heart was pounding through your chest, gripping your fist until your knuckles went white. It was difficult to breathe properly—not when you have no idea where he is—or what had happened. Thoughts kept spinning messily as you almost missed the prince door.

You shouldn’t be in this hallway, especially in broad daylight. You knew staff could pass by any second, their whispers quick to turn into assumptions—worst case, your mother herself might be the one to catch you. But in that moment of distress, none of it mattered. You raised your fist and knocked on the prince’s chamber door—three times.

“Telemachus?!” you called, voice hushed, just loud enough to be heard, not enough to draw attention. You knocked again, faster this time.

The silence after that was sharp, you were about to knock for the last time until, "(name)...?" You could hear him say, so gentle.

“Oh Zeus. Telemachus, are you okay?! I—I heard what happened—are you hurt?!” you stammered, choking on your words, your hand gripping the doorknob. It was unlocked. But still, you waited.

Softly, you heard footsteps approaching from the other side. You bit your bottom lip to steady your shaking breath.

The door creaked open, and there he was—Telemachus. His nose was bloodied, streaks of dried blood smeared across his face and chiton. It wasn’t too bad… but it was enough to almost break you.

Telemachus opened the door wider—quietly inviting you in. You stepped forward, unable to hold yourself back, your movements unsure. Your hands careful to reach for him, He noticed, but before you could pull away, he gently took them in his, steadying you.

"What happened…" you whispered, pulling out a handkerchief you had prepared and bringing it softly to his face. "Antinous" was all he said, sitting on the edge of his bed.

You stood in front of him—noticing the way he kept touching the back of his head. You gently ran your finger through his hair as you touched the back. Eyes widening when you feel a puddle of liquid. "Did you hit your head?!" You asked panicked.

"Yes- but" He stated before taking your forearm away gently— "But please don't panic, It's okay now! I promise, it's dried up blood so technically it doesn't hurt-"

"What do you mean it doesn't hurt?! You're bleeding, you idiot!"

"I know! I know! But seriously! I've met—"

A gust of wind pushed through the balcony curtains. He paused, catching sight of the owl perched just out of reach—watching. But he didn’t say anything about it.

"..I've just been thinking a lot lately," he said instead, voice softer now, more grounded. "About who I am. About who I want to be."

You stayed quiet, listening carefully.

"I want to be more than just… the boy who waits. The boy who watches everything happen around him. I want to be strong. Not for the sake of war or glory—but so that I can protect My mother… you."

The words hung there, gentle but heavy. You blinked, caught off guard.

He laughed softly to himself, shaking his head. "I don’t know. Sometimes I think about him—my father. People have all these stories. All this legend. But for me, he’s just… missing. And maybe that’s why I feel like I have to become something better. Not to replace him, but to at least live up to the name. To become someone that matters."

You saw the flicker in his eyes then.

"Because if he really is out there," he added, more to himself than to you, "I want him to come back and see that I became someone more worthy being proud of."

You didn’t say anything—but your eyes, still furrowed and shining with worry, said enough. Telemachus stiffened, afraid for a moment that he’d overstepped, that maybe he sounded foolish spilling his thoughts like that.

But then you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

His breath hitched. His hands found your waist without thinking, holding you close, cautious but sure. You tucked your face into his shoulder—and that’s when he felt it. The soft shake of your breath. The quiet sob you didn’t try to hide.

The boy was stunned—his heart loud in his chest—but he didn’t move away. He couldn’t. This was the first time he’d held you like this. Just how he caught himself wondering what it might feel like to pull you close like this, but he always brushed it away, convincing himself he had no right. But now, it felt like a lucid dream.

"You're such an idiot," you murmured, voice thick. "How many times are you going to throw yourself into trouble before you finally learn? I'm glad you're growing, I really am—but that doesn't mean you get to risk your own blood like this!" Your words cracked near the end, raw and trembling.

He starts to hear you cry, and he couldn’t help but hold you tighter. He had never heard you cry before—not truly. The closest was that one time you had an allergic reaction to a wildflower; your eyes were watery and red, yet you were still laughing through the discomfort. But this… this was different. This time, you were crying because of him. Because he got hurt. Because you were scared. Because you cared.

"Don’t ever get yourself in a fight with the suitors no more! And don't ever scare me that ever again!" you scolded, voice trembling as you clung to him.

“I— I will,” he said, only for your grip to tighten with a sharp pinch to his arm.

“Promise!”

“Yes, yes! Promise!” he chuckled softly, wincing playfully as he lifted one hand in surrender. His smile, though bruised, was real—warm for you.

...

When Telemachus was around nineteen, that’s when Athena began training him. It was unfamiliar at first—awkward—but he adjusted quickly, picking up with every training—rather expected knowing he was the son of Odysseus himself.

Around the same time, his bond with you deepened, especially after the incident. Still, he never told you about his secret mentor as per request from the goddess of wisdom herself.

Mornings were reserved for training, afternoons taken by princely duties, and in the quiet of evening, that’s when he’d see you most. You spent your mornings with your chores, so your moments in the day together were often brief, scattered but the type he'd look forward too. Sometimes he'd help you out with your chores, definitely not cause he wants to spend time with you.

The young prince had just finished sparring with the goddess, day by day he felt more and more motivated—despite his limbs would go sore from training, the taste of improvement was enough to get him up, he can now at least defend himself properly against the suitors! Everyday as he becomes stronger and older, the men too get more impatient, wilder and unsafe.

If he wasn’t so smart, he might’ve picked a fight first this time—just to prove something. But he knew better now. He knew he had a long road ahead before he could win like that, and more than anything, he knew you wouldn’t be pleased if he got himself bruised for pride alone. The thought of you made his lips tug into a quiet smile.

“You did well today, young wolf,” Athena said with a proud smile.

“Thank you, Athena,” Telemachus huffed, catching his breath.

“I suggest you run your bruise under cold water before it darkens. I fear your lover might worry, seeing you all battered again,” she added, almost too casually.

At that, Telemachus perked up, his head snapping toward the goddess with wide eyes. "What..?" he echoed, a faint flush rising. Athena looked back at the prince, her face turning flat.

"Your bruise, ran it into cold water."

"No! The thing after that!"

"Your lover?"

"That!"

"Is she not..?" She asked, her tone leaning into a question.

"(Name)?" He choked, "She's— She's my Friend— Did you think we were lovers?!"

Athena lips were a flat line as he looked down at the flustered prince with a look that says "really?"

"My mistake" Was all she said before she morph into her owl form, setting on a near by branch all while Telemachus continued to look at her with red cheeks. "Wait no! You thought of us of lovers- why?" He asked the goddess of wisdom.

Athena only glared at him in her owl eyes, if she wasn't so nice she would have flown away but unfortunately they see each other everyday so she'd had to deal with it sooner again anyways, "You wear your feelings like a garland, young prince. It’s endearing... and painfully obvious."

Telemachus opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Feelings? I don’t— I don’t have feelings for her— I mean, I can see why someone would have. (Name)’s sweet, she’s kind and talented and—” He froze mid-sentence, eyes widening slightly. “Oh gods… do I have feelings for her?”

Athena, still perched as an owl, let out a long, tired blink. “You’re so tristful,” she muttered, feathers puffing slightly in exasperation.

"If you're questioning if you have feelings, then more likely you do."

"But what makes you think I do have them?!"

"Telemachus, you held the girl last time with such care, you immediately fell when she cried out your name. You long to see her every day, and unlike other mortals, instead of making your heart race, she makes it steady. At peace. I think it would be reasonable for anyone to assume…”

She paused "Well, that you already know how you feel."

Telemachus tried to carry on with the day, but the realization sat heavy in his chest—warm. He hadn’t accepted it, not fully, but it kept brushing the edges of his thoughts like a tide refusing to recede. His gaze stayed low as he wandered the hallways, hoping movement would loosen the knot in his chest.

Then he passed by the dining hall.

The door was cracked open, just slightly, and he paused without knowing why. The suitors were never up this early—it was the hour when the servers began preparing for the day’s meals. Quietly, curiously, he glanced through the gap.

You were there.

You hadn’t noticed him. You were speaking with another maiden, laughing softly at something she said, the corners of your eyes creased. And somehow, in the calm of morning, with the sunlight filtering in just right, Telemachus forgot how to breathe.

Your eyes shimmered even from afar, reflecting the dawn like polished amber. Your hair caught the golden rays as if the sun had chosen you as its canvas, and your smile—

Gods, that smile.

You looked so alive in that moment. So real. So effortlessly full of light.

In a way you made the ordinary look sacred.

Had you always been this beautiful?

He didn’t move. He only watched for a few more heartbeats, standing still as the morning slipped past him—and with it, any denial that might have still lingered.

Maybe he did like the way you made the palace feel like a home.

He recalled the moments your presence calmed him, the way your fingertips brushed his skin so gently, The nights spent talking until the stars faded, the laughter, the quiet glances—how it all felt like home. He thought of how often he smiled just being beside you, how the world softened when you were near.

This feeling—this need to be near you, to protect you, to simply hear your voice—it wasn’t fleeting. It was steady, sure. Like the way he smiled whenever you were around. Like the way he cherished every second, every glance, every word exchanged between you.

He admired how you gave kindness freely, yet knew when to draw the line. How you protected those you loved. How you always seemed to know what to say, or when to simply sit beside him in silence.

And as those thoughts wove together, one by one, the answer came to him—gentle but certain.

It wasn’t just fondness. It wasn’t just comfort.

He was in love with you.

