#Palace Near Red Sea

[antinousletmehit]

Hi! Could you maybe make a Telemachus x reader, where the reader is all flirty and teasing (honestly, basically inspired by Megara from Disney's Hercules) and Telemachus is just so incredibly flustered/frustrated, constantly tripping all over himself.

୨୧┇Pairing: Telemachus x reader

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The sun hung low over Ithaca, bathing the palace courtyard in a golden glow. Telemachus stood near the edge of a fountain, staring intently at the water’s surface as though it might reveal all the answers to his life’s struggles. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his tunic, a habit he couldn’t quite shake whenever his mind wandered.

And then you arrived.

“Good afternoon, my prince,” you said, your voice light and teasing as you approached him. Telemachus’s head snapped up so quickly that he almost lost his balance, his sandals scraping awkwardly against the stone. “Oh! Uh, good afternoon! I didn’t see you there.” His words tumbled out, too fast and too loud, his boyish features immediately flushing pink.

You smiled, stepping closer and tilting your head at him. “You seem distracted. Are you pondering the mysteries of life, or just admiring your reflection?” His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, much like a fish out of water. “I-I wasn’t admiring my reflection!” he stammered, his ears turning an even deeper shade of red. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that! But I wasn’t. Not that I think I’m—“

You laughed, the sound light and melodic, and Telemachus’s heart skipped a beat. He suddenly felt very aware of how close you were standing, the faint scent of herbs and salt clinging to your presence. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know,” you said, leaning just slightly into his space.

Telemachus blinked at you, his face now a full shade of scarlet. “A-Adorable? I’m not—” He stopped himself, realizing he was about to argue with you over a compliment. He groaned internally. “I mean, thank you? I think?”

“You’re welcome,” you replied easily, your grin widening. “I was passing by and thought I’d come talk to the great Prince of Ithaca. But I never expected him to be this shy.”

“I’m n-not shy!” he protested, though the way he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck completely betrayed him. “Not shy, huh?” You raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Then maybe you won’t mind if I tell you I think you’re very handsome?” Telemachus nearly choked on air. His eyes widened, and his voice cracked as he stammered, “H-Handsome? Me? You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all,” you said, your tone smooth and confident. “I think you’re charming. And those eyes? Like stormy seas. You should really look in the fountain more often.” He glanced at the fountain reflexively, then back at you, his entire face on fire. He didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, he felt utterly flushed. No one talked to him like this. Sure, the suitors mocked him and the servants treated him with polite respect, but you—oh, you had him unraveling completely.

“I—uh—I don’t know what to—” he stuttered, fumbling over his words so badly that you almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“You could start by saying thank you,” you offered helpfully, biting back a laugh.

“Right! Yes! Thank you!” he blurted out, bowing his head slightly in what was probably an attempt to regain composure. “That’s—um—very kind of you.” You took a step closer, your voice lowering just enough to send his pulse racing. “It’s not just kindness, you know. I mean every word.”

Telemachus froze, every muscle in his body locking up like a startled deer. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to run or stay rooted in place forever. “You—you do?”

“Of course,” you said, your smile softening into something genuine. “You’re brave, kind, and clever, Telemachus. You should hear it more often.” His name on your lips felt like a spark of lightning straight to his chest. He swallowed hard, finally managing to meet your gaze, though his cheeks still burned. “That…means a lot,” he said quietly, his voice finally steady. “I don’t hear it often.”

“Well, get used to it,” you said with a wink. “Because I plan on sticking around, and I have a lot more compliments where that came from.” Before he could think of a response—or before his brain could completely shut down—you reached out and lightly brushed your hand against his arm. The touch was brief, but it sent his heart into overdrive.

“See you around, my prince,” you said, turning to walk away. Telemachus stood there, completely frozen, as he watched you disappear into the palace. When you were out of sight, he finally let out the breath he’d been holding, his hand flying to his chest as though to steady his racing heart.

“Gods help me,” he muttered to himself, his voice a mixture of awe and terror. “I think I’m in love.”

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Hi!!

I looked through the list of au's/prompts and found this:

"Why can’t the pirate get the princess for once?"

So Pirate!Bucky x Princess reader, maybe they meet someday when the reader tries to escape from her boring duties as a royal? And they start hanging out and you continue the rest if you like the idea. Also maybe if he eventually turns into a royal or whatever he has to learn? How to be a royal. That would be fun but if you have a better idea it would be great

LOVE U💗🌷

🜲 Saltwater Vows 🜲 [One-shot]

Pairing: Pirate!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Word count: 4k+

Content: Parental emotional abuse - panic attack / anxiety - violence / threats - forced marriage - classism - mild language - suggestive if you squint.

a/n: TYSM for sending a request! umm so over 4k words later... i have never written a oneshot like this before , i ate this idea right upppp hehe enjoy!

my masterlist --- requests open!

The hills of Emberlyn shimmered brightly beneath the late summer sun like something out of a dream or fantasy. The villages stretched along the coast in wide crescents of whitewashed stone and marbled streets winding like ribbons of lace through bustling markets and perfumed courtyards. 

High above the city center , the palace crowned the cliffs.

Pristine , untouchable , and always watching above.

But the real heart of Emberlyn lay below , at the sea’s sanded edge.

The royal docks throbbed and boomed with life , vibrant and loud , a symphony of crashing waves , shouted orders and demands.

Sailors bustled past , arms full and grasped with goods. Spices from the Isles , silks from the Eastern Realms , crates stamped with the royal crest. 

The air was thick with the scent of brine , citrus , and a hint of oil from the lanterns that would soon be lit at the purple glow of dusk.

Princess Y/N didn’t belong here at the docs , on the sea's gruel edge.

And yet—this was the only place she ever felt free.

She crouched low behind a stack of sun-warmed honey apple crates , the rough wood digging into the silk of her travel cloak. The soft hood hung low over her brow , shadows hiding the golden royal crested clip she’d hastily removed from her braid and tucked into her boot. 

Her hands gripped the edge of the crate , nails pressed into damp misted wood , and her heart beat wild , not from fear. Anticipation.

He was coming.

She knew the ship before she saw its sails. The way the seabirds scattered from the sky crowing , the hush that rippled down the line of sailors like wind through long sea grass , the shift in air itself—it was all a prelude. 

Her breath caught in her throat as the black sails with the beaming red star crested into view around the breakwater , cutting through the golden sun like a blade.

The Winter Soldier.

Twice the size of the average vessel , with carved tentacles winding down the cannons that gleamed like polished obsidian , the ship and its design was as much myth–like as it was reality. 

Rumors clung to it like barnacles. A ghost ship. A smuggler's haven. A vessel of outlaws. Her father had ordered it fired upon once—unsuccessfully.

But none of them knew the truth. None of them knew him.

The moment they hit the dock , her stomach flipped. And he was here.

Bucky Barnes moved like he belonged to the ocean. He had that easy , strong stride of someone who’d spent more of his life on water than land. He wore dark leather , soft with age , a red scarf knotted loosely at his throat and a sword at his hip—not decorative like the court soldiers , but worn. Used. Real. His left arm glinted faintly in the sunlight beneath his glove , metal where flesh had once been , another piece of his story few dared ask about.

His long brown hair was tied at the nape of his neck , a few loose strands curling near his cheekbones. Salt crusted the hem of his coat and boots. He looked rough , weathered , dangerous—and more beautiful than anything she’d seen in the lavish palace ballrooms.

And when his eyes swept the dock , those piercing , storm-colored eyes that always seemed to find her , no matter how well she hid—and landed on her?

He cracked a smile. A slow , crooked one that made her insides melt like honey left in the heat.

She stood straight , stepping out from behind the crates , brushing the dust from her cloak.  Her heart pounded in her chest , echoing in her ears. She took a deep breath, tugged her hood lower , and tried to walk like she didn’t belong to the king.

“You shouldn’t be here , Princess.”

His voice was rough velvet—low , teasing , and just a little amused. It curled around her with warmth. 

She smirked as she reached him , tilting her chin up. “Neither should you , Pirate.” Her tone ,  teasing but steady.

Bucky’s chuckle rumbled deep in his chest , and it was all she could do not to lean into it.

There was a pause. Neither of them moved , though they stood close—too close for anyone of noble pure blood to be seen with a man like him. But no one was watching here.

His eyes searched hers like he hadn’t seen her in years, even though it had only been weeks since their last meeting. She found her breath again in the spaces between thumping heartbeats.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

He reached up , his fingers brushing the edge of her hood. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“But you did.”

Bucky’s gaze darkened , but he didn’t argue. Instead , he jerked his head toward the far end of the docks looking around. “Come on. Before someone recognizes you.”

They walked together through the maze of alleys behind the port , dodging curious glances and shopkeepers with raised brows. Here , away from the royal court and its suffocating expectations, she felt so alive. 

The cobblestones underfoot were chipped and wet , but she didn’t care. He offered her a pastry from a vendor and they shared it , laughing when powdered sugar dusted her nose.

She slipped her hand into his as they wandered past the lamp-lit taverns. His fingers curled tightly around hers , as though he still didn’t quite believe she was real.

They ended up at their usual spot—an old storage dock long abandoned by the crown , where seaweed and kelp clung to the edges and the ocean lapped lazily at the wood beams below. They sat side by side , legs dangling above the water , silence stretching comfortably between them.

No titles. No court politics. No guards or royal duties.

Just a girl who wanted to taste freedom—and a pirate who gave it all to her.

“Do you ever think about it?” she asked quietly , gazing out over the sea line.

Bucky’s brows knit together. “Think about what?” 

“Running. Leaving it all behind. You and me. On your ship , no thrones , no crowns. Just…the open water.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

“I do , more than I should.”

She turned her head , resting her temple on his shoulder. He smelled like sea salt and smoke and something sweet beneath it all—something she couldn’t name but would know anywhere.

“You’re not just a pirate , Bucky,” she murmured.

“And you’re not just a princess.”