Gosh he was in love with you

When Telemachus finally came to accept his feelings for you, the prince tried not to make it obvious—key word "tried" he was a little worried because Athena herself stated that it was painfully obvious. Telemachus could not focus, he kept losing focus and drifting his mind to the thought of you. But this time with his feelings aware.

A blush can't be fought back to his face as he tried to eat his lunch with his mother who took notice of his behavior.

"Telemachus?" Penelope called softly, eyeing her son across the table.

He blinked out of his daydream, his spoon hovering above his bowl. "Yes—mother?"

"You've barely touched your lunch," she noted, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly. "And you're smiling into your soup."

Great, now his mother herself is starting to get suspicious, Athena was right—he's so obvious that it actually hurts him.

He quickly straightened, reaching for his cup in a clumsy attempt to ground himself. "Just… thinking."

Penelope watched him over the rim of her cup, a knowing glint in her eyes.

"You know," she began, "when you’re quiet like this, thinking of something you won’t say out loud... you look just like him."

Telemachus looked up, startled. "Father?"

She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Your father used to sit right there, drifting off in thought halfway through a meal." She trailed, with her smile turning sly.

"Though I’m not quite sure he ever blushed the way you are now."

He quickly looked down at his plate. "I'm not blushing."

"Of course not." Penelope set her cup down gently. "But you do carry him in your face, in your silences, your stubborness."

There was a pause. Then, more softly, she added, "You’ve grown so much. I often forget you were just a child when he left."

Telemachus’ smile faded into thoughtfulness.

"How are you, nowadays mother?" He asked, the queen exhaled a heavy breath, "Still weaving the shroud, unweaving on night.." She confessed.

"And the suitors?"

Penelope almost laughs, "Still here. Still getting louder. Bolder. I don’t know how much longer I can keep them at bay. However I'm still hopeful for your father" She tried to keep her tone even - hopeful but her eyes didn’t lie. His mother was tired and Telemachus knew that.

He had always worn it like a shadow—this echo of a man he barely knew. Everyone had stories: how clever he was, how brave, how fierce. But stories weren’t answers. Stories didn’t explain his absence.

Telemachus looked down, hands clenched against the table.

"I can’t keep sitting here, doing nothing." The words escaped before he could stop them.

Penelope’s eyes snapped back to him. "What do you mean?"

"I need to do something" he said, "seek answers"

"where?"

"Anywhere! To Pylos or to Sparta, Menalaus may have news or Nestor too. Someone out there must know if he still lives—or where he fell." He said, eyes filling hope.

She stared at him, her face pale with worry. "Telemachus, no. Please. The seas are no safer than these halls. You don't need to be lost at it too"

"I’ve lived under his name my entire life," Telemachus said. "But I don't know what kind of man he was. Please mother. To find answers, closure."

"I’ve waited long enough," he said. "If I sit still, I’ll rot here just like they want."

Penelope fell quiet.

"You're all I have left, son" she whispered. "The only piece of him I still wake up to. If you go—"

"I’ll come back," Telemachus said quickly, though the words didn’t feel as certain as he wanted them to. He knew the risks, the danger and the uncertainty. Even so he murmured. "I promise."

At that, the queen embraced her son dearly, arms wrapped around him with a quiet desperation she rarely allowed herself to show.

Telemachus stood stiff at first, He hadn't been embraced like this since he was a child—before he understood what absence meant, before the hall grew loud with uninvited voices and the scent of home was soured by strangers. He held her back, carefully, protectively.

He felt like a child again, embracing his mother for love.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he whispered. "It hurts... But I have to know."

Penelope didn't answer—not with words. Her grip tightened for a moment, then loosened with an aching slowness, as she faced her soon again—her eyes water, letting a choked laugh see how grown and determined her son is. How he looks so much like his father.

Telemachus and his mother shared a quiet moment as he attempted to soothe her worry. Though he would be lying if he said it didn't scare him too.

And in that embrace, Telemachus remembered the last time he'd held someone that closely.

You.

The time you threw your arms around him after the skirmish with the suitors, trembling from worry, your forehead tucked to his shoulder. Your hands, warm. Your voice—shaky, angry, gentle—scolding, and yet he had held you back without hesitation, as if that moment had always belonged to you both, as if you two belonged to each other's arms.

He hadn’t realized, then, how precious that would become. How soon he’d be leaving you behind. Just when he had just realized his feelings for you.

Your laugh. Your smile. Your voice—The way you made his name sound softer, The feelings he had only just begun to accept now felt like something he was being forced to walk away from.

He looks up to his mother. Who he'd be also leaving behind. No one to watch over her, no one to stand for her protection. his chest ached—not from fear of the journey ahead, but from the shadow of leaving. He fears what will happen to both his mother and you.

...

"Telemachus?"

You called out, making the said prince snap back to reality. After his talk with his mother, Telemachus had wandered the palace halls, his mind weighed down with the burden of his decision—until he heard your voice. The voice he now realized he never wanted to leave behind.

He turned, breath catching. "(Name)," he said, almost in a whisper. You had just stepped into the hall, but the moment your eyes met his, a smile lit up your face.

"Are you okay? You seem a little down," you asked, your voice laced with quiet concern.

And gods, how he adored that—you always noticed. Always cared.

Telemachus smiled, a little dazed, a little dumbstruck—like someone falling, no, fallen in love. "I'm fine. Just stuck in thought," he said, shrugging it off.

You nodded, though your eyes drifted lower, catching the edge of his exposed shoulder. A faint purple bruise was beginning to bloom along the muscle.

"Is that... a bruise?" You squinted your eyes, "Huh?" The prince asked confusedly looking at his own shoulder. And indeed there was noticeable bruise forming, a few cuts from probably this morning's training. He mentally slapped himself—completely forgetting his mentor's advice.

"May I?" You asked for permission, well there was no point in denying it now so he simply lets you. You carefully traced your hand to his arm—examining the wound. "Oh dear gods...Telemachus, did you get into another fight with those men?" You asked, shooting an eye to him.

"No! It's just from training this morning! You know... sparing.. with myself..?" He explained a little too unsure. You sighed as you let go of his arm. "You need to be more careful, Telemachus. Are you sure you weren't sparing with an animal?" You voiced laced with suspicion.

Yeah, I was sparing with a literal god..

He nodded as you trail back to his wounds. "Well, I can't have you walk around looking beat up, weren't you in lunch with your mother? Surely the queen noticed your form."

"I think, it wasn't as visible earlier.." He replied, "I'm fine (name), this isn't the first time, you know that" His joke gained a look from you as he only laughs.

"I'll tend your wounds in a second, why don't you wait somewhere so I can prepare"

Telemachus nodded—this wasn’t the first time you tended to his bruises, so neither of you thought much of it. "Is it alright if I head to my room first? I need to change," he said, offering a faint smile. You nodded, returning the gesture with a small one of your own before heading off in the opposite direction, assuming that’s where you’d treat his bruises, like usual.

Unfortunately, neither of you clarified. You assumed he'd be waiting in his chambers, while in his mind, he planned to head back after changing. So, when you pushed open the door to his room—unannounced, as you’d done so many times before—you stopped dead in your tracks.

There he was, chiton half-tossed over, back turned to you, sun catching the gold along his skin. His muscles tensed at the sound of the door creaking open.

"Sorry—I thought you'd be here already dressed."

Telemachus turned, equally startled. "Oh—no, no, it's alright! I just—I'll be done in a moment."

You quickly averted your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek to focus. He was your friend. Your prince. You were here to treat a bruise. Not have your thoughts spiral.

Still, it didn’t stop your heart from thudding louder than it should have.

"Actually… maybe you should keep your top exposed—since I’ll be tending to it," you managed, keeping your voice as steady as possible. A part of you was undeniably flustered; it wasn't every day you saw your closest friend like this. But you reminded yourself—this was routine. You'd tended to his wounds before. It wasn’t supposed to feel different. Just except the fact he's half naked.

Telemachus bit his lips, before clearing your throat, "Right. Of course" He said, trying to be calm cause you were too. Unaware how you're practically dying from being embarrassed.

Sitting at the edge of his bed, shoulder turned toward you, the bruise blooming darker now under the light. Upon seeing his mark, you shook away to begin.

Approaching carefully, you set down the tray beside him, its contents clinking softly. You reached first for the clean, damp cloth, the coolness biting slightly against your fingertips. Without a word, you knelt beside where he sat, your eyes scanning the bruise—a deep, purpling bloom across his shoulder.

You pressed the cloth against it with precision. The moment the cold touched his skin, he tensed just slightly, muscles twitching under your touch.

"Sorry," you said softly, adjusting your pressure, more gentle this time.

Telemachus only hummed, barely reacting, though you could feel his eyes on you. You kept yours trained on the task, determined not to let your fluster show.

"You're being very serious today," he finally murmured, voice low, almost teasing.

You kept your focus. "I'm always serious when you're hurt."

You tried to focus; however, your work did not allow you to, as your eyes wandered. Without his chiton covering him, the young prince was lean, but due to his training and growing years, his body had started to take a more defined shape.

There were subtle lines along his torso, the hints of muscle shaped by sparring and sword work. His skin was tanned, with a few faint bruises and older marks—nothing serious, but they stood out. You looked away quickly, pressing the cloth a little too hard before catching yourself.

"gods, get a hold of yourself!"

You're a professional, you reminded yourself. Even if he is a friend... you're still a professional.

"You've been training too hard lately" You said, as you put away the cloth and started to prepare a salve for his wounds. "It's better than getting bruised from a fight" He said.

"Getting hurt itself is not better" you stated. "You worry too much (name)" Telemachus replied. "Of course I will," You paused briefly. "You may be a prince, but you're also just....you to me. And I care about you" You said, turning to him with the ointment for his wounds.