Their fingers tangled together again , tighter this time.

~~~~

Weeks passed in a haze of dresses by day and rough calloused hands by night. Jeweled circlets that pinched at her temples and stolen kisses that melted the ice around her heart.

The port city remained golden and still above the sea , but within the Princess , everything was shifting. 

She moved through her days like a shadow of herself—smiling politely at foreign emissaries , nodding through council briefings , reciting the courtly scripts she’d been trained to speak since birth.

But her thoughts were always somewhere else. With him.

Every stolen minute with Bucky made returning to the palace feel like slipping into shackles. The thrill of their secret meetings had begun to transform into something deeper—something harder to hide. 

Her hand had memorized the feel of his. Her lips still burned from their last kiss behind the spice merchant’s stall , when he’d pulled her close and whispered a tale about a storm that swallowed an entire fleet.

She craved him. Not just his touch, but his stories. His stubbornness. His rage at injustice. His quiet way of making her feel seen.

And yet—she knew it couldn’t last. Not in Emberlyn. Not under the weight of the crown on her head.

It all came crashing down on a night thick with summer heat. The air hung heavy with the scent of garden roses and tension. The moon rode high above the palace as Y/N tiptoed barefoot through a side corridor , her heels slung over her shoulder, hair still tangled and mused from the sea breeze and salt spray.

She’d been with Bucky until the stars came out , tucked beneath the hidden arch near the west docks , tangled in his arms as the tide kissed their toes. Her cheeks still ached from laughing. Her fingers smelled of his leather gloves.

And then—cold. Not from the sea. From the throne.

Her steps slowed when she saw the flickering torches ahead. When she turned the corner—her heart stopped.

King Arthur stood in the corridor , half-shadowed by the columns. His beard , once blonde , had greyed in the past few years , but his presence remained as commanding as ever. He was still in full regalia , though the hour was late—midnight-blue robes clasped at the shoulder with the royal seal. Behind him stood two guards , motionless as statues. Her governess,  cowered near a wall , pale as sea-foam.

The room was silent for only a moment.

Then—

“You dare ,” he thundered.

His voice rolled through the hall like a wave crashing against the rocky cliffs.

“A pirate!? You sneak barefoot through my kingdom's halls like some servant girl for him?”

Y/N flinched , her cloak slipping off her shoulder. “Father, I—”

“Silence!” he snapped. “You risk the honor of this house , this crest!...for a sea-wolf who we should hang at dawn?!”

She bristled. “He’s more than that. He treats me like a person—not a pawn or–.”

The King’s eyes burned. “You speak like a peasant.”

“I am a person,” she hissed. “I’m not a tool to be traded for political gain.”

“You will be wed to Lord Catabary on the next moonrise,” Arthur growled, stepping toward her. “And this childish rebellion will be over once you are his wife.”

The name struck her like a slap. Lord Catabary—an aging nobleman who saw her as nothing but a path to her throne. 

“No,” she said.

“What?”

Her chest heaved. Her lungs couldn’t seem to fill.

“I said no!”

The moment the word left her mouth , the panic bloomed—wild, choking, brutal. Her vision tunneled, the walls of the palace suddenly too close , the silk of her corset biting deep into her ribs and breath. Her chest rose in sharp, shallow gasps, her hands trembling.

“My lady—”

But Y/N was already running away.

Barefoot through marble halls. Down servants’ stairs. Across the gardens she once played in as a child. Through the front gates before the guards could catch her name.

The city opened around her like a wound.

She ran, breath coming in ragged bursts, hands clutching at the bodice of her gown like she could tear it off with sheer will. She didn’t stop until the sea was in her nose again. Until the sound of gulls and waves drowned out her father’s voice.

She slammed into a hard chest—warm, solid, familiar.

Arms shot out and steadied on her waist before she hit the ground. A hand cradling the back of her head.

“Hey—hey, hey. Easy. Princess.” Bucky’s voice was low , urgent, his breath brushing her cheek.

She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t see anything past the darkness exploding behind her eyes.

“Look at me.” His hands framed her face, rough pads of his thumbs stroking her cheeks. “You’re panicking , sweetheart. Breathe. Just breathe.”

She couldn’t. She clawed and flailed at the front of her gown like it was strangling her , trying to pull down the crushing fabric and corset.

“B-Bucky—I can’t—” she choked on the air , pawing at the strings keeping her bound on the back , hands shaking violently as tears poured from her eyes. 

He saw the pure fear on her face and without hesitation , he moved behind her.

The sound of gleaming steel sliding from its sheath rang sharp through the air.

Before she could react to the sound or question , she felt a sudden harsh tug—and then freedom.

Bucky had sliced clean through the back of her gown , cutting the corset laces and ties in one swift stroke. The fabric loosened immediately, falling off her shoulders like petals off a rose.

Air rushed into her lungs. Sweet , glorious air. She gasped , the pain receding like a tide.

And then collapsed into him. He caught her without flinching , sword clattering to the ground , as his arms anchored her bare shoulders concealing her modesty against his chest. 

He sank to the dock with her still n his arms , cradling like a precious coin , rocking gently with the rhythm of the waves.

“Shhh. I’ve got you,” he whispered , pressing his cheek to her hair. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

Her fists curled into his coat. She sobbed once—deep, hoarse—and let herself break.

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to. He just held her.

“I can’t go back,” she whispered after long moments, voice wrecked. “He said he’s marrying me off to Catabary”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “The bastard who called you ‘a fair look’ last harvest feast?”

She gave a watery laugh still gripping to him like a tether. “Yes , him”

Bucky cursed under his breath shaking his head.

“Run away with me,” Her voice trembled.

“What?” His voice barely whispers.

“Run with me. Take me with you. Your ship—your crew—we could leave tonight. We could finally be free.”

His heart thundered against her cheek.

“Sweetheart…” His fingers brushed a stand of hair from her temple. “You know I want to. But once we do… there’s no going back. He’ll hunt you. He’ll brand you a traitor.”

“Then let him,” she said , fire lighting in her eyes.

He stared at her a long moment.

Then, quietly, Bucky kissed her forehead.

“All right,” he murmured. “Lets get you out of here”

~~~~

They couldn’t run forever.

Even the sea—vast and lawless—had borders. Shores. Storms. Consequences.

For a handful of wild , golden days, it felt like they might outrun all of it. They lived aboard the Winter Soldier , tucked into the creaking belly of the ship , marking their love under the stars and waking to the sound of gulls and sails unfurling. 

Y/N had braided Bucky’s hair with ribbons and shells she'd picked off her old gowns and found on the sand floor.

He’d taught her to navigate by the stars by her hands as the compass. 

They laughed like thieves and kissed like they had nothing to lose. But Emberlyn hadn’t forgotten its princess. Nor had the people.

Rumors spread like spilled soured wine—of a runaway royal , of the pirate who had stolen her not just in body , but in heart. And as the whispers grew louder, so too did unrest.

No one expected the royal summons. Least of all Bucky.

The messenger found them anchored just outside an isle , where they'd been trading for dried fish and fruits. Bucky had laughed when he saw the parchment, half-expecting it to burst into flames.

He’d read it once. Then twice. Then a third time, slower.

The words were etched in regal hand: Return to the palace under truce. Come alone. The King requests your presence.

When he looked up at Y/N from the paper, she was already shaking her head. “Bucky don't , it’s a trap.”

“Probably,” Bucky had agreed. “But if it isn’t…” He went.

~~~~

He dressed in his cleanest ivory shirt. Wore the red scarf she’d once stolen to sleep in , now smelling of her , and left his sword behind. 

When approached , the King stood tall , his face carved from stone eyes like fire. “You say you love my daughter.”

“I do.”

“You want her hand?”

“I do.”

A pause.

“Then earn it,” the King said. “Not with a sword. But with your conduct. If you truly love her… you will learn to be worthy of her station.”

And just like that , the pirate’s greatest trial began.

No sea monster or mugger had ever daunted Bucky the way royal etiquette lessons did.

He was given quarters in the east wing—heavily guarded, yes, but with fresh linens and soft pillows that made him feel like he was sleeping in bread dough. 

“Mr. Barnes, no—forks go to the left.”

“You bowed with your shoulders. One must flow.”

“Did you just curse in front of Lady Merendell?”

It was hell.

They made him wear fluffy jackets that felt like they’d been sewn from curtains. His boots clicked instead of thudded. At the first tea ceremony, he knocked over a silver tray, accidentally insulted a diplomat’s mustache, and muttered something about "bloody silk napkins" under his breath that echoed down the hall.

The worst part? The dancing.

The court instructors were merciless.

“Three steps, pivot, right hand to waist, left—no not her throat, Mr. Barnes!”

“I wasn’t gonna strangle her, I just—this is ridiculous!”

He grumbled. He swore. He stomped off more than once.

But every night, without fail, she came to him.

Y/N snuck through the hedges of the royal gardens from her own quarters in a slip gown far too fine to be skulking in.

Sometimes barefoot. Sometimes still in her dancing gowns. And always—always—with that same look in her eyes that made everything about this worth it.

“You’re going to snap your own spine,” she teased one evening.

“Better than snapping your fathers,” Bucky muttered. She stepped forward, her smile softening. Gently reaching for his arms, repositioning them with delicate fingers.

“Here,” she murmured, guiding his posture. “Your hand should be open, not clawed. Chin down. Relax your shoulders. You’re not being attacked, Bucky.”

“I’ve fought sirens with more mercy than your etiquette tutors.”

She laughed and placed her hands over his. “You don’t have to change yourself or ways for me, you know.”

Bucky looked at her then.  At the way moonlight caught on her lashes. At the curve of her mouth, still tasting of sweetness and rebellion. At the kindness in her voice, untouched by all the cruelty she'd endured just for loving him.

“I know,” he said softly, voice almost a whisper.

“But I'm willing. For us.”

~~~~

The ballroom had been polished to perfection—white marble floors gleaming, tall stained-glass windows casting violet and indigo light across the room as the moon rose outside. Chandeliers dripped with gems , and soft music from the string quartet floated through the air like incense.

But Bucky felt like he was walking into a lion’s den.

He stood at the far edge of the ballroom, beneath one of the arched columns, hands folded stiffly in front of him. His jacket was deep navy with silver trim, tailored within an inch of its life. The royal seamstress had clucked her tongue while taking his measurements—“Like trying to dress a bear for tea,” she’d muttered.

His boots shone. His shirt cuffs were starched. Even his hair had been wrestled into submission—tied back at the nape of his neck, not a strand out of place.

He looked the part of nobility. But inside? He was still a pirate. Still him.

His ceremonial dagger, sheathed at his hip, felt wrong—light and pretty, more decoration than weapon. His fingers twitched for the weight of his sword. His eyes scanned the crowd not for conversation, but for exits. Weak points. Escape routes.

The noblemen around him sipped their wine and whispered behind fans. He caught snatches of conversation—“What’s he doing here?”, “I heard he used to smuggle moon shine”, “Is that blood on his boots or tar?”

But when a familiar scent drifted in—jasmine, sea salt, something soft and linen like—he finally exhaled and spun to face her before she came into view.

“Relax , my love,” a voice whispered beside him. Y/N.

She had never looked more radiant. Her gown was pale silver threaded with opalescent pearls, the fabric catching the light with every movement like waves beneath the moon. Her hair was swept back with soft ringlet curls tumbling around her shoulders, a delicate tiara woven into the strands. Her lips were stained the color of crushed plums.