That was enough to shut the young prince up, as you slowly applied the salve to the various cuts and wounds. This time, your bare hands touched his skin, and Telemachus couldn’t help but shiver slightly. He swallowed hard, eyes quietly watching as you continued, careful and gentle with him.

It didn’t help that he was reminded—this was the same woman he admired. As your fingers moved, a blush crept onto his skin, blooming faintly across his cheeks. He swore he could feel his body grow warmer, though he didn’t know if it was from the salve or simply from you being this close.

"And I think that's it," You concluded, "Please be more careful next time, Telemachus." You told the prince as you whipped your hands through a clean cloth.

He didn’t respond.

You looked up—expecting a nod, maybe a quiet thanks—but instead, he was just staring at you. Eyes soft, a little lost.

You let out a small laugh, trying to break the silence. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" he blinked, caught.

"Like you have something to say." You smiled, tilting your head.

You didn't pay as much mind as you cleaned off the tray, you could hear him laugh however Telemachus laughed in worry—reminding of his diplomatic mission.

He didn’t know if he should tell you—considering even his mother was against it. The weight of it sat heavy on his chest, but not heavier than the thought of leaving without saying a word. Of walking away while you were still smiling, unaware, waiting for him?. He wondered if it was better this way—if knowing would only make it harder for you, for him.

His fingers fidgeted against the fabric of his bed. His eyes never left yours. "(Name)," he said finally, voice low, uncertain.

You straightened slightly, sensing the shift in his tone. "Hmm?" You hummed.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then gave a small, lopsided smile. "Thank you. For always patching me up."

A pause. Not a confession. Not yet. But maybe a beginning.

A grin plastered on your lips, "You're always welcome, Telemachus" You beemed.

Yeah. He can't bring himself to tell you

"Athena, what should I doooo..." Telemachus whined the next morning, his feet dragging along the grass as he followed the goddess into the olive grove behind the palace. The sun was shining off the drenched leaves, but Telemachus’ heart felt too heavy to notice the beauty around him. "You’re the only one who agrees with this decision… and you're also aware of the cost of it," he trailed off, his hand raking through his hair.

"My mother… and…" he mumbled.

Athena, still in her human form, walked ahead—then shot him a sharp look over her shoulder.

"You speak as if you have the choice to stay, Telemachus. This isn’t about comfort—it’s about truth. It’s about preparing for what is coming."

He stopped in his tracks, eyes lifting toward the goddess.

"My mother… she’s afraid—afraid I won’t come back. And I fear she may be right. And (name)... gods, (name)... she has no idea. I just figured out what I feel for her, and now I have to leave her—and my mother—here?"

Athena stepped closer, her arms folding as her voice slowly softened, but remained firm.

"You know deep down you must go. You must know what happened to your father—not just for yourself, but for your mother and for Ithaca. The time is coming when luck will no longer protect you."

Telemachus’ lips pressed into a thin line. He knew she was right.

"You said it yourself," she continued, "this place is growing dangerous. Those suitors won’t wait forever. What will you do when they snap—and you’re not ready?"

The goddess’s words landed heavier than he expected. Telemachus felt the ache of them settle in his chest.

"This journey," Athena said, softer now, "will make you ready. I’ll help you. You’ll seek the answers you’ve longed for."

And slowly, Telemachus began to understand. This wasn’t only a search for his father. It was preparation. A storm was brewing in his home—and he needed to be ready before it broke.

"And if they realize I’ve left?" he asked quietly, scared.

"Then let them," Athena said without hesitation. "They’ll see soon enough that you’re no longer a child hiding behind your mother’s grief. You are your father’s son. You just need the chance to become him in your own way."

Telemachus took a slow breath, but the ache in his chest didn’t ease.

"And what about (name)…?" he asked in a whisper, his head bowed.

Athena didn’t answer right away. When she finally spoke, there was a trace of sympathy in her voice.

"If she’s truly who you believe she is, she will understand. And she’ll wait."

The wind passed silently through the olive trees. Then Athena added, almost gently,

"Or… if you find the words too difficult to say—perhaps it’s better not to say anything at all."

Telemachus turned to her, startled. "You mean—leave without telling her?"

"You said it yourself. Your mother is against this. You fear what will happen if she finds out. I understand that. But if you linger too long, doubt will start to drown out your resolve. And if this must be done… delaying it will only make everything harder."

Telemachus opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wanted to argue. He wanted to call it cruel. But even as his heart fought it, something in him knew Athena was right. Maybe it was cowardice. Maybe it was wisdom. Or maybe it was the quiet, selfish hope that this would all be over soon.

The sooner he left, the sooner he could return. And maybe—just maybe—when he did, he’d finally have the courage to say what he couldn’t now.

"I guess..." He made up a decision. "We sail as soon as possible."

...

It was a quiet evening—a little too quiet for your liking. The palace was never truly silent, not with 108 men lounging about. Yet tonight, the usual noise were strangely absent.

Curious, you peeked into the main hall. A few men were still awake, but most were drooping in their seats, heads nodding, goblets slipping from loose fingers. Some had already passed out where they sat.

“Odd...” you thought, tilting your head slightly. Still, it wasn’t unheard of. Wine often dulled the edge of their unruly energy.

You turned away, feet light as you walked through the corridor toward Telemachus’ room. Maybe he should know about this—just in case.

A few knocks on his door echoed softly. No answer.

You frowned slightly. “Maybe he’s already asleep?” you murmured to yourself. But... that wasn’t quite like him. Not lately. Now that you thought about it, you hadn’t seen him around much at all these past few days. He wasn’t avoiding you—at least, you didn’t think so. Just... missing.

It hadn’t bothered you before. You were busy. He probably was too. But now, standing outside his quiet door, a small nudge of confusion crept in.

After a short pause, you turned and made your way to the library.

Maybe he was there already.

He often found comfort in quiet spaces.

You were hopeful.

Though a wave of despondency quickly humbles you when the eerie silence of the place meets you. You still tried to look around—maybe to soothe yourself, though like you expected, there wasn't any trace of the prince.

A long sigh escaped your mouth as your back rested against the library door. "Maybe tomorrow," you told yourself, deciding to just head to bed early today. You didn't really find any motivation to do anything right now—maybe because your inspiration was nowhere to be seen.

You weren’t really paying attention to your surroundings. For one, you were too deep in your thoughts, and two, you didn’t expect anyone to be around at this time. So you were a bit startled when you bumped into someone.

"My apology—" you quickly said, then blinked in confusion. "Nurse Eurycleia! Good evening," you greeted.

Nurse Eurycleia was the palace nurse. You were in good terms with the old madam, often offering your hand whenever you could, especially as you were also learning the art of healing.

"Nurse Eurycleia?" You called out again when the older woman did not answer.

Brows furrowed, the older woman was not facing you—which you found odd.

You shifted slightly, eyes drifting to where she had come from—the main exit of the palace. Your brows furrowed at the sight. "Nurse Eurycleia, did you go out around this late? That isn’t really safe for you to be outside. May I ask what you were doing there?" you asked softly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

As you stepped closer, something under the folds of her peplos caught your eye—a small bundle, oddly shaped, like it had been tucked away in haste. You recognized it as a bag. Your confusion deepened.

The old nurse gave a weak chuckle. "Ah, just gathering something I left earlier. Nothing important, dear."

You narrowed your eyes just slightly, trying not to sound accusing. "Do you happen to know where the young prince is? You had a conversation with him earlier, yes?," you said casually, watching for her reaction.

Eurycleia froze and you immediately knew. Her body still.

"Nurse..?" You blinked.

She didn't speak. Your heart gave a light thud. “You know where he is,” you said, almost in disbelief. “Don’t you?”

Still, she said nothing—but her silence was all the answer you needed. "Where is he?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. "What's wrong?"

Eurycleia looked at you then, her face lined with worry. "He… didn’t want you to worry," she said quietly, her voice trembling with guilt.

You stepped back, your breath catching in your throat.

"The young prince went to sail" she finally admitted. "On a diplomatic mission. To Pylos. Then to Sparta."

Your eyes widening as realization struck you harder than lightning. "What..?" You murmured, you couldn't find the words, you had a million questions yet none escaped from your lips.

"The young prince... ordered not to tell anyone but..."

Suddenly, Eurycleia reached out and held your hand, gently, urging you to meet her eyes, while yours were still wide with confusion and dread.

"He may still be out there, (name). I don’t know exactly what you and the young prince share, but I do know this—he did not want to leave without saying anything. I saw it in his eyes, he was torn"

You froze. The weight of her words hit you like a wave—confusion, shock, a swell of emotion you couldn't place. But there was no time to sit in it.

"Go. While there may still be time," she urged.

You didn’t waste a second. With a silent breath of thanks to Eurycleia, you took off—racing out of the palace as your heart pounded faster than your legs could carry you.

Your thoughts were a whirlwind. Why is he going? Does he not understand how dangerous this is? Why didn’t he tell me? A flood of questions tangled in your mind, but none of them slowed your steps.

You didn’t know exactly where he would be—but your instincts pulled you toward the shore.

You prayed—to the gods, to fate, to anyone listening—he couldn't leave. Not like this. You had almost gone to bed tonight never knowing he’d already left the island of Ithaca.

The wind bit cold against your skin, but you didn’t care. You had to find Telemachus.

Then you saw him.

His back was to you at first, feet planted on the shoreline where a single ship was moored. The waves lapped quietly at the sand, and the few men aboard moved like shadows—final preparations nearly done.

He didn’t see you right away. His eyes stared off into the horizon, somewhere far, far away. He looked dazed, torn. A deep frown settled on his lips, like the weight of everything he carried was pressing him down.

You saw him.

"Telemachus," you whispered—too soft, as if your voice might shatter something.

Then louder—your breath catching before it came out.

"Telemachus!"

His body stiffened. Slowly, he turned. His wide eyes met yours. Shock to see you.

"(Name)." He mouthed your name.

Your chest heaved, lungs burning, not just from the run but from the ache building beneath your ribs.

Both of you did not move at first, the distance between you too was filled with tension that if one were to go past it they would feel it.

You two stood facing each other, eyes locked, with the moon high above—glowing behind the other's light, as if the sky bent itself to reflect a single moon for two souls.

You couldn’t hold it. What started as a step turned into a run—unthinking. Telemachus watched, frozen, as you closed the distance. He knew he should have gone sooner to spare you both the pain, it was the safer option.. Right..?

But he didn’t move away.

In fact, he stepped forward too—slowly, deliberately. His fingers reaching out for you, and until he finally caught you.

Though he didn't quite prepare himself, as he fell backwards with you—landing on the soft sand.

His arms were around you now, steady even as his heart pounded. The scent of salt and night air clung to both of you, but neither of you move yet.

Your hands clutched the fabric of his cloak, your brows knit together.

You two slowly rise to sit up on the sand, eyes still into each other. You didn't know what gave you the right to launch yourself to the prince but at that moment, you knew him as your Telemachus.

“Why are you leaving?” you finally asked, your voice breaking halfway through. It wasn’t loud, but it hurt to say. Telemachus looked away, the guilt on his face showing.

“I knew you were on to something…” you murmured, "But I didn’t think that it was a diplomatic mission from across the sea."

He hesitated. “You don’t get it, (name).” You blinked, pain flaring in your chest. “It’s complicated,” he added, his voice quieter, as if trying not to lose you further. “You wouldn’t get it.”

You stared at him. “Well of course I wouldn’t get it,” you snapped, the edge in your tone cutting sharper than you intended. “You never said anything.”

"I'm sorry.."

"Sorry isn't going to answer this, Telemachus."

Telemachus flinched, eyes darting to meet yours, startled. You rarely ever raised your voice—only when something truly hurt.

It's kind of an irony, because the only time you ever raised your voice was all because of him. When you defended him and now.

"I had to go. I had to." Telemachus inhaled shakily. "Ithaca won't wait forever. The suitors—they're becoming bolder. My mother can only do so much. And my father… If he’s out there, I have to try."

"I tried to tell you" he said, finally, voice soft, raw. "I really wanted to tell you."

"But how could I? Every time I tried to look at you, I wanted to stay. But I knew I couldn't. I kept thinking maybe… maybe if I just left, it’d be easier." He broke, gripping your fingers gently.

Silence fell again. You felt it in your throat, in your chest, in the way your body refused to pull away from his.

“I would’ve tried to understood, you know,” you said, quieter now. “If you told me. If you trusted me.”

Telemachus grew closer, his voice low. “It’s not that I don’t trust you.“

You kept your eyes at him, your hand still intertwined. Your heart was beating, eyes starting to water.

"I was afraid," Telemachus finally said, his voice trembling like a string pulled too tight.

You blinked.

"I was afraid that if I tell you what I really felt for you... it would've made it harder—for both of us."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Tell me what?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, a broken whimper escaped him. His shoulders shook as his head dropped low, forehead pressing to your shoulder, his hands gripping the fabric of your sleeves and your hands like he was afraid you'd vanish.

"That I am in love with you, (Name)."

Your heart stopped. The world fell still—except for the quiet, ragged breaths of the boy in your arms.

"I love you, (name). Maybe I’ve only just come to understand it fully, but the gods know—from the moment we first spoke, I was meant to fall for you."

For the first time, you didn’t know what to say. Your mind went completely blank. Words slipped from your grasp like water through trembling fingers. You were never like this—never speechless, never unsure. But maybe that was because you had never let yourself be this close to something so raw… so real.

You stared at him.

Telemachus, with his tear-streaked face pressed gently against your shoulder, hands clinging to your sides. His confession still echoed in your chest, stirring something terrifying and warm all at once.

You breathed in, slowly.

"If what you said was true, then why leave without saying goodbye?"

"...I thought it would hurt less," he admitted, voice breaking. "For both of us."

You looked at him, truly looked—and then, without thinking, your hand reached up and brushed a thumb across his cheek. "It hurts more," you said quietly, "not knowing."

The space between you felt fragile. Yet somehow, even now, there was comfort in it.

You then started to stroke his head almost pulling him closer, Telemachus hesitantly looked up to you. A chuckle escaped your lips. The same laugh he loves.

"Remember when I told you my mother was worried that talking to you might make you think the wrong thing?" you began, your voice soft. The prince tilted his head, slightly puzzled, but nodded.

"Well... the truth is, long before that, I already liked you," you admitted, eyes dropping for a moment. "Talking to you wasn’t just a coincidence—it was my way of trying to get to know you."

Telemachus' eyes widened, stunned.

"My mother said feelings like that would lead me nowhere. She said, 'Who are you compared to him?' That you'd probably find it strange... or laughable. So I grew up thinking I’d never mean anything to you."

He opened his mouth to speak, but you gently cut in before he could.

"I started to believe, by default, that love just wasn’t meant for me. So imagine how surprised I was... when you said you wanted to be friends."

Telemachus stepped closer, the moonlight catching the hurt and wonder in his expression. His voice broke gently through the silence.

"When I said I wanted to be friends," he said, voice low, "it wasn’t because that was all I wanted. It was because I knew, i wanted to begin somewhere with you."

Your breath caught again,

"From the time we’ve spent together.." He trailed off "You were nothing but more than I ever thought I was allowed to want. And maybe I don’t know exactly what I’m doing—gods know I’m still figuring it all out—but I do know one thing."

He reached for your cheeks, gentle.

"I want whatever this is. Even if it’s uncertain. Even if it’s slow. I want it… with you." He said.

You couldn't help but lean into the warmth of his hand, your heart thudding louder with every inch that closed between you. His touch was tender. Your faces hovered close, breaths mingling in the quiet. Telemachus’ thumb brushed your cheek, then paused as his gaze flicked down—hesitating on your lips.

"May I?" he asked, barely above a whisper, like he was afraid to break the moment.

As you gave a quiet nod, he leaned in—and when your lips met, it was like the world stopped.

His lips were soft, warm, hesitant at first, then a little more certain as you didn’t pull away. You could feel the faint hitch in his breath, the way he carefully pressed in closer, and you welcomed it.

It wasn’t overwhelming. But it was enough to have you melt.

His hand traced the line of your jaw, then settled lightly at your waist, fingers trembling slightly. Your own hands moved instinctively, one curling over his shoulder, the other slipping slowly to the back of his neck.

He pulled away for only a moment, just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. Then, without a word, he kissed you again—deliberate this time.

You were getting kind of jazzy by the second, but your body refused to pull away as the kiss deepened.

Telemachus finally broke the kiss, both of you breathing heavily. His arms remained around you as he buried his face in your shoulder—hiding, maybe, from how deeply he was blushing.

“Did that just happen…?” you said aloud.

The way he held you tighter made it real. He kissed you. And you kissed him back. A quiet settled between you as your fingers gently combed through his hair.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he murmured, making you glance down at him. “You have no idea.”

A soft chuckle escaped you. “I don’t want you to leave either,” you admitted. “But we both know how important this is.” He stilled. Slowly, he pulled back—though his hands still lingered on you.

A part of you wanted to be selfish, to beg him to stay. The sea was no safer than the palace. But you knew better. And you hated how much you understood.

“Don’t make this a goodbye,” you whispered. His eyes lifted to yours, glossy with emotion. “Make it a promise. Promise me you’ll come back safe.” He didn’t speak right away, only nodded—your smile softening as you held onto that small piece of hope.

“I promise to come back to you,” he said. “I'll come to pursue you.” You blinked, heart skipping. “Pursue me?” you echoed, voice barely above a whisper.

He gave a shy nod "I want to come back when I can be officially yours. Right now, I’m not the person I want to be yet… but maybe, by then, I’ll be closer to the man I should be—with you."

The confession hung gently in the air between you. You stared at him for a long moment, then smiled—not the polite kind, not the practiced one—but something small and real, like a promise unspoken.

“Then I’ll be right here,” you said, “when that time comes.” Telemachus leaned in again—not for another kiss, but to rest his forehead against yours. You stayed like that, wrapped in the hush of something tender, as the world around you blurred into silence.

Just for this moment, the future didn’t scare you. Because he would carry your words across the sea. And you carry his promise in your chest until the tides brought him home.

You could only pray the gods of Olympus would guide him safely across the sea. Unbeknownst to you, Telemachus offered his own prayer—that you, and his mother, would remain safe within those palace walls.

Neither of you knew what the days ahead would hold. And all that stood between was faith—and hope. But those two aren’t known for handing out happy endings. Not without a price. Not every time.

here is the 14k fic!! part two coming :DDD this was a pain to publish beacuse of how long it is, i had to transfer to my old laptop but im glad its finally done!!

thank you for reading everyone! interactions are greatly appreciated!!

Kumi's m.list

[comicaurora]

hi, you seem to be drawing a lot. can you please tell me, will drawing ever become easy? or is it always a struggle?

(because for me, drawing seems like a neverending fight against artblock, and at this point, i start wondering if it's not really artblock, but instead it's just the reality of art making)

It's not so much that it becomes easy. It's more that you'll find new things about it that are hard.