But it was her eyes that undid him. Still her. Still his.

Her hand slid into his, fingers warm and grounding. “I’d rather face a kraken,” he muttered under his breath.

She smiled, squeezing his hand. “You’re doing fine. Better than Lord Catabary who just tripped over his own cape.”

He followed her gaze and caught the haughty nobleman scowling and muttering curses at the hem of his cloak, which had tangled around his boot. Bucky barked a quiet laugh.

“You’re wicked,” he said, and she shrugged like it was a compliment.

The music shifted—strings swelling into a formal waltz. A hush fell over the room. Nobles took their places on the dance floor in pairs, and all eyes turned to the center, where the princess was expected to take her first dance.

With him.

“Ready?”

“No,” he replied honestly. But he let her lead him forward.

The crowd parted as they took their place. Bucky tried not to feel the weight of every gaze in the room. Tried not to imagine the king watching from the dais, or the diplomats measuring his every step like it meant war or peace.

All he saw was her. She gave him a tiny nod—just a breath of reassurance. And then the music began.

Step. Step. Turn.

He moved slowly at first, conscious of every limb, every angle. He counted in his head, focused on where to place his feet, how not to step on her gown.

But Y/N was a current—graceful, steady, guiding. She moved with practiced elegance, her touch feather-light as she led him through the first turn. Her fingers rested gently on his shoulder, her other hand anchored in his.

Bucky exhaled. He matched her rhythm. Let his instincts take over. And then—something shifted. It stopped feeling like a test. It started to feel like them.

He leaned closer, just slightly, his breath brushing her temple. “If I fall,” he murmured, “drag me off the floor like a wounded man and blame it on war injuries.”

She laughed, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “If you fall, I’m going down with you.”

The world around them faded. The crowd, the murmurs, the chandeliers—they all blurred into silence.

There was only the warmth of her body in his arms. The hum of the music. The way her eyes never looked away from his, even as they twirled.

When the music crested toward the final movement, she spun once, and he caught her with practiced ease, hands strong around her waist.

A moment suspended in air. And then—graceful as a bird —they landed together in the final step. The music ended.

Silence. Then—applause.

Bucky blinked as the room roared to life around them. The nobles clapped, some politely, some reluctantly. King Arthur gave a single nod from his throne.

But Bucky didn’t look at them. He looked at her. She was breathless, eyes shining.

And in that moment, he knew. He hadn’t just won the dance. He hadn’t just won the court’s uncertain approval, or the king’s reluctant tolerance.

He had won the right to choose her. And more importantly—she had chosen him, too. Forever.

—-----

Long after the dance ended and the palace quieted , Bucky and Y/N slipped away—past sleepy guards and open gates , down to their sea.

Moonlight danced across the water as they sat on the old stone jetty, shoulder to shoulder. She toyed with the lapel of his jacket as she spoke.

“Do you miss it?”

“The sea?” he murmured , brushing his thumb along her hand. “Every day. But I’d miss you more.”

She smiled , resting her head against him. “Do you ever think about what comes next?”

He nodded. “I see a mighty ship. A cottage on the forest lined cliffs. Maybe some stubborn kids with your fire and my temper.”

She laughed softly. “They’d be trouble.”

Then he turned to her, voice quiet. “Would you marry me , Y/N? Not for duty. Just for us? Will the sea pirate finally get his princess?”

She leaned into him with intense speed and kissed him hard but full of everything she felt —salt, tears, and a smile pressed to his lips.

“Yes,” she whispered pulling away rubbing the pad of her thumb on his cheek. “A thousand times, yes.”

And under stars and sea , they made a vow. Not as pirate and princess. Just as two souls choosing each other.

-end

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[xislyns]

please could you do yandere benn beckman and Rayleigh (separate) with a f reader ❤️

you ask, you shall receive (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ , anddd i added doffy bc i actually already had a yandere fic planned for him in my notes :

THESE MEN AS YANDERES :

ft' benn , doffy , rayleigh // x Reader

op masterlist : 𐙚🧸ྀི || ⋆·˚ ༘ ASKS ARE CLOSED

warnings : Manipulation , Power imbalance , Possesive behavior , Gaslighting , Emotional , implied isolation , Kidnapping , contains non-consensual control and confinement

BENN BECKMANN

The Red Force rocked gently with the motion of the sea, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you stood on the deck. The moonlight illuminated the waves of vast ocean, but the calm was shattered when the Benn Beckman approached you.

He always seemed to know where you were, no matter how hard you tried to slip away unnoticed. Benn’s presence was constant, his gray eyes watching you with an intensity that made you feel nauseous.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Benn said, his voice smooth but firm as he leaned casually leander against the railing near you

“I just needed some air,” you replied, trying to sound casual.

Benn’s lips curled into a small smile, but there was something fake in his expression,and you could tell. “I get it. You’re independent. Strong. You want to handle things on your own account. But you need to understand that the world isn’t safe for someone like you. It’s not your fault, of course you’re just too… precious for your own sake.”

The last few lines rang in your mind , and you shifted on where u stand uncomfortably.

“I can take care of myself,” you said, attempting to shake off his last few words out of your mind

Benn sighed, shaking his head as if disappointed. “You just don’t get it, do you? You think you’re oh so capable, but the truth is, you’re too soft. Too naive . Do you know how many people I’ve already had to chase off? People who thought they could get close to you?”

Your stomach twisted at his words, but Benn’s tone softened as he stepped closer to you “I only want the best for you,” he murmured. “You deserve someone who understands how valuable you are. Someone who will protect you, even from yourself.”

You tried to step back, but Benn caught your hand, holding it firmly. “I’m not trying to control you,” he continued, his voice low. “I’m trying to protect you. Because no one else is capable.”

The way he looked at you, like you were the center of his universe, made your chest tighten. His words were laced with a twisted affection, making you question your own judgment.

“You’re always safe with me,” Benn whispered, his grip tightening just enough to make it clear you wouldn’t be leaving his side anytime soon. “Why would you want to be anywhere else?”

DONQUIXOTE DOFLAMINGO

The towering walls of The dressrosa royal palace glimmered in the golden light of the setting sun, despite hiw beautiful the sight is, For you, they felt like barriers, reminders of how deeply intertwined you were in Doflamingo’s world.

You didnt come to Dressrosa willingly. Doflamingo had took you from your previous life, spinning promises of safety, luxury, and love that was just as convincing as they were suffocating.

“You’ve been so quiet lately,” Doflamingo said as he entered the lavish room he had designated as yours. He leaned against the doorframe, his signature grin stretching across his face. It was a smile that never reached his eyes.

“I’m just tired,” you murmured, keeping your eyes away from him.

“Tired?” He stepped closer, his long legs closing the distance between you in an instant. His gloved hand tilted your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You know you don’t have to lie to me. I can see right through you.”

“I’m not lying,” you insisted, your voice was wavering under his gaze.

Doflamingo’s grin widened, but his grip on your chin tightened slightly. “Oh, But i think you are. You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you? Do you think im dumb? that I wont notice?. Every extra step you take just to avoid seeing me, the glances of hatred you take at me, i see it all.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your confidence . “i-i just… n-need some space.”

“Space?” Doflamingo let out a low, amused laugh. “How adorable. Do you really think you’re in control here? That you can just avoid me whenever you feel like it?”

His fingers left your chin , he began to circle you like a predator stalking its prey. “I’ve given you everything, haven’t I? A palace to live in, protection from the filth of this world, and me.”

You stiffened, but Doflamingo’s grip on your shoulders held you in place.

“my dear. Out there, you’d be used and discarded. But here, you’re cherished. Adored.” his voice soft but laced with venom

When you didn’t respond, he turned you around to face him, his hands now cupping your face. “I’ve saved you from a miserable existence, and this is how you repay me? By trying to distance yourself? That hurts me, you know.”

The mockery of vulnerability in his tone made your skin crawl, but the weight of his manipulation bore down on you.

“I… I didn’t mean to upset you,” you said, your voice barely coming out

Doflamingo’s grin returned, triumphant. “That’s better. See how easy it is when you listen to me? You’ll understand one day dove, Everything I do is for you. To keep you safe, to keep you mine.”

Silvers Rayleigh

The Sabaody Archipelago was alive with its usual chaos, From the pirates coming in and out the island , the auctioning and lively underground trafficking market. but Shakky’s bar was a sanctuary from the noise. Or at least, it used to be. Now, it felt more like a prison, with Rayleigh’s watchful eyes following your every move.

“Another long day, hmm?” Rayleigh’s voice broke the silence as you were cleaning the counter. His tone was light, friendly even, but the weight of his gaze made your hands tremble above the cloth.

“Yeah,” you responded quietly, trying your best at avoiding his eyes.

Rayleigh smiled, his expression warm “You’ve been working so hard lately dear. You should let me help you more.Maybe even, take a break. You’re too important to waste your energy on unimportant things like this.”

“I like keeping busy,” you replied, forcing a smile at him

Rayleigh chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s what I admire about you. so determined, so independent. Yet, you don’t know what’s best for you.”

There it was again that subtle doubt he always tried to plant in your mind. You’d grown used to his comments, but they still left you questioning yourself.

“I’m fine,” you insisted.

Rayleigh’s smile faltered, replaced by a look of concern. “Are you? Because I’ve noticed you seem… off lately. Stressed. Distracted. And it hurts me to see you like that.” He leaned closer, his hand resting lightly on yours. “I only want to help you. You trust me, don’t you?”

The question was a trap, and you knew it. “Of course,” you replied hesitantly.

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, though his voice remained gentle. “Then let me take care of you. You don’t need to worry about anything anymore. just leave everything all to me.”

Later that night, you found your door locked from the outside. Panic set in as you realized Rayleigh had taken your freedom. But when you pounded on the door, his voice came from the other side, calm and reassuring.

“Don’t be upset, my dear,” he said, his tone soothing like a lullaby. “This is for your own good. youre too kind. If I don’t protect you, someone else will take advantage of you. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Your silence was enough of an answer for him.

“I know this feels wrong now, but you’ll understand in time,” Rayleigh continued, his voice soft. “I’m the only one who truly understands you. The only one who truly cares. And I’ll never let anyone take you away from me. You belong with me.”

As his footsteps retreated from the door, you realized you were now trapped , forever trapped within his cage.

[surielstea]

Dancing With Fate - III

Read part one and two first!

Pairing: Nyx x TamlinsDaughter!Reader

Summary: Nyx and Reader are advancing in their relationship, now in the Day court where they can spend time together without fear of getting caught.

Warnings: A little heated kissing but this is just a fluff chapter!

A.Note: Guysss this little series is about to get so good and juicy I promise, also please vote on this poll for what you’d like to see in the next chapter!

Wordcount: 7.5k

The morning I was set to leave, Spring Court's estate felt suffocating. The weight of my father's expectations, the ever-watchful eyes of the sentries, the knowledge that I was slipping away not just for a visit—but for him—pressed down on me. I told myself it wasn't a lie. I was going to see Lucien. I was supposed to be there. But deep in my chest, the bond hummed, whispering truths I couldn't ignore.

I could still feel his lips on mine, the press of his hands at my waist, the quiet promise he had left me with before I winnowed away. Three days. It had felt like an eternity. Now that the time had come, I found myself glancing over my shoulder as I crossed the courtyard, my pulse quickening with every step toward the open lands of Spring.

My father had been surprisingly agreeable when I asked to visit Lucien—perhaps because I rarely asked for anything at all. Perhaps because it was easier for him to believe I sought an escape rather than suspect the truth. Either way, the approval had been granted after minor convincing.

I let out a slow breath, focusing on my destination as I prepared to winnow.

The air shimmered around me, and with a final glance at my home—if it could even be called that—I vanished.

The Day Court was a world of golden light and sprawling dunes, a kingdom carved from the sun itself. I landed on one of its marble pathways, the heat instantly settling over my skin like a second layer. White and gold towers stretched toward the sky, the brilliance of them nearly blinding.

Lucien was already waiting.

He leaned against one of the courtyard pillars, arms crossed, his red hair catching the sunlight in hues of copper and fire. He arched a brow the moment I appeared, pushing off the pillar with a lazy sort of grace.

"You're on time," he mused. "Did the skies part for a miracle, or are you actually excited to see me?"

I rolled my eyes, falling into step beside him as he led me toward the palace. "Don't flatter yourself, Lucien. I'm just desperate for decent company."

His chuckle was warm, genuine, but his sharp gaze flickered over me, assessing. Lucien always noticed more than he let on. "And here I thought Spring Court was finally growing on you."

I scoffed. "Like poison."

Lucien didn't argue. He simply guided me through the sunlit halls, the scent of citrus and sea breeze drifting through the open archways. But I could feel the words he wanted to say pressing against his tongue.

"Go on," I said finally. "Say whatever it is you're thinking before you combust."

He cast me a knowing glance. "You have a look about you."

I blinked. "A look?"

"A very particular look." He stopped in front of a set of golden doors, his expression unreadable. "The kind that usually means trouble."

I fought the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. "You're imagining things."

"I've known you since you were six," Lucien huffed a quiet laugh, pushing the doors open. "But if you say so."

The throne room was empty when we stepped inside. Not that I expected anything different—Lucien had told me Helion would be absent for the week, handling an issue near the borders. It made my request easier, less complicated.

"How long will I be staying?" I asked, trailing a hand along the intricate carvings of the marble table.

"As long as you need," Lucien answered, his voice easy, but his gaze watchful. "But your father expects a week. Don't get any ideas."

I turned to him, weighing my words carefully. "You did say I could visit whenever I wanted."

"That, I did," he acknowledged. "But I also know you don't make casual trips anywhere. So either you've grown fond of me—" He smirked. "—or there's something else going on."

I hesitated, the bond thrumming softly in my chest. Nyx would be here soon. I could feel it, that gentle pull like a tide calling me home.

"I just need time," I said finally. "Time away from Spring. Time to breathe."

Lucien studied me, his expression softening just slightly. Then he nodded. "Then you'll have it."

Relief flooded through me, but before I could thank him, the air behind me stirred.

The scent of summer rain and star-kissed skies filled the room.

My breath caught.

Lucien's lips twitched, amusement flashing in his russet eye as he glanced past me. "Right. Now this all makes sense."

I turned, and there he was.

Nyx stood in the archway, clad in deep blue, his dark hair tousled by the wind. His sapphire eyes locked onto mine, something unreadable flickering within them.

A slow, lazy smirk curved his lips. "Miss me, princess?"

Lucien let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Cauldron boil me. You do have a look about you."

Nyx didn't hesitate as he crossed the room, moving with that effortless confidence that made it impossible to look away. Like the world had never given him a reason to doubt himself. Like he belonged here, with me.

The bond hummed softly in my chest as he stopped a few feet away, his gaze settling on Lucien with a quiet, knowing amusement.

Lucien, for his part, didn't seem surprised. He just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before leveling a sharp look at me. "So. This is why you came."

I winced. "Lucien—"

He held up a hand. "Tell me the truth. How long has this been going on?"

I hesitated, stealing a glance at Nyx, who only smirked. Smug bastard. "It's...new."

Lucien arched a brow. "New?"

"Three days," Nyx supplied unhelpfully, rocking back on his heels. "Well, three days since she kissed me."

Lucien's eye twitched. I swatted Nyx's arm.

"Since we kissed," I corrected.

Lucien's gaze flicked between us, unimpressed. Then he exhaled heavily. "And your parents?"

My stomach twisted. I dropped my gaze, my fingers curling into the sleeves of Nyx's jacket. "None of them know."

Lucien let out a short, humorless laugh. "Gods, just like your parents. Just like them." He ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself. "Why do both of your families insist on making my life difficult?"

"Lucien—" I started, guilt pressing into my ribs.

"I know, Fawn," he interrupted, shaking his head. "You're good. You're okay."

I exhaled, my shoulders loosening slightly. I hated using Lucien's kindness like this, but I needed this. I needed to be here, needed him.

Lucien gave me a long, considering look before sighing dramatically. "My wife will be thrilled that Nyx is visiting, so I suppose you can stay." He gave a look of acknowledgment to the heir of Night.

Nyx dipped his head in gratitude, but before he could respond, Lucien turned to him fully with a sharp, easy threat. "Though, if you hurt her, and I'll be sending armies to your doorstep."

I groaned. "Uncle—"

"Completely understood," Nyx said, ignoring my protests.

Lucien only huffed, then turned toward the open archway. "Come on, Your Highness, let's get you settled before I regret my entire existence."

Nyx winked at me before following, falling into step beside him as they led me through the sunlit halls.

—

Lucien's home within the Day Court was smaller than the palace itself but no less grand. The rooms were warm, decorated in golds and creams, with sweeping balconies that overlooked the distant dunes.

Lucien pushed open a set of doors, revealing a guest suite. "This is for her," he said pointedly, flicking his gaze to Nyx. "You, however, can take the room down the hall."

Nyx smirked. "Separate rooms? What do you take me for, Vanserra?"

Lucien gave him a deadpan stare. "Someone with a death wish."

I stepped inside before they could continue, rolling my eyes. "You two are worse than children."

Nyx only chuckled, leaning against the doorframe as I took in the space. It was lovely—soft linens, airy curtains, a private balcony that bathed the room in golden light, and a ginormous bathtub sunken into the floor like the room's very own indoor pool. All this for a guest?

I was going to tease Lucien about it but when I turned back, Nyx was watching me carefully.

"We don't have long," he murmured, the humor fading just slightly from his voice.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my dress. "I know."

Lucien cleared his throat. "Right. That's my cue to leave." He shot me a look, something softer beneath his usual exasperation. "Get some rest, Fawn. Meet me for breakfast in the morning."

I nodded, and with one last warning glance at Nyx, he slipped out.

Silence settled.

Nyx didn't move from the door. He just looked at me, something unreadable in his expression.

Three days. Three days without him, and yet the pull between us was stronger than ever.

I let out a slow breath. "I missed you."

Nyx's smile was slow, knowing. He stepped closer, hands bracing on either side of the doorframe. "Yeah?"

My pulse fluttered. But I refused to look away. "Yeah."

Nyx hummed, gaze sweeping over me like he was committing me to memory.

"C'mere then." He gives me one of those signature smirks.

I let go of the grip I had on my dress as I approached him, suppressed smile on my face.

His eyes follow me, watching my every movement as I come closer but not making a move to cross the threshold of my bedroom.

I peer up at him through my lashes, blinking once, twice. Then, "I missed you too," He murmured, leaning down and sealing a gentle kiss to my aching lips.

I pulled away first, and immediately regretted it the moment his lips left mine.

But he moved away, and with a quiet, secretive grin, he murmured, "Come find me when you can't sleep."

And just like that, he was gone.

—

Sleep evaded me.

I had tried—tried curling into the soft sheets, tried counting my breaths, tried pretending the bond wasn't a tangible thing pulling me toward the other side of the hall. But it was no use. The awareness of him, of Nyx, was a whisper against my skin, a constant hum in my chest.

With a soft exhale, I pushed back the covers and slipped out of my room.

The halls were quiet, bathed in moonlight. The Day Court at night had a different kind of beauty—soft, glowing, endless. I made my way toward his room, heart hammering for reasons I wasn't ready to name.

Nyx must have sensed me before I even reached the door, because the moment I lifted my fist to knock, it swung open.

He stood there, leaning lazily against the frame, shirtless, like he had been waiting. His smirk was immediate. "Couldn't stay away, Princess?"

I rolled my eyes, brushing past him into the room and inviting myself in. "Don't flatter yourself."

His room was similar to mine, only slightly smaller, with the same open balcony letting in the cool night air. The scent of him—night-blooming jasmine, crisp wind, something uniquely Nyx—wrapped around me instantly.

I turned just as he shut the door, crossing his arms. "So, what's keeping you up? Me?" His grin was all arrogance.

I huffed. "The bond."

Nyx's eyes darkened slightly, but he still managed a chuckle. "I am the bond, sweetheart."

Heat bloomed in my chest, but I ignored it, watching as he sat on the edge of the bed with a casual grace. "We should talk about it."

Nyx arched a brow. "About how wildly in love with me you already are?"

I tossed a glare at him. He returned it with a laugh, his sapphire eyes somehow beckoning me closer. "Alright," he said, quieter this time. "Let's talk."

I swallowed, unsure where to begin. "Are we...accepting it while we're here?"

Nyx's expression turned thoughtful, something softer creeping into his gaze. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I don't want to rush you," he said, voice low, steady. "But I also don't want to pretend it's not there."

I nodded slowly. That was the problem. The bond was there, a silent, unyielding thing, urging us closer. Ignoring it felt unnatural. But accepting it—fully—was irreversible. And rejecting it, for some reason, was out of the question.

Nyx must have sensed my hesitation because his lips twitched. "You know," he mused, a grin on his lips that could only mean trouble, "Lucien and Elain's rooms are at the opposite end of the hall."

I blinked, confused. "And?"

He smirked. "So if there are any... aftereffects of us accepting the bond, they won't hear a thing."

Heat flooded my face. "Nyx."

He grinned. "Just saying, if you're worried about keeping them up—"

"Nyx." I smacked his arm, and he just laughed, catching my wrist with ease.