Art will never become effortless because you will start finding new challenges to wrangle with, but the act of wrangling them is a good part of the fun. Finding new visual effects you struggle to capture or comprehend the shape of, let alone put down on paper. You might start off struggling to render shadows on a figure, and then as you progress you start wondering how to do shadows of foliage, or caustics of light projected through water, or how glowing eyes would cast shadows on a face, etc. New complexities reveal themselves as old struggles are mastered.

If you're struggling with something that feels like artblock, the problem might not be in your hands, but in your eyes. What to draw is at least as much of a challenge as how to draw it. If you notice your eyes snagging on small details or vistas and you catch yourself trying to work out how to capture that effect, that's your artist eyes at work, and the better you get, the weirder your artist eyes will make you.

There's an exercise my mom recommends that she got from her old teacher: three life drawings a day. Of anything - a chair, a glass of water, a tree, someone's dog, your own hand. I think this is less about honing your techniques and more about honing your eyes, training them to snag on everyday things and observe their complexities, the nuances, the way they really look, not just the way you think of them looking.

When you're a kid and you're drawing your first landscape, it's probably a house and a tree under a yellow sun in a blue sky. The tree looks like a lollipop, the house looks like a box with a hat, the sun is an egg yolk surrounded by lines, the sky is the bluest crayon you have. Maybe it has fluffy clouds in it if you were thinking ahead, cuz it's hard to draw white crayon or pencil over already blue drawings. This hypothetical drawing is a pure manifestation of art without artist's eyes; it is made entirely of what you understand things to look like, not how you see them. No real tree looks like a green lollipop. The sun is a blazing white ball that shades half of the dome of the sky in painfully bright white, and the sky is only blue in the loosest sense - even without clouds or sunsets confusing things, the sky will always fade to a lighter shade closer to the horizon. It is never uniform blue. Clouds usually look like shredded cottonballs around the edges, not fluffy rounded boubas.

This awareness extends to more complicated things. We know glass is clear. When we draw something made of glass, how can we capture that clarity? Do we just draw the outline, maybe some token specular highlights to show that it's catching the light? Or do we render the way it bends and distorts the image passing through it? We know gold is yellow and shiny; do we draw it as a yellow sparkly thing, or do we capture how it reflects the space around it? We know that water is blue and reflective. Do we draw it like we would draw a shiny blue car? Do we render a glass of water like a blue raspberry icee?

Actively perceiving the world as it is takes work and practice, but it's a vital component in all art - even completely fantastical art that is not at all drawn from life references. Skin has a particular luminosity to it, subcutaneous scattering of light that is inobvious if you just know that Skin Looks Like A Color. Even if you're painting a goblin or a mermaid or a centaur, capturing how the light hits their skin can make the difference between them looking like an action figure and looking like a living thing. If you're painting a landscape that isn't earth, it helps to have observed what earth's clouds and atmosphere really look like, how they catch and scatter the light. You have to know the rules in order to break the rules.

I can honestly say it never gets easy, but it does become a lot of fun, and if you're currently struggling to find the fun of it, it will get better the more you hone your eyes.

[nonbinary-octopus]

recently, while my wife and I were playing minecraft together, she made an offhand comment wishing that cats could have more than two modes of existing, a somewhere in the middle where they're tamed and friendly, but don't constantly follow you around if you haven't commanded them to sit

so I decided I would make her a mod

it is nearly done now. Once a cat is tamed, you can have it sit and stand on command as before, but when it stands, the cat makes a 50/50 decision whether it will follow you (vanilla tamed cat behavior), or wander around the village (untamed cat behavior + not shy anymore).

Or if you want to get a for sure switch, you can give the cat a piece of string to play with, and it will wander, or a chicken treat and it will follow you. I also added chicken as a temptation item, and you can tame with it.

speaking of temptation, tempting a wild cat with fish so you can tame it has the cat moving at 0.5 speed, which makes sense as it is skittish and you are trying to befriend it. But tempting a tamed cat had the same speed, and I thought that was just silly. In my experience, if a cat likes you and you offer food, the cat will approach you quickly. So now a tamed cat's tempting speed is 1.5 instead. May fiddle with that number a bit later

oh, also I decided that since creepers are wary of cats already... Why not let the cats hunt them? So now cats, both tame and wild, will attack creepers. (Careful, though, sometimes the cat will end up chasing a creeper towards you, lol!)

What I'm working on now is a visual distinction between the modes. The idea is that when the cat is working (follow mode), it can wear a harness the same color as its collar, which can be done by messing with the texture files.

this... has probably taken me longer than the rest of the mod, and I still haven't fully figured it out. It seemed so simple, but it turns out to be more complicated than I had thought.

I've put it down for now.

[seafoamaphrodite]

a beginner’s guide to…

✨ altars ✨

here are some materials you can use for an altar, whether it is for your spellwork, a deity, or any other use! altars should reflect your personality, and be a space where you feel happy and safe :D

none of these materials are required, and everything is completely customizable to your beliefs! (just practice respect and safety obviously)

🕯️ basics 🕯️

an altar cloth is a piece of fabric that covers your altar. this could be a bandana, a small blanket, or even a piece of paper!

a glass plate is a mundane but VERY versatile altar piece. it can work as an offering dish, a tray to collect wax drippings, or just a little trinket holder

candles are an easy addition to any altar. you can use any type of candle, but my favorites are taper and prayer candles. scented candles are completely fine to use as well! choose candles based on color and scent

natural materials like crystals, flowers, plants, animal bones (responsibly sourced), etc. are an incredible addition to any altar! if you have a deity altar, learn about their associations and use this to guide your choice

paper and pen/pencil will be your best friend if you write petitions, draw sigils, etc. keep them near your altar for convenience

🌱 cleansing 🌱

many people believe an area should be “cleansed” before it is used as an altar or sacred space

methods of cleansing include incense, water cleansing, sage smudging, and more

incense cleansing is often done by wafting an incense stick or cone through a space and visualizing the smoke clearing out negative energy

sandalwood, lavender, and rosemary are common incense choices for cleansing

water cleansing is something i do a lot, it can be done by sprinkling water in an area or even washing/pouring water. regular tap water is perfectly fine, but you can also incorporate moon water, sun water, rainwater, etc.

smudging with sage involves burning a bundle of sage and, similar to incense cleansing, wafting the smoke through the area. sage smudging is traditional to indigenous tribes like the Lakota and Navajo. as a result, sage smudging (especially the use of white sage) is often considered cultural appropriation when done by non-indigenous people. i am not indigenous nor do i use sage, so i am not incredibly well versed on the subject but i thought i should include it. always do research and practice respect and sensitivity 💌

🌙 takeaways 🌙

finally, your altar is YOUR space. you can include or exclude anything you want; your space doesn’t need to be “aesthetic” or make sense to others

my first altar was a cardboard box with one candle and a handful of crystals. it wasn’t expensive or fancy, but it got me into my practice

through the years, my altar has grown and changed as i have

if you want to make an altar, start with what you have! you would be surprised how powerful your resources are 🩷

[shariasweet]

𝓢w𝑎𝐠 𝓟r𝑖𝐧c𝓮s𝑠 ─── 'jeans so low, baby, I can see your thong .ᐟ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

otseven 𝓧 female reader

sh4r1n0t3 ᪄ im back… can you tell I recently got a face piercing? I feel like I mentioned that a lot here (self insert queen) anyways… i liked this request a lot and had fun making the boards heh (≧▽≦) ၃ ִ

snyp: or... what is their type? | wc: roughly 0.3k each | cw: none, lots of fluff and fun .ᐟ

wiplist. masterlist. requests.

l. heeseung

I think that girl next door vibe really attracts him… except make it slightly grunge centered with the smeary makeup and darker color scheme.

an oversized hoodie and a jean skirt paired with some tights or a pair or wide legged jeans and an editorial shirt. jewelry wise, I think he wouldn’t really care—a lot of rings for sure, stacking and layering might catch his eye also. this is probably biased… but I think he’d be into face piercings. whether it be a nose or a brow piercing—it’s hot.

brand wise… I think heeseung would enjoy seeing jaded london and minga.

click me (pinterest board) .ᐟ

p. jongseong

there are a few directions I could go here :(

first, bella from twilight… i don’t know but i feel like he’d be a fan of the flared boot cut jeans with the babydoll tops. lots of layering with lacy tanks and super simple jewelry.

I don’t think he’d care about makeup at all, I feel like he’d LOVE a smokey look though (just as much as a natural one).

second, is sort of a business casual look(?) slacks and a nice shirt or jeans and a sweater—super honey, and domestic with a modest loafer maybe :0 … third! whatever this is. a nice sweater or top, a teasing off the shoulder looks—something that’s youthful and fun yet charming and mature (does this make sense?) boots boots boots! he’d probably like this too.

for brands I’m feeling like american eagle and hollister…

click me (pinterest board) .ᐟ

s. jaeyun

I really don’t think he really cares what you have on ╥╥

seriously I think if you’re cute, you’re cute! jake isn’t looking for anything specific, no specific style attracts him. he’s just an all around enjoyer of pretty people!

I think he’s really big on jewelry and accessories though! go all out :) he’d really like ‘whimsy’ patterns and small accents added to outfits. one thing I think he'd be a fan of is that kind of 'boyfriend' style... oversized hoodies, timbs, wide legged pants. he’d love dresses too.

obviously I can’t list any brands, however, I have this board on pinterest in case you can’t quite visualize what I’m suggesting :3

click me (pinterest board) .ᐟ

p. sunghoon

there are two ends of this spectrum!

he lives for that adorable kind of soft style—almost dolly… anything frilly or pastel. I feel like brands wise he’d be big on cherie lou, pieliee, and cherriette!

on the other hand, I feel like a more mature simple style would also be something he’d like to see. plain colors, the occasional splash of red or blue here and there—I’m thing brands like miu miu, h&m, and if we’re talking designer… chanel (and obviously prada). blazers, skirts, nice blouses… that sort of thing.