With a soft tug, he pulled me forward until I was standing between his legs. My breath hitched as he peered up at me, his grip warm, steady.

"You're overthinking it," he murmured.

I bit my lip tentatively. "It's a lot to think about."

His hands slid up my arms, slow and careful, like he was mapping out the places he could touch, where I would let him. "Then don't think," he whispered. "Just...stay."

I hesitated.

Then, finally, I let out a breath and climbed onto the bed beside him.

Nyx shifted easily, stretching out against the pillows, one arm behind his head as he watched me settle in. "See? Not so bad."

I rolled onto my side, facing him. "Don't get used to this."

"Too late," he said, grinning.

A comfortable silence stretched between us, the weight of the bond settling into something warm, something oddly familiar.

Then—

"What if we did accept it?" I asked softly, tracing patterns into the sheets with a fingertip.

Nyx was quiet for a moment. When I glanced up, his gaze had softened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

"I think," he murmured, reaching over to brush his knuckles against my cheek, "it would feel like this."

"Like what?"

His thumb skimmed the corner of my mouth, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper.

"Like something I don't ever want to stop."

A shiver ran through me, but I forced myself to scoff. "You're so dramatic."

He chuckled, his hand drifting away, but not before his fingers brushed against my wrist, lingering. "You love it."

I did. I really, really did.

Nyx was still watching me, his expression unreadable but utterly devastating. His fingers, still barely brushing against mine, curled slightly, testing.

I should have pulled away. Should have ignored the way the space between us felt unbearable, like a string stretched too tight, ready to snap.

Instead, I turned my hand over, letting our fingers fully intertwine.

Nyx inhaled sharply.

His other hand lifted, tracing the shape of my jaw before tilting my chin up ever so slightly. His touch was featherlight, like he was waiting for me to pull back, to stop this before it started.

I didn't. I couldn't.

His eyes darkened, and I barely had time to take a breath before his lips brushed against mine.

Soft, at first. A question. I answered by pressing closer, hand against his hard chest.

Nyx groaned, low in his throat, and then he was kissing me in earnest, his hand sliding to cup the back of my neck, pulling me flush against him.

Heat curled through me, my body igniting at the sheer rightness of it—of him. His lips moved against mine with slow, devastating precision, coaxing, deepening.

I gasped as his teeth grazed my lower lip, and he took the opportunity to press even closer, his tongue sweeping into my mouth in a way that had my fingers running up his nape and tangling in his hair, pulling, needing.

Nyx growled softly, his grip tightening, his body shifting so that I was beneath him now, the weight of him pressing into me in the most delicious way.

I should have stopped him. Should have reminded him that Lucien and Elain were likely eavesdropping, that this wasn't what we came here for.

But all I could do was gasp against his lips, drowning in him as he kissed me like he'd been waiting a lifetime to do so.

And maybe he had.

The tether between us hummed, alive, crackling like a storm ready to break. My entire body felt like it was on fire, burning for something I wasn't sure I was ready for—but gods, did I want it.

Nyx pulled away just enough to press his forehead against mine, his breaths ragged, uneven. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, his lips barely brushing against mine. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

I didn't say anything.

Because I didn't want him to stop.

Instead, I tightened my grip in his hair and kissed him again.

Nyx practically purred, deepening the kiss instantly, his hands sliding down my sides, gripping my waist like he was trying to anchor himself. I whimpered as he tilted my head back, his lips tracing a path along my jaw, down my throat—

I shuddered. "Nyx—"

He froze, his breathing heavy. "Too much?"

I hesitated, my mind hazy, body thrumming, aching. I didn't want to stop, didn't want this night to end—but I knew if we kept going, if I let him keep kissing me like this, there would be no turning back.

Slowly, I nodded.

Nyx let out a shaky breath, then pressed a lingering kiss to my shoulder before rolling onto his back, dragging me with him. His arm curled around my waist, keeping me tucked against his side.

I pressed my face into his chest, inhaling deeply. His heart was racing.

"Sleep, Princess," he murmured against my hair, pressing a final kiss to my forehead.

I exhaled softly, my body still humming, my lips still tingling, my heart still pounding.

But as Nyx's warmth surrounded me, as his arms tightened slightly around me, I found that—for the first time all night—I was finally at peace.

And sleep came easily.

The warmth of the Day Court sun streamed in through the open balcony doors, golden light spilling over the plush bedding and dancing across the smooth marble floors. A gentle breeze carried the scent of citrus and wildflowers, and the distant sound of birdsong filled the air—soft, melodic, impossibly peaceful.

I stretched beneath the silk sheets, the remnants of sleep clinging to my limbs. Nyx's steady breathing was warm against my neck, his arm a heavy weight draped over my waist. The bond hummed between us, quiet, content.

Carefully, I slipped from his grasp, his fingers twitching slightly in protest but aside from that he didn't stir.

I smiled to myself, watching as he burrowed further into the pillows that likely smelled of me, the golden light turning his midnight-dark hair almost copper in the morning glow.

For a male who spent so much time under the stars, he certainly slept through the hours of night like a log.

Shaking my head fondly, I padded across the room, stepping out into the hallway and making my way back to my own quarters across the hall.

The Day Court truly was beautiful in the morning—the soft glow of the sun filtering through sheer golden curtains, the air crisp and warm all at once. By the time I reached my room, I was fully awake, the peaceful hum of the court settling over me like a second skin.

I dressed in a white silk gown, the fabric flowing like liquid over my frame, cinched at the waist with a delicate golden belt. My jewelry was plentiful—thin, glimmering chains draped over my collarbones, golden cuffs sliding up my arms, rings adorning my fingers.

I had just finished fastening the final piece of jewelry when the door behind me creaked open.

I caught his reflection in the mirror before he could even enter.

Nyx stood in the doorway, his hair an absolute mess, his eyes heavy with sleep. He hadn't bothered with a shirt, his bare chest golden in the sunlight, the tattooed whorls of the night sky on his skin dark against the warm glow. He was beautiful—in that utterly devastating, ruinous kind of way.

He said nothing as he crossed the room, his steps slow, languid, his body still half-asleep.

Then his arms were sliding around my shoulders, his bare chest pressing against my back, his face tucking into the crook of my neck. His lips brushed against my skin—soft, lingering.

"Come back to bed," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

I smiled, meeting his gaze in the mirror as he sighed against my skin. "You are such a night owl."

One of his hands trailed up my arm, fingers ghosting over the golden cuffs there. "That's because I am Night," he grumbled. "It's unnatural for me to be awake this early."

I huffed a quiet laugh, reaching up to lace my fingers with his where they rested on my shoulder. "And yet, you're awake."

"I wouldn't be if you hadn't abandoned me." His lips brushed over my throat again, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I have breakfast with Lucien," I reminded him, though the words were already losing their strength.

Nyx hummed, as if considering coercing me out of that particular plan. His grip tightened slightly, his fingers curling around my waist as he exhaled against my skin. "Or," he suggested, his voice a low murmur, "you could stay."

I turned in his arms, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before pulling back just enough to murmur, "I'll be back soon."

Nyx sighed, dramatically, his hands tracing slow circles along my back. "You're cruel," he muttered.

I grinned, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You'll live."

"Debatable."

I rolled my eyes, but before I could move, he kissed me again—slow, lazy, lingering. By the time he pulled away, I had half a mind to actually abandon breakfast.

But I forced myself to step back, smoothing my gown as I gave him a knowing look. "Go back to sleep, Night Prince."

Nyx smirked, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that was far too awake for someone who had been dead to the world only minutes ago. "You'll come find me after?"

I nodded. "I'll come find you after."

Seemingly satisfied, he took a slow step backward, his lips twitching. "Enjoy breakfast, princess," he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't miss me too much."

I barely resisted the urge to throw a pillow at him as I slipped out the door.

The Day Court's dining terrace overlooked a sprawling garden, the morning sunlight painting the marble floors in warm golds and soft whites. A faint citrus breeze carried through the open-air space, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread, honeyed fruit, and roasted coffee.

Lucien was already seated at the table, a cup of tea in one hand, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.

"Good morning, Fawn," he greeted, setting his cup down as I slid into the chair across from him.

I sighed, reaching for a slice of peach from the array of food laid before us. "I knew I should have stayed in bed."

Lucien chuckled, reaching for his own plate. "You wound me. I would have thought you'd missed me."

"I did," I admitted, which earned me a pleased look. "But I also knew that my first morning here would be spent with you poking at me like a bored hound with a bone."

Lucien hummed, popping a grape into his mouth as he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest. "You make it sound so terrible."

I gave him a dry look. "You live for gossip."

"And you have been supplying me with an endless amount of it," he countered, flashing a sharp grin. "You and the heir to the Night Court, sneaking around behind your father's back?" He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Do you know how much restraint it takes for me not to send a letter to Tamlin about this?"

I nearly choked on my tea. "You wouldn't."

Lucien's russet eye twinkled with mischief. "Wouldn't I?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, but there was no real threat in my stare. He was teasing—mostly. "You wouldn't because I'm your favorite."

Lucien let out a bark of laughter. "You think that's enough to keep me quiet?"

I plucked a croissant from the basket, tearing off a piece with deliberate slowness. "I also brought Nyx with me, which means Elain is getting a visit from her favorite nephew," I said sweetly. "And I doubt she'd be pleased if his visit was cut short by some ill-timed news reaching Spring."

Lucien raised a brow, amused. "Using my wife against me? Low blow."

"You leave me no choice."

He chuckled, shaking his head before taking a sip of his tea. "Fine, your secret is safe with me. For now."

I exhaled in relief, but he wasn't done.

"So," he continued, smirking, "do you always sneak into his bed, or was last night a special occasion?"

I set my croissant down with exaggerated care. "You are insufferable."

Lucien grinned, positively delighted. "Oh, come now. I'm merely curious."

I sighed, shaking my head. "And here I thought you wanted to talk about Spring."

Lucien's expression didn't shift, but I saw the flicker of something—wariness, perhaps, or exhaustion—pass through his russet eye before he settled back into that smooth, unbothered demeanor.

"You want to talk about Spring?" he mused, sipping at his tea. "Now that's a first."

I hesitated, fingers toying with the edge of my napkin. "It's been... stable?"

Lucien huffed a quiet laugh. "Stable is one word for it."

I lifted a brow, silently urging him to continue.

He sighed, swirling his tea in his cup. "Your father is as he always is. Withdrawn. Distrustful. Trying to mend what little he has left, though his attempts have been... half-hearted, at best." A pause, then a softer, "He does love you, you know. Don't take that for granted."

I looked down at my plate, a strange weight pressing against my ribs. "I know, I try not to. I love him too."

Lucien sighed, setting his cup down. "Well, that was depressing."

I let out a weak laugh, grateful for the shift in subject. "You brought it up."

"Yes, but now I regret it," he muttered before shooting me a sidelong glance, that familiar smirk returning. "Luckily, we have a much juicier topic to discuss."

I groaned. "Lucien—"

He ignored my warning tone, lips twitching. "How was sleeping with the Night Court's heir?"

"I hate you."

"Did you snuggle?" He grinned. "You did, didn't you?"

I picked up my spoon, debating throwing it at his head.

Lucien laughed, positively beaming. "Oh, this is delightful."

"You are the worst."

"I am," he agreed, unbothered. "But I'm also right."

I sighed, shaking my head. "I am never telling you anything ever again."

Lucien simply smiled, far too pleased with himself.

And somehow, despite his relentless teasing, breakfast was... nice. Easy, even.

Lucien had always been that way—quick-witted, sharp-tongued, but warm beneath it all. And for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to enjoy that warmth, even as he smirked knowingly over the rim of his tea cup.

The soft pad of footsteps against marble had me glancing up just as Elain entered the terrace, sunlight catching in the golden waves of her hair. She was radiant in the morning glow, dressed in a pale yellow gown that complemented the warmth of her brown eyes.

Lucien's teasing stopped instantly.

His gaze softened, his entire being seeming to realign as he turned toward his mate. The smug amusement he had wielded so effortlessly moments ago melted into something quieter, something devotional, as if Elain were the only thing in existence.

"Good morning, my love," Lucien greeted, rising smoothly to pull out a chair for her.

Elain smiled at him, a soft, knowing thing, before placing a kiss on his cheek and settling into her seat. "Good morning," she replied before glancing at me, her expression warm. "I'm so happy you're here."

I smiled back, genuinely. "I'm happy to be here."

She took a sip of tea before asking, "What do you have planned for today?"

I glanced at Lucien, who was too busy staring at his mate to contribute to the conversation, then looked back at Elain with an amused huff. "That depends on what there is to do in the Day Court."

Elain brightened. "Oh, there's so much. The markets are always lovely in the mornings, and later today there will be a performance in the amphitheater—music, dance, sometimes storytelling, depending on the day. We could also visit the gardens."

At that, Lucien seemed to shake himself from his daze just long enough to say, "She loves the gardens."

Elain laughed softly, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "I do."

The moment their hands touched, Lucien's thumb traced small circles over her knuckles, his russet eye drinking her in as if he hadn't seen her in ages, as if she were the only thing tethering him to this world.

I looked away, feeling like an intruder on something sacred.

Instead, I focused on my tea, swirling it in my cup before Elain's next words had me stiffening.

"And what about you?" she asked gently. "What do you have planned with Nyx?"

Lucien tensed beside her at the mention of his nephew but, surprisingly, didn't interrupt.

I hesitated before answering. "I... don't know yet."

Elain tilted her head slightly, studying me. "You two seem happy."

A small, shy smile tugged at my lips despite myself. "It's... new."

Her expression softened. "New can be wonderful."

I glanced at Lucien then, at the way his entire world seemed to orbit Elain, at the ease with which they simply existed together.

They had a love that was constant, unshaken. One that didn't need to be loud or demanding, because it was felt—in the way Lucien always reached for Elain without thinking, in the way she always seemed to understand him without words.

I wanted that.

I wanted something sure. Something safe. Something like them.

Elain must have seen something in my expression, because she reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "You'll find your way," she assured me, voice as soft as the morning light.

I swallowed, nodding. "I hope so."

Breakfast ended not long after, Lucien and Elain caught in their own little world as I excused myself.

I walked back to my room slowly, heart and mind tangled in thoughts of what I wanted—of him.

And of whether or not we would ever have something like the love I had just witnessed.

I pushed open the door to my room, the silk of my gown whispering against the marble floor as I stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was the mess of dark hair sprawled across my pillows, the sheets tangled around long limbs and bare skin.

Nyx had crawled into bed. My bed.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "You do know you have your own room, right?"

A low, sleepy groan rumbled from the depths of my blankets, his face still buried in my pillow. "Too far," he mumbled.

I snorted. "It's across the hall."

"Exactly," he sighed dramatically, cracking one sleepy eye open. His voice was heavy with drowsiness, warm and lazy in a way that made something in my chest tighten. "Besides, your bed smells better."

I raised a brow. "That's not a compliment if you're just stealing."

He grinned, stretching like a cat before reaching a hand out for me. "Come here."

"Absolutely not."

His lips tilted into something smug. "Oh?"

"Nyx, it's nearly noon."

"So?" He patted the space beside him. "Come lay down."

I laughed, shaking my head as I stepped closer to the bed. "You are so lazy."

"Excuse me," he feigned offense, propping himself up on an elbow, hair a tousled mess. "I am strategic in my rest."

I huffed, sitting on the edge of the bed, but the moment I did, he was moving—strong arms wrapping around my waist as he pulled me down beside him.

"Nyx!" I yelped, but he only laughed, tucking his face into the crook of my neck.

"There we go," he murmured, his lips pressing against my skin in a way that was entirely unfair. "Much better."

I sighed, pretending to be put out even as I melted into the warmth of him. "You are impossible."

"You love it."

I rolled my eyes, but before I could retort, he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to my jaw. The argument died in my throat.

"You look beautiful," he murmured against my skin, his voice still thick with sleep. "Does every court suit you? Or are you just naturally perfect?"

A rush of heat curled in my chest. "Flattery will not get you out of trouble."

He hummed, brushing his nose along my cheek before stealing a kiss from my lips. "Five minutes," he mused, brushing another kiss over the corner of my mouth. "Just five and then we can get up."

"Fine. Five minutes." I lean into him, melting into the warmth that was his skin.

He kissed me again, slower this time as if savoring the remnants of whatever sweetness still lingered. "Lucien didn't give you a hard time, did he?"

I huffed a laugh, playing with the strands of dark hair at the nape of his neck. "Lucien is always a menace."

Nyx chuckled, his breath warm against my lips. "I bet he was insufferable."

"He was fine," I admitted, tracing a lazy pattern against his bare shoulder. "Elain joined us."

He tilted his head, brows lifting slightly. "Oh?"

I nodded. "She asked about you."

His lips curled. "And what did you say?"

"That you are insufferable, whiny, and prone to excessive dramatics."

Nyx gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Whiny?"

I grinned. "You are."

He narrowed his eyes playfully. "So harsh, princess."

I laughed, but the sound faded as he brushed his fingers over my cheek, his expression softening. "Did you sleep well?"

I hesitated before nodding. "I did."

"Good." He kissed me again, slow and sweet, his thumb brushing against my jaw. "I like waking up with you—even though you left me before I could."

Something inside me melted at the confession, at the sincerity in his voice.

I bit my lip, trying to fight back a smile. "You're so soft when you're sleepy."

He groaned, flopping onto his back. "And the moment is ruined."

I laughed, rolling onto my side to look down at him. "Come on, Nyx. Admit it."

His arm flung over his eyes. "Never."

I grinned, leaning down to press a teasing kiss against his jaw. "I like it."

His breath hitched slightly, but his arms wound around me again, pulling me closer.

And as I settled into the warmth of him, into the safety of his embrace, I realized—this, whatever we were becoming, whatever this bond between us was shaping into—felt new and foreign.

But gods, it was lovely.

After fifteen minutes Nyx still had me caged against him, his arms wrapped securely around my waist as if he had no intention of letting me leave. Every time I so much as shifted, his grip tightened, and a pleased hum rumbled in his throat.

"Nyx," I warned, pressing my hands against his bare chest, though my voice lacked any real heat.

"Mmm," he murmured lazily, nuzzling into the crook of my neck, his lips ghosting over my skin. "Five more minutes."

I huffed, though the way my body betrayed me—melting into his warmth, my fingers tracing the lines of his shoulders—was not helping my case. "You said that fifteen minutes ago."

"I don't recall."

I let out an exaggerated sigh. "You're impossible."

He lifted his head slightly, his messy dark hair falling into his sleepy eyes. "And yet, you're still here."

I scowled at him, but it was utterly ineffective given the way my face was burning.

His grin widened. "You like this."

"No, I don't."

Nyx hummed, unconvinced. "Sure you don't." Then, as if to prove his point, he kissed me—slow and indulgent, his lips warm and sure against mine. My breath caught, my fingers tightening against his skin.

His hands roamed lazily, tracing along my waist, my back, settling just beneath the curve of my ribs. "You're so soft," he mused between kisses, his voice dripping with that infuriating smugness. "So warm."

I glared at him, my face burning. "You're so full of yourself."

His chuckle was dark and teasing. "Only because you make it so easy, Princess."

I groaned, flopping onto my back as he propped himself up on an elbow, hovering over me with a stupidly satisfied expression. "You are so lucky left my daggers in Spring."

Nyx only grinned, dipping down to nip at my jaw, his voice warm with amusement. "I'd like to see you try."

I shoved at his shoulder, but he barely budged. His weight was solid and steady against me, and I knew—knew—that I could have pushed him away if I wanted to. But I didn't.

Nyx's fingers skimmed along my arm, down to my wrist, to where he laced our fingers together. "Are you going to stay here with me?"

"I have things to do, you know."

"Like what?" He raised a brow, his nose brushing against mine. "Surely nothing more interesting than me."

I snorted. "You'd be surprised."

He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Now that is just cruel."

I rolled my eyes, lifting a hand to comb through his messy hair, smoothing it back. His eyes fluttered shut at the touch, and my heart did something ridiculous in my chest.

I swallowed, brushing my thumb over his cheekbone. "You're so clingy."

His eyes opened, a lazy smirk curling his lips. "And you love it."

I huffed, but my lips twitched despite myself. "Maybe a little."

Nyx's expression softened, his fingers brushing my cheek as he leaned in. "Good."

His mouth pressed against mine again, stealing whatever breath I had left. My heart raced, my fingers fisting in the fabric of the sheets as his hand traced down, over the silk of my gown, teasing along my thigh. His touch burned—not in a way that made me want to pull away, but in a way that made me want more.

And that should have terrified me. It didn't.

It only made me want to hold onto him tighter, to let myself fall.

I exhaled shakily when he finally pulled away, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth. He was still watching me, waiting.

And gods, I knew. I knew.

The mating bond shimmered between us, pulsing, undeniable. I could feel it, pulling me closer to him with every breath, every heartbeat.

I wanted it.

Screw that our parents didn't know. Screw that this would be irreversible. That once we accepted it, there was no undoing it, no way for them to separate us even if they tried.

I wanted this. I wanted him.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of what that meant.

"Nyx?"