I think he likes when jewelry and accessories are minimalistic. maybe a dainty bracelet or two, a ring, and a slightly heavy necklace. overall, a sort of sleek, clean fashion with fairy light makeup.

click me (pinterest board) .ᐟ

k. sunoo

I think sunoo would also love that soft, sweet aesthetic—same as sunghoon! however, I think he’d be a fan of brighter colors (warmer tones!)

I think for makeup he’d love to see something really light and smooth. a lot of sparkles, almost fairy like. fake freckles, peachy tones, puffy lips—he’d love it! and you can’t convince me otherwise :(

I feel like he’d lowkey love maxi skirts, you know those flowy white skirts? love. also bracelet STACKS, same for earrings. stack them uppp!

weirdly enough I feel like sunoo would love face jewelry on his partner too, or maybe even body piercings—like sternum (cleavage) or back dimples (they match your skirt, duh).

brand wise, I feel like he’d like a combination of the same brands as jay and sunghoon.

hollister babydoll tops, pieliee, and cherriette!

click me (pinterest board) .ᐟ

y. jungwon

much like jake… if you’re cute, your cute. I don’t think he cares :p

something in specific that makes me think of his though is that sort of racey style (don’t @ me…) but like, I cute skirt or hugging dress with a cute racer jacket? I think he’d love it. especially if the jacket is swallowing you whole.

I do feel like he’d really like the kind of basic ‘stockholm’ style. wide legged jeans, tank tops, sweaters, birkenstocks… that sort of thing. jungwon would also really like sets—jogger sets, denim sets… a set is a set!

one brand on my mind is adidas. don’t ask, I’m not sure.

i don’t think he’d care much about makeup either, jewelry is probably not a big deal.

a stylish pair of earrings might catch his attention through.

click me (pinterest board) .ᐟ

n. riki

okay we all know what’s catching his attention… however, I’ll indulge in the two ends of this scale!

he’s going for either grungey or (again!) that soft look. I think he’d really like the contrast between the two of you—him being like your cooler, taller boyfriend and you’re his adorably, warm and cute girlfriend dressed in pink. I’m not a biggg fan of the dynamic but the possibility is definitely there. he’d find it super amusing, and you, super cute.

again though, he takes me as the type to enjoy matching as such.

he’d definitely pay close attention to jewelry—stack up all of the chunky necklaces and bracelet. face jewelry would definitely catch his eye too (I think him and heeseung might share a type…)

layers on layers! belts, scarves, lace, fur, leather… mix all of them!

overall he’d like the stylish type—fashion forward and unique.

brands are obviously jaded london, chrome hearts, and dare I say vivienne westwood? I think he’d adore that vintage, thrifty style too.

click me (pinterest board) .ᐟ

[marzipanandminutiae]

two movies that play with history in costuming in ways that make Brain Go Brrrr for me:

Jingle Jangle, A Christmas Journey (2020). the actual plot was very much a "this is fine but I'm not the intended audience and I didn't watch it as a child, so it will never have the nostalgia factor and it doesn't particularly compel me as an adult. and that's okay!" situation

but the COSTUMES. oh my god. Cheyney McKnight calls this "Afro-Victorian," and they did it in such an amazing way. one part that struck me is the way the clothes change over time- they didn't have to start it with 1860s-inspired fashions and then make the 30 Years Later timeskip clearly 1890s. it's a fantasy land; people would have forgiven them. but they DID and it's SO COOL

beginning of the movie. the hoops! the little perched hats! this is clearly like 1865, but it works in a lot of both fantastical twists and colors and patterns inspired by various African cloth-dyeing traditions

main character's adult daughter, after the timeskip. puffed sleeves! menswear-inspired tailoring! this is clearly Fantasy 1890s!

main character's granddaughter and her friends post-timeskip. honestly, I say African-inspired textile colors and prints, but some of these would definitely not be out of place in classic European Victorian fashion. mostly the plaid on the white girl here. appropriate skirt lengths for little girls! Cute BootsTM! hats on 99% of the female characters in this shot!

the other is The Favourite (2018)

early 18th century is severely underrepresented in film. the 1690s-1710s were gorgeous and I will die on this hill. plus the way they play around with laser-cut trim and exaggerated hair and makeup is heightening the period look, not watering it down to suit modern sensibilities

Queen Anne and her lover are doing something here; I forget what. I liked the movie, but it wasn't a- pardon the pun -favorite

would she have been wearing full-on masc clothing to shoot? probably not. is it reasonably accurate masc clothing for the era, but Stylized? yes! Also This Is Hot so I'm not complaining. maybe I'd be more into butches if they wore historical menswear...? anyway I digress

holy Tim Burton wet dream I love it so much

do I think Black Panther deserved to win the Oscar that year because the designer had to create a whole visually cohesive clothing culture from scratch? yes. do I still love the costumes in this movie? YES.

so like. it's not that I require 100% accuracy! I just like movies to be having a conversation with history rather than shouting over it, if that makes sense. (also avoiding my specific pet peeves- just be normal about corsets and put women's hair up/add hats where there should be hats. please?)

[candy69gurl]

Sooo what is your thought in bully sukuna x shy reader? I think it's kinda hot tho. Like imagine sukuna picking on you every day bc he is obsessed with reader 🥴😩

ENSNARED

PAIRING bully Sukuna x shy reader

WARNING slight non/con, mean Sukuna (obv), m!masturbation, jealousy, slight mentions of Jin Itadori, mentions of violence, public harassment, little comfort?, slight dacryphilic Sukuna, fingering, clit rubbing, use of nicknames (brat, slut), slight exhibitionistic Sukuna, raw sex, m!cum on f!face

"G-give that back to me," you attempt to snatch your notebook from Sukuna's grasp, but he intentionally keeps it just out of reach, smirking wickedly.

"Oh, are you truly desperate for this piece of shit?" He asks teasingly, enjoying your frustration. "Perhaps if you beg prettily, I might consider letting you have it back."

Your desperation grows with each attempt, as you frantically lunge and twist to snatch the notebook from Sukuna's skilled hands. He shifts it from one hand to the other, juggling it playfully, prolonging your torment. His eyes gleam with mischief as he watches you struggle, enjoying the power struggle between the two of you. "Beg," he urges, leaning closer to whisper the word in your ear, making the situation even more agonizing.

In your frantic attempts, you lose your balance and accidentally land on top of him. Your body settles over his lap, unknowingly straddling what seems to be a rather significant bulge beneath his clothes. Sukuna's smirk falters for a moment, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks as you finally tear the notebook from his grip and scurry away, completely oblivious to the chaos you've caused. "You... you have no idea, do you?" he stammers, trying to regain his composure, a mix of embarrassment and amusement coloring his voice.

You glare at Sukuna, your eyes narrowing in anger as you hold the now-precious notebook tightly. Your cheeks red from embarassment and anger. Without another word, you turn on your heels and storm away, leaving him behind, his laughter trailing behind you.

Little did you know, the incident had left a lasting impression on him, and the game of cat and mouse between you and the school bully would continue, fueling his obsession with you even further.

As the night falls, Sukuna tosses and turns, unable to shake off the vivid memory of your accidental encounter earlier that day. His erection strains against his pants, a painful reminder of the power you unwittingly hold over him. "Damn you, little brat," he curses under his breath, frustration mixing with desire. He tries to distract himself with other thoughts, but his mind keeps returning to the image of you, sitting on his lap, completely unaware of the effect you had on him.

Unable to resist any longer, Sukuna's hand slips beneath the covers, wrapping around his throbbing member. He jerks himself roughly, visualizing your innocent face and the way your body had felt against him earlier. Each stroke brings him closer to release, and he moans softly, fantasizing about the day when he'll claim you as his own, asserting his dominance over you in every sense. The thought pushes him over the edge, and he sighs in relief as he spends himself, imagining your surprised expression when he finally makes you submit to his desires.

As he releases, a satisfied smirk graces his lips. "Soon, little brat," he murmurs, "I will.. fucking make you mine." He cleans himself up and drifts off to sleep, dreams filled with fantasies of dominating and possessing you, eager for the day when he could make you his in every way possible.

The next day, Sukuna finds himself walking down the hallway, his eyes desperately trying to locate you. He is determined to start the day by bullying you. He eventually finds you leaning against your locker, talking to none other than Jin Itadori, another nerd he picks on.

Jealousy surges within him, the sight of you with someone else igniting his possessive nature. He approaches the scene, casually inserting himself into the conversation, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Mind if I join you two? I heard there's some juicy gossip going around," he says, his eyes never leaving you.

Sukuna's arms wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close and shielding you from the boy's advances. "You want to date her? Just look at her, she's as ugly as fuck. You can do so much better than this pathetic excuse for a human." His words drip with contempt, and his tone is dismissive.

Embarrassment floods you as Sukuna's cruel words echo through the hallway, drawing stares and snickers from the surrounding students. Jin, unable to handle the situation any longer, offers you an awkward smile before retreating and leaving you alone with Sukuna. Tears start to form in your eyes, and you struggle to maintain your composure in front of your tormentor. "You should be thanking-"

With a sudden burst of anger, you slap Sukuna across the cheek, the sound reverberating through the now-silent hallway. "I hate you!" you cry out, your voice cracking with emotion. For once, the tables have turned, and the roles are reversed – now it's Sukuna who feels humiliated in front of his peers.

Sukuna's eyes flash with anger, and before you know it, he seizes your hair, his fist clenching to strike you. The room erupts in chaos as classmates rush forward to pull you and Sukuna apart. As they separate you, his eyes burn with fury, promising retribution later. "This isn't over, little brat," he growls, his voice low and menacing. In the midst of the confusion, you can't help but wonder how far he'll go to assert his dominance and exact his revenge.

After school, you are the last student in the classroom. You quickly gather your belongings and stuff them into your bag. The sooner you leave school, the sooner you can get away from the stress of the day's activities.

Just as you're about to exit the classroom, your gaze shifts left, revealing Sukuna's smirking face. He's been waiting for you to finish what you're doing so he can pounce on you; now that you're both alone, no one can stop him.

His eyes gleam with satisfaction as he grabs your wrist, yanking you back and pinning you to the ground under his weight. "Nowhere to run, little brat," he chuckles, holding you down with an iron grip. "Time for your punishment." Fear and adrenaline course through you as you struggle against him, knowing that you can't escape his grasp.

Afraid and overwhelmed, tears stream down your face as Sukuna looms over you. To your surprise, his demeanor shifts, and he hastily gets off you, cradling your trembling form in his arms. "I didn't mean to scare you," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly gentle.

You continue to sob, the mixture of fear and humiliation overwhelming you. Sukuna holds you tightly, his grip softening as he tries to offer comfort. "Please don't cry," he whispers, his fingers gently tracing circles on your back. "I won't hurt you, little brat. You just need to learn your place, that's all." Despite his words, you can't help but feel uneasy, knowing that his intentions might not be entirely genuine.

His hands cup your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. Your teary, puppy-like fearful eyes, your bruised lips from when he pinned you down, everything appears irresistible to him. He licks his lips as arousal surges through him, seeing you so vulnerable.

His fingers brush against your lips as he leans down to kiss your cheeks, tasting your tears. He moves further down letting his lips brush against yours. The kiss is slow and deliberate, his tongue sliding into your mouth with authority. Shock courses through you, your tears drying up as his dominance is once again asserted. But amidst the shock, a strange feeling of desire begins to stir within you, leaving you both confused and anxious.

As you recover from the shock, his kiss intensifies, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer. The unexpected intimacy leaves you both breathless and uncertain, your heart pounding in your chest. His lips are insistent, his tongue exploring your mouth with a possessive fervor. "You're mine, little brat," he whispers against your lips, his words laced with possession and dominance. You can't help but wonder what this new development means for your turbulent relationship.

As his lips continue their relentless assault, Sukuna's hands reach inside your skirt, his fingers tracing the outline of your thighs before finding their way to your most intimate place. Your breath hitches, the surprise and embarrassment from earlier replaced by an unwelcome arousal. "Does my little brat like that?" he murmurs, his voice tinged with satisfaction as he feels your reaction. His fingers delve deeper, his touch both demanding and thrilling. The intensity of the moment leaves you gasping for breath, your body betraying your mind's resistance.

With a triumphant smirk, Sukuna slides his finger inside you, eliciting a sharp intake of breath. "So wet for me, little brat," he praises, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You should be ashamed, wanting me even after I embarrassed you in front of everyone." His words are a mix of pleasure and reprimand, further fueling your confusion and desire. You can't help but squirm under his touch, your body responding to his touch despite your mind's protests.

He thrusts his finger deeper, your walls clenching around him in response. "Such a naughty little brat.." he growls, his thumb caressing your clit. Your breath hitches, your body arching involuntarily under his expert touch. "But don't think this means I've forgiven you," he warns, his finger thrusting in and out in a slow, rhythmic pace. "You still have much to learn, and I'll teach you every lesson you need." You close your eyes, a mixture of shame and pleasure washing over you.

He lifts you up on one of the benches, bringing his erection towards your core. Your core gushing around his shaft, his groan of desire echoing through the still classroom. With a smirk, he frees his cock from his pants, the sight of it causing your breath to catch in your throat. He proceeds to rub the engorged member against your clit, his movements slow and deliberate. You try to resist, whispering a half-hearted "Wait..," but his eyes are filled with determination.

Despite your protests, he ignores your pleas and guides his member to your entrance. Forcing himself into you, he pushes past your resistance, his size causing a burning sensation. You whimper and whine, struggling against him, but his strength is overwhelming. "Quiet, little brat," he snarls, his cock stretching you wide. "Take it like the good little slut you are." You can't help but surrender to his force, your body adjusting to his intrusion as his thrusts become more forceful. "W-what if someone..?", your voice quivering, the thought of somebody seeing you like this is almost revolting to you..

What will everyone say? The shy innocent girl getting fucked by her bully and also that she is enjoying it? Yet, you cannot deny the pleasure he is giving you. You don't want him to stop.

"No one's coming", Sukuna interrups , "Even if someone sees us, let them know you just pretend to be shy... but you are in reality a masochist slut."

The combination of pain and pleasure washes over you, your body betraying your will once again. Your protests turn into moans, your hips moving in tandem with his. The intensity of the situation leaves you breathless, your mind conflicted between desire and fear. Despite yourself, you begin to enjoy the rough ride, your body responding to his dominance.

As his thrusts become more forceful, he cups your face, his eyes locked on yours. "You feel so good, little brat," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "I've fantasized about this so many times, imagining you wrapped around my cock." You blush, both mortified and flattered by his admission. "You don't know how much I like you," he continues, his words contradicting his usual cold demeanor. "Maybe too much."

His confession catches you off guard, your mind reeling from the unexpected sentiment. Despite your confusion, his words ignite a spark of affection within you. "L-like me..? then why?," you whisper, your eyes tearing once more..

Sukuna pauses, his eyes searching your face as if trying to decipher your thoughts. "You're mine, and I want you to know it," he says, a hint of vulnerability in his tone. "I'll always push you, force you to submit because I can't bear the idea of losing you." His thrusts resume, his movements fierce yet tender. "I enjoy seeing you struggle, hearing you beg, because it proves you belong to me."

He leans in, his lips grazing your ear. "It's my way of showing you how much I care, little brat," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I'll never let anyone take you from me, even if it means breaking you first." His words are both reassuring and terrifying, leaving you unsure of how to feel about this new revelation.

Despite your confusion, the intensity of the moment leaves you breathless, your body responding to his every move. His declaration has opened a door to a whole new realm of emotions, leaving you both scared and entranced by his possessiveness. The love-hate dynamic between you grows more complex with each passionate thrust, your future now intertwined with the man who both torments and cherishes you.

With a smirk, Sukuna reaches inside your shirt, his fingers finding your breasts through your bra. He kneads your nipples roughly, your breath hitching at the sudden sensation. "Such a pretty sight, my little brat writhing under me," he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck to find your lips. His kiss is both possessive and demanding, his tongue dueling with yours in a heated dance.

Your body responds to his touch, your nipples hardening in his grasp. The mix of pain and pleasure leaves you gasping, your mind clouded by the sensations. His kiss deepens, his tongue exploring your mouth, his hands roaming freely over your body. The dual assault leaves you breathless, your arousal reaching new heights.

As his kisses become more intense, so do his thrusts. You can't help but become more responsive, your body surrendering to his domination. The intimacy and brutality blend together, leaving you both exhilarated and terrified by the intensity of the experience. Your resistance melts away, your body craving the release that only he can provide.

He watches your face intently, his thrusts becoming more frantic. "That's it, little brat," he growls, "let go for me." You can feel the heat building within you, your body ready to explode.

As you reach your climax, your inner muscles contract around his cock, milking him in a rhythmic pulse. Sukuna groans, his own release nearing. With a growl, he pulls out, his seed shooting across your face in a hot spray. You gasp, your eyes widening at the sudden intrusion. "There," he says, a triumphant glint in his eye. "Now you're marked, my little slut."

Your breath hitches, the cooling semen on your face a testament to his claim. The shock of the action leaves you speechless, your mind struggling to process the intensity of the situation.

As Sukuna zips up, his eyes rake over your body, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Clean yourself up," he commands, raising a hand in dismissal before turning on his heel and striding away. You're left on the ground, still panting from your orgasm, your mind reeling from his abrupt departure.

You watch him leave, your mind reeling from the whirlwind of emotions. As he disappears from sight, you can't help but feel abandoned. With shaking hands, you wipe the semen from your face, a small part of you feeling humiliated yet another part aroused by the act. Your body still buzzes from the encounter, your heart racing. You rise slowly, your legs unsteady beneath you, and make your way back to your quarters.

Does he really like me?

The questions linger, unanswered, but you know one thing for certain - you belong to him, body and soul.

[nipuni]

Alright, time to share my opinions about Veilguard!! I have both criticism and praise so bear with me as I jump from one extreme to the other 😆 spoilers ahead of course!

The game has a very rough start with the dialogue being formulaic and rushed and the characters overexposing. It feels like a heavy handed attempt at summarizing all of previous games' lore for newcomers or in case you forgot but it's so overdone it feels coddling and trivializes a lot of previous events. Luckily this gets better once all of the introductions are out of the way, though the excessive hints and clarifications continue until the end sadly.

The locations are absolutely incredible and very diverse!! This is a highlight of the game for me. There is so much detail and care in every map and there are so many of them. My pc is struggling to reach medium settings and yet everything looks stunning. The verticality of the maps is so imposing and the graphics have a very dreamy quality that I love. I also enjoy the maze-like structure to the maps, it's more linear but makes everything look a bit more intentional. The color and light direction was amazing, all the visual development really!! it has to be one of the prettiest games I've ever played.