"Princess?" he drawled, his voice thick with warmth, teasing as he brushed his fingers over my wrist.

I hesitated for a moment before saying, "Can you teach me how to block you out of my head?"

Nyx's lips twitched. "You mean my Daemati powers?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He hummed in thought, tilting his head. "Of course. Though, why the sudden interest?"

I kept my expression carefully neutral, knowing full well he'd see right through me if I wasn't careful. "Just seems like a good skill to have."

Nyx studied me for a long moment before his lips curved in amusement. "You're a terrible liar."

I scowled. "Am not."

He laughed, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Alright, alright. Come here."

I let him shift us so I was sitting cross-legged in front of him, his hands resting lightly on my knees. His gaze softened, the usual teasing glint dimming just slightly as he said, "I want you to imagine a wall in your mind. Something strong. Something unbreakable."

"A wall," I repeated, frowning.

"Yes. Picture it. And then focus on reinforcing it. Make it thick, make it impenetrable." His thumb traced circles against my knee as he watched me carefully.

I closed my eyes, inhaling slowly as I tried to summon that wall.

"Good," he murmured. "Now, I'm going to push just a little—try not to let me in."

I gritted my teeth as I felt the gentle probing at the edges of my mind. It was strange—like a featherlight touch, testing the defenses I'd barely managed to put up.

"Your wall is shaky," Nyx noted, the laughter in his voice evident. "I could break through it in an instant."

I cracked an eye open to glare at him. "You're so encouraging."

He grinned. "I'm just being honest."

I huffed, closing my eyes again and focusing, really focusing, on that barrier. I imagined thick, towering walls, impenetrable and unwavering. I strengthened them, bracing them against his presence.

Nyx hummed in approval. "Better."

A moment passed.

Then another.

And then—

"Huh," he muttered.

I opened my eyes to find him blinking at me, mildly impressed. "What?"

"You actually did it." He tapped his temple. "Can't hear a thing."

I grinned, triumphant. "Told you I could do it."

Nyx chuckled, his hands sliding up to my waist as he pulled me toward him. "I could still break it." He makes clear. "But now I can't hear em' unless I want to."

I smiled softly, "Good enough for me."

Then he kissed me.

Slow and deep, as if savoring the taste of victory along with me. His hands traced up my spine, his touch warm and steady as he pressed me closer. I melted into him, tilting my head to give him better access as his lips moved against mine with aching patience.

It was a reward, and I greedily took it.

When we finally parted, his lips trailed down my jaw, over the sensitive skin of my neck. "I should teach you things more often," he murmured against my skin, the words sending a shiver down my spine.

I swatted at his shoulder, but it was weak at best. "Behave."

He laughed, the sound muffled against my throat as he kissed a slow path back up to my mouth. "Not a chance."

I sighed, allowing myself to collapse onto the mattress, tugging him down with me. Nyx followed willingly, draping himself over me as if he had no intention of moving anytime soon.

"So," he mused, his lips brushing my shoulder, my collarbone, my jaw. "What do you want to do today?"

We eventually collapsed back onto the bed, tangled together. His hands roamed lazily, his lips finding every inch of bare skin he could reach. Between kisses, we murmured about what we could do today—halfheartedly listing off places we knew we wouldn't go, tasks we knew we wouldn't complete.

"We could go for a ride?" I suggested idly.

Nyx hummed, lips brushing my collarbone. "Mmm, sounds nice." His fingers traced circles on my hip. "Or we could stay right here."

"Lazy," I teased, though I had no intention of moving either.

He nipped at my shoulder in retaliation, making me squeak. "Not lazy," he corrected. "Just—" He kissed the corner of my mouth. "Comfortable." Another kiss on my cheek. "Perfectly, completely comfortable."

My heart thudded, my fingers tightening around his bicep. I could still feel the bond shimmering between us, waiting.

Waiting for me. Because he seemed to have already decided that accepting it was his only choice, the only one he'd acknowledge at least.

Nyx pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his expression soft, but unreadable. "What?" he murmured.

I swallowed hard, smoothing my hand over his chest. "Nothing," I whispered.

Not yet.

He searched my face, but I knew he wouldn't find anything—not now. Because I had learned how to block him out. Because the next time I opened my mind to him, it would be on my terms. A choice. A gift.

Nyx pressed one last kiss to my lips before sighing, letting his head drop against the pillow. I curled into his warmth, letting my eyes drift shut, a secret burning in my chest.

The next time I let him in would be when I was ready to accept the bond. And I wanted it to be somewhat of a surprise.

Which meant he had to stay out of my mind—just for a few days. Just long enough for me to do what I had already decided.

What I knew I wanted.

I glanced at him then, at the male who had stolen my heart in the span of a few weeks, at the way he watched me with that easy, knowing smirk—completely unaware of what was coming.

A slow smile curled on my lips.

What I wanted.

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[babyouran]

The Grade School Host is the Naughty Type! - a young boy joins the host club in hopes of learning from the masters to impress a special lady. yet they aren’t ready for all the effort it takes to train such a rowdy young man.

Pairing - fem! reader x host club

A part of - ouran add-in

The theme for this special day was Arabian as their clothes were flowing in gorgeous colors with prized possessions, in gold, filtered about the room. When the boy in a green uniform finally opened the door, he was shocked at what he was witnessing, the image seeming like something not from their country but a foreign one. He tripped over himself and stared up at the members in astonishment. 

"Welcome to the Ouran Host Club," The club announced, all seated by each other with ripe, delicious fruits peeked in between and extravagant furniture. 

"Oh it's just a kid," Hikaru noticed.

"Not only that, it's just a boy," Kaoru added, clearly the two disappointed. 

"What's wrong little boy? Did you come to my palace in search of something?" Tamaki stuck out his hand with a golden ring and red gem resting in his palm.

"Uh, are you the king of this place?" The boy wondered, standing up from the ground.

"Come closer, lost one," Tamaki motioned for him to come over. "What was it you just called me?"

"The king."

"Ah, the King! Yes, I'm the king of the Ouran Host Club! Long live the host king."

"Oh no," Y/n whispered, looking at Tamaki who practically had stars in his eyes. He was standing up from his throne proudly, standing tall to pretend as if he were on a balcony surveying his kingdom. 

"I'm an elementary fifth year, Takaoji Shiro," He introduced. "I want the Host Club King to take me on as an apprentice!"

Due to a successful flattering, soon enough the elementary school student was taken on as a co-host and offered the opportunity to watch Tamaki in action. 

"Oh my, Tamaki, you have an apprentice?" A black-haired female wondered, sitting beside him.

"Yes, he's still in elementary school but I like the fire in his eyes.”

"But are you sure it's okay for such a young boy to become a host?"

"Why wouldn't it be? Love has nothing to do with age," Tamaki spoke, gently caressing her chin. "Take us for instance, whenever I look at you my heart starts pounding. Suddenly I feel no different than a lovesick little boy."

"Oh-oh Tamaki," The girl stuttered.

"Isn't it a little strange how Shiro-kun is just watching?" Y/n wondered, turning towards Haruhi and Kyoya who were also witnessing the whole scene go down. Shiro was in between Tamaki and his guest, face a little too close up to where Tamaki was touching her face. 

"There is a theory that people are considered more beautiful the closer they are viewed. Tamaki seems to live by that theory," Kyoya told them. Y/n nodded in understanding and walked up closer to Kyoya. She put her face near his, their noses almost touching, before pulling away and sitting back down beside Haruhi. 

He felt his cheeks warm up, "Well, ahem, let's leave them alone," He muttered, moving further away from where Y/n was now sitting.

"You naughty girl, you've drawn me to the forbidden fruit. Dearest you're the mermaid who's brought light into my lonely sea. My mermaid princess," Tamaki flirted.

"I remind you of a mermaid?" The girl asked.

"You look more like the carp that swims in my pond at home," The younger boy insulted. "I'd never give false compliments like that!"

"Carp?"

"Don't listen to him, he's just a kid, you know how kids are. They can't help but be honest," Tamaki tried to reassure her.

"Honest?"

"But that's just his opinion! I wouldn't say you look like a carp, and even if you did look like a carp you'd be the most beautiful carp of them all!" Tamaki spoke frantically.

"So I am a carp!"

"Uh, no that-that's not what I meant," Tamaki stuttered.

"Tamaki you're an idiot!" She cried, running out of the room embarrassed and ashamed.

"No wait! Mermaid princess!"

"Man, what a crybaby," Shiro commented, crossing his legs and arms in disappointment. 

"So how's it going boss, that's an adorable little apprentice you've got there," Hikaru laughed.

"Hikaru, do you wish you had a little brother like Shiro?" Kaoru questioned.

"Don't be silly, I could search the globe and I'd never find a better brother than you, Kaoru," Hikaru expressed, taking his brother into his arms for a tight hug.

"Uh, Hikaru."

"Look! They're doing it! It's forbidden brotherly love," Two girls cooed.

"They're homos! And they're brothers! That makes this totally insectuous!" The boy yelled.

"I think what you mean to say was incestuous," Tamaki corrected.

"Hey Shiro-chan! Want to have a piece of cake with me?" Honey wondered, jumping onto the younger boy's back. "We've got three kinds, chocolate, strawberry, and lime."

"Hey! Back off, what grade are you in any way?” Shiro shook his back in an attempt to get Honey off of him. “Why are you wearing a High school uniform?" Shiro asked staring at Honey with a disgusted face. In response, Honey's eyes started to bubble with tears.

"Something is wrong? Mitsukuni?" Mori queried.

"Honey-senpai, are you alright?" Y/n questioned, walking over to the boy. "I'd love to have cake with you, we can talk while you eat," Y/n nodded, letting the boy grab her hand.

"That's not fair! A little kid like you isn't supposed to have a cool older friend and a hot girl like her!" Shiro complained, walking backward in annoyance until he was stopped due to bumping into Haruhi.

"Are you alright? I know it's kinda hard to get used to all the weirdos around here, besides Y/n. She's very kind," Haruhi looked up at Y/n who was now showing a book to Mori. "It took me a while to get adjusted to all the craziness, so don't freak out. I'm sure you'll get used to it," She tried to reassure him.

"Do you need help with that tea, Haruhi-chan?" Y/n inquired, walking over and grabbing some of the cups.

"Bend down," The elementary boy gestured for Y/n to come down to his height. "What's with the mask?" He moved his hand to hover over her mouth, about to try and snatch the fabric to see what was underneath.

"Okay that's enough," Tamaki grabbed Shrio from the back of his jacket, pulling him away. "Shiro, why don't you take care of the tea set?"

"Y/n, you're looking very nice today," Hikaru commented, patting her head.

"Just give the set to the boy and let him do his training," Kaoru mentioned.