When I started I have to admit it did not feel like I was in Thedas and it all felt a bit theme-parky, if that makes sense. A lot of previously important and established world elements that made Thedas what it is were overlooked or made irrelevant. But the more I played the more it started to feel a bit more similar to Inquisition, for better or worse depending on what you feel about Inquisition. But!! this also feels like a selectively sanitized version of Thedas compared to previous games. In it's attempt to stay safe and uncontroversial in some aspects it loses a lot of substance and it changes the tone. The surface level politics, ignoring previously established major societal issues and a tell-don't-show approach makes the world seem more simple and shallow with no grey areas to explore. ( the humor also falls flat and out of place often too, and WHY is everyone always smirking, enough!! godlike beings are destroying the planet please this is not the time for Marvel banter aaaa )

The pacing at the start is a bit of a mess. It is so fast it felt like jumping from one world shattering discovery to the next with no time to process. The characters also seem to underreact to important information and major developments. It felt like the game was rushing me through all this to get to the part of the story it wanted to tell me while I was still wrapped in my shock blanket trying to catch my breath lmao. I really like all the key story points they touched upon, I just wish they dwelled more on them to give them more narrative weight. ( though blaming every bad thing to ever happen on the Elves was certainly..a choice )

I think the writing could have used more subtlety in the first half and more boldness in the second 😆 but I loved the thematic parallels between Rook and Solas and how every quest informs the main storyline. I do wish Rook was given more impossible choices and put in more difficult situations that forced them to lie or betray their own to better drive the point home though ( listen I just love a Trolley problem!! we need more of those, I'm the Trolley problem's number one fan!! ) I feel like they missed the chance to put Rook in Solas' role and be as vilified and hated for it as Solas was despite their best intentions which would make Rook's regrets stronger and in turn make their escape from the fade all the more impressive and give them a better understanding of Solas to either use against him or earn his respect. The line 'they called me the Dread Wolf, what will they call you when this is over' from the trailers was so good I was waiting for this!! But everyone just loves Rook no matter what!!

But I feel like I stated too many negative aspects in a row so moving on to some things I enjoyed!

The characters were very lovable to me. The romances weren't as long or impactful as I would have liked but I enjoyed all the companion quests. Emmrich is a delight and his quest is so wild and fun. I loved learning about Nevarra and I was awestruck by the Grand Necropolis. The mourn watch was so interesting, it showed a whole new side of Thedas' lore I knew nothing about! and I loved Manfred! Davrin is so charming, he became a favorite. I loved his quest too and learning more bits and pieces about the Dalish was great, I wish we got more. Seeing the Wardens through his quest also made me enjoy them a lot. Assan was very cute too and I'm glad he was treated as an animal and not turned into a goofy Disney sidekick too much lmao 😭 Lucanis is hilarious. The fantasy Spain/Italy was a bit silly and off at times but he is very sweet! and I love the Spite possession, that was so fun I'm glad they kept him that way! Bellara is adorable, her first backstory quest made me cry and I just love a nerd! I wish the second part of her story was written better however, and she sort of devolves into 'it's hard, I wish it was easy but it's hard' dialogues too often sadly. Anaris and the Forgotten Ones' portrayal was underwhelming and anticlimactic which was disappointing. Harding is also very cute and her Titan plotline was the most interesting to me, I bawled my eyes out in her quest!! I love the dwarven lore of this universe I'm so happy we got more of it!! ( she also fucking died in my playthrough?! I was devastated what the hell 😭 'whatever it takes' WEUEUGHHHG I'M SO SORRY) Neve was a slow burn for me because of my choices in game slowing that relationship down ( saving Treviso I mean, perdón amor 🙏 ) but I love detective novels and she is such a badass I ended up loving her. Taash was unexpected, I didn't think they would be so young. The coming of age story was sweet, though I found myself cringing a lot too at the handling of it I have to admit ( and the Lords of Fortune in general, and the Antaam...and que Qun..listen- kajshfgf ) but I also enjoyed learning more about the first expedition and the Qunari in general despite the messy writing and choices. I also loved Antoine and Evka! and Strife! And I haven't even read any of the novels they are in 😆 also Mila!!!! and her dad oh my god and Felassan haunting the narrative!! speaking of haunting, I would have loved for Cole to be in the lighthouse too I think it would have worked well 🤔 especially with the whole 'reading Solas' secret diary' thing the game had going on lmao

Everyone seems to get along except for a bit of friction that is quickly resolved at the start, which is hmm missed potential? I would have preferred more tension personally. I enjoy the drama! gives me more to work with and gives you a better grasp on everyone's personality by contrasting values. I think they wanted to speed run a found family trope for the new hero to establish some emotional stakes early on but it ended up making everyone seem like a group therapy session instead. The group meetings also have everyone either state the obvious or repeat the same opinion or conclusion to each other, I would have loved these meetings to have more bickering, have people get mad and storm out and also get to listen to different takes on a situation. Make Rook struggle more to take the reins and keep the team functional, learning how to be a leader.

Speaking of Rook! ( who in my case has a northern British accent that I loved so much 🥺) They seem to have a very established personality. I was expecting more of a blank slate but I'm lucky that the personality they went for kind of matches what I would normally choose in a first playthrough. Though the lack of range in the choices is irritating and takes away some replayability and role playing potential. Rook is very supportive and selfless, I wasn't expecting this tbh! But it all made my Rook turn into the team's weird supportive necromancer mom so it worked out in the end I guess lmao. I can't wait to draw her!!

I was so overwhelmed by the amount of information we got about Solas and his past!! I was expecting answers but not these many and not for them to be such an integral part of the plot!! The game feels like it's about him more than anything else. His arc is the best written out of all. He is mentioned in every conversation, he's the main advisor and the narrative foil, you get to talk to him often, you work for him and with him and go into his memories it all feels so surreal to me lmao I love him so I'm delighted ngl! but also making the other Evanuris so cartoonishly evil makes Solas into such an obvious choice of an ally, god of trickery or not, that it sort of takes the decision out of your hands and makes some dialogue options and companions' opinions seem almost nonsensical. I have no idea how this game would feel to someone who absolutely hates Solas' guts honestly. I suppose I will find out soon enough 😆

About Solas' story, I loved it! I somehow also feel that I knew it already, all the speculation and theories that Solavellan fans were crafting for years were so accurate that it was all very validating. Even the wildest ones! Solas as the Maker, the elves spirit origin, Mythal giving him a body, the war with the Titans, the origin of the Blight, Solas being on your side as advisor, I can go on, we knew!! Also I have to mention this I'm sorry but they made him look so hot!! unbelievable. And the bloodied teary eyed pathetic look in the end ouurghhh I'm cheering and clapping!!

The romance conclusion was so lovely 😭 the Loki and Sigyn ending we deserved to such a mythological epic!! and open ended enough for all of us to cook!! and we got to see him fight and transform into the Dread Wolf!! and whimper and cry!! and bleed and love!! that's all I ever wanted, incredible we were really spoiled what the hell I still can't believe it 😭 GDL acting was brilliant as usual! the visuals were also incredible and exactly what I had in mind when I imagined where the story may go, the eclipse, the giant wolf, the glowing eyes, the Elvhenan ruins, the statues, even the hair lmao it all aligned exactly to what I've been painting all these years but better I was thrilled 😭

Solas backstory with Mythal also offers players that didn't romance him a chance to see him act out of love and show a side they wouldn't be able to reach otherwise and I think it was smart! also very tragic and sheds more light into all of his choices and words and his relationship with Lavellan too and the parallels and reversals and uughh thoroughly enjoying the emotional distress 👌

Pleasing both the Solas lovers and haters at the same time was always going to be hard with him being such a polarizing character by design and the world states being so different but I think they did a good job! at least from my side of things.

I think my favorite part besides the Solas related stuff was the Blight. I loved how horrific and gross and threatening it was! I've always loved the concept of the Blights and I'm glad it was such a huge part of the story in this game. I also loved Treviso!! has to be the most beautiful city in Thedas ahhh and the Necropolis!! the gardens!! Vorgoth!!! Kal-Sharok!!! I can't believe we got to see it!! and a Titan!!! the giant floating face of Ghilan'nain in the clouds??? and the huge archdemons and dragons!! oh and that warden dragon trap in the shape of a griffon?? and the giant blight tendrils!! the siege at Weisshaupt was outstanding!! and the floating panopticon castle situation in Minrathous uughh there is so much I loved.

OH I also enjoyed the Varric arc even though I saw it coming since the trailer it was still played well and it was touching 🥺

The ending felt a bit jarring to me in tone though, a bit too cheerful considering...the horrors. Over half the continent destroyed and most of the problems Thedas had before the game are still there. Veil in place and all 😆

But I had fun!! I'm nitpicking really, the conclusion to Solas' story feels very satisfying to me which was my main worry so I'm happy. It is a good game!! with a sort of soft reboot feel to it and aimed at a younger audience which is probably what they were going for? You can sort of feel the struggle the team went through during production in the way the target audience seems unclear sadly. I also can't help feeling like this is an ending, so much was revealed and resolved!! but maybe I feel that way because that is what I felt after Shadowbringers / Endwalker in FFXIV once my favorite part of the story was wrapped? They can always pivot to a new continent and expand on the world and cultures we know almost nothing about, but that is always harder to sell so I have no clue where they will go from here 😵‍💫

Anyway I'm still processing a lot of stuff that I will probably talk (and draw) about later, this is already long enough!! for now I'll look up how to get the artbook because the art direction of this game is fantastic!! I would love to hear your thoughts too really, I'm curious about the experiences of players who made different choices and with different tastes to mine!!