"Okay, just be careful, it's kind of heavy," Y/n told him, handing him the tray that Haruhi was once holding. Shiro quickly dropped it, the glass silverware and cups shattering all over the floor.

"It's not my fault I dropped it, it's her fault because she gave it to you, causing you to give it to me," Shiro said, pointing to Haruhi.

"Wait what?" Haruhi’s eyes went wide, shaking her head and raising her voice at the young boy's accusations.

"Excuse me?" Y/n asked, her opinion on the boy changing vastly. It was clear he was not a well-behaved child, speaking his mind in cases where he should be holding back. 

"That's another one hundred thousand yen Haruhi," Kyoya added.

"What?" She fumed.

"Have that mask girl do it, don't girls love doing that? I'm not here to carry tea sets, I'm here to learn how to make women happy!" He snarled. 

"Repeat that?" Y/n walked over by him, getting pulled back a bit by the twins.

"You won't get anywhere with that attitude. And I am not going to let you disrespect Y/n. So, put this brat in isolation!" Tamaki declared, pointing his finger at the boy.

"You got it, boss!" The twins popped up, fingers in the air, and soon enough a cage was lowered down, trapping Shrio.

"What's going on here?! Why'd you put me in a cage all of a sudden?!" Shiro thundered.

"I don't know if we can do this," Y/n muttered.

"Where did it come from? This is supposed to be a music room, right?" Haruhi's sweat dropped.

"This is no way to treat your loyal apprentice! Now let me out of this cage!" Shiro thudded on the bars. He tried to reach a hand through to reach something or someone, even though nothing was near his grip. 

"Not until you've learned your lesson," Tamaki told him, sipping some tea. "I made you my apprentice because I thought you were serious about becoming a host, but I guess I was wrong."

"I am serious. Totally serious," He argued, not jumping around in the cage as much as he once was.

"Are we going to let him out soon, if word gets out we keep people in cages, our family businesses will be in trouble," Y/n mentioned, looking around to see if anyone else would do something. With no one making the move she just sighed to herself and went over to the couch to read a novel. 

"I want you to teach me how to make a woman happy!" He exclaimed. "I'm going to run out of time. Please, won't you teach me? You're a host because you like girls, you like bringing a smile to a girl's face. That's why you do it, right? Please won't you teach me how to be like you?" Shiro begged. "You're a genius at it, you're the king!"

"Well, you may be a brat, but I admire your desire to become a host, so I'll teach you!" Tamaki decided. "You know Shiro, you and I are so much alike.”

"Here we go," Y/n looked up from her book to see the gleaming Tamaki, his pridefulness returned.

"Then you'll help me become a host that can make any woman happy?" Shiro grinned.

"Of course, making women happy is the sole purpose of being a host," Tamaki explained. "If this is what you really want Shiro, then you'll have to figure out how to use the material you already have.”

"What does that mean?"

"You see, here at the Ouran Host Club, our policy is to use our individual personality traits to meet the needs of our guests," Kyoya began. "For example, there's Tamaki, who is the princely type, strong silent type, boy lolita type, little devil type, cool type, and natural type," Kyoya showed, lastly pointing to Haruhi. "Now we are complete with Y/n, the special, caring type," He finished, the group now standing next to each other.

"Special, caring?" Y/n repeated

"It would seem that right now we have a perfect blend of characteristics, so it's going to be difficult to find a new type for Shiro," Kyoya confessed.

"If you go by his age, he should be the boy Lolita type."

"But Honey-senpai already has that covered," Kaoru told his brother.

"Is he going to replace me?" Honey worried.

"He's more like a tsundere type," Y/n mentioned, moving over by Haruhi.

"Oh, come on, is that all you got?" A voice wondered, soon motor noises were heard and Renge, once again, appeared from the ground.

"What's up with this place, it's supposed to be a music room," Haruhi voiced to Y/n, Y/n just shaking her head.

"Not all rich people's buildings are like this," Y/n commented. "Though at my house, we have a fish tank that comes out of the ground."

"Sorry to interrupt gentleman, but what's with the lackluster character analysis? I must say I'm quite disappointed, I thought I taught you better," She expressed.

"Alright Miss manager, how would you work Shiro into our collection of characters?" Tamaki queried. “He can't be the boy Lolita because Honey's already got that covered."

"You just don't get it, do you? Now listen up, there are plenty of girls out there who have a thing for younger boys or boys with baby faces," Renge told the group. "These girls would be considered Shota fans. Now, Shota can be a fairly broad category so it's important to know that the genre can be broken down into many different smaller sub-categories," She pointed.

"For example, shota fans with an interest in Lolita boys would favor a boy like Haninozuka-senpai," Renge told the boys, most of them listening carefully, Kyoya taking notes and Y/n peaking over to look at his notes. "But this little boy is different. If I had to pick a character for him... Yes! He'd be the naughty boy type without a doubt,"

"So tsundere?" Y/n voiced, looking at her friend who was currently trying to stifle a laugh.

"The naughty type?" Shiro repeated, someone blowing a whistle.

"Now to play up the naughty type, you should wear shorts," Renge bent down, noticing that he was wearing shorts, and she blew the whistle again. "You've got to have bumps and bruises, give him some scars!" She encouraged the twins who were putting bandages and drawing marks on Shiro.

"I don't think that Shiro needs to"

"Run like a spoiled child! Make it reckless!" Renge demanded. "Now I want you to trip and make it big!" Shiro ran and tripped on a rope, landing harshly. "Are you okay little boy? Now give them your catchphrase!"

"No big deal, it was nothing," He responded proudly.

"That was perfect! Absolutely perfect Shiro!" Renge beamed.

"That was outstanding," Tamaki clapped. "I never knew you were such a great coach, Renge."

"I've had enough of you people," Shiro yelled, gaining the attention of everyone. "This is so stupid, none of this is ever gonna help me make her happy.”

"Her?" Y/n pondered, watching the boy run away.

"Wait, Shiro! We haven't taught you how to apply the techniques you've learned yet," Tamaki called out to him.

"I swear younger boys are good for nothing. I went to all that trouble to coach him and he quits," Renge complained, disappearing back into the ground.

"I can't believe he ditched us just because he didn't like the lesson, what a selfish little brat," Tamaki ranted, clearly annoyed at losing his apprentice.

"I don't think he wanted us to assign him a personality. He had said 'she', he wants to impress a specific girl." Y/n tried to reason with the upset Tamaki. 

"Also, didn't you hear him mention that he was going to run out of time," Haruhi added. "What could that mean?"

Soon enough the club came up with a plan. They knew that the young boy needed some help and they were going to be the ones to do it, after all, he needed help impressing a girl and that was the club's specialty. Their genius plan was to send in Y/n and Honey as students at the elementary school in hopes of finding out more about Shiro and the mystery lady.

"I don't get why I'm a part of this," Y/n whispered, pouting underneath her mask.

"It will be okay N/n-chan. It was so easy to sneak in," Honey reassured her, wearing an elementary school uniform himself. "And wearing this uniform, I look like I'm in elementary school."

"Yeah I agree, I get why they wanted you. But I don't get why they needed me, I don't exactly resemble an elementary schooler with my size. Not to forget that I'm wearing a middle school uniform," Y/n looked down at her dress, and moved a hand to feel her braid. Along with the new outfit Y/n also had to put some dark blush on her cheeks, putting it on the parts that could be seen above her mask. "I don't get the point of these disguises."

In front of the two club members, some actual students just peered at them in confusion.

"Oh there's a reason, a damn good one," Tamaki muttered before Honey grabbed onto Y/n’s wrist and helped lead her down the hall. 

"Isn't she the cutest!" The twins adored.

"I don't think Y/n is happy about this," Haruhi commented.

"Look at her in that miniskirt, Y/n looks like a model," Tamaki admired.

"So, basically you just wanted to see her dressed up like that," Kyoya realized, watching Tamaki peek at the two 'undercover' members walking down the hall. Though Honey and Y/n weren’t easily seen since by then they had already made it into the classroom.

"This is it, Shiro-chan's classroom," Honey told her, opening the door.

"Okay, let's try not to cause any more attention than we already have," Y/n told him.

"When I was in elementary school, this was my classroom too!" Honey ran around.

"Wait, there is no one here," Y/n whispered to herself.

"So the kid's classroom is empty, is it?" Tamaki walked in.

"This surely takes me back," The twins reminisced, wandering around the classroom. The club members all walked around, looking around the desks, at the chalkboard, and checking out the bookshelves, they were reminded of their childhoods. 

"I wonder if my doodles are still on my desk," Kaoru wondered.

"Doubtful, the school changes out the desks every year," Kyoya informed them.

"Every year, at our schools they keep the same ones. If we were lucky they would somewhat clean them," Haruhi mentioned, following after them.

"If you guys are just walking in like nothing, what was the point of us wearing these?" Y/n pondered, gesturing down to her uniform in annoyance.

"Don't worry about it," Hikaru voiced.

"There's no one here to catch us," Kaoru reassured her. But as if he had just jinxed everyone, soon enough they could hear the echoing of footsteps in the hall. In the assumption that it was a teacher, they all ducked down under the desks.

"If the teacher finds us," Hikaru began.

"We'll have a hard time explaining how we snuck in," Kaoru finished.

"This is why I told you guys we should wait outside," Haruhi scolded them, while the twins then commented back, now the three first years bickering. 

"Be quiet, we don't want the teacher finding us," Y/n warned them, putting a finger to her lips. They waited a few silent moments before they could recognize that the footsteps had dispersed. Just to be sure, Y/n got up first and checked around before signaling everyone else to come out, "He's gone, but how are we going to find Shiro-kun?" She queried.

"Well, here's something interesting," Kyoya stated, looking at photos. The rest of the members surrounded Kyoya, all filing up beside him to look at what he had found.

"What did you find?" Haruhi questioned and in response, Kyoya pointed to a certain photo. "Hey! That's Shiro."

"So he's into classical music."

"He's also with a girl. Maybe that's the girl he was talking about," Y/n realized, turning around and looking at the group.

"There's Shiro-chan!" Honey pointed out to a classroom near the one they were in. He was seen talking with a girl before she had moved over to a piano bench to start playing. At the notice of another elementary girl from the same class exiting the classroom, Tamaki walked over to her.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle," Tamaki started, catching her attention. "I've never seen a rose more lovely than you, my dear. Here, this is for you," He offered up the flower, bowing a little and then shortening his stance so they were more eye level. "I was wondering if you could tell me anything about that young lady playing the piano. Do you know her?"

"That's Kameeshido, Hina," The little girl told him.

"Her name is Hina?" Tamaki repeated.

"That's right, but you better not fall in love with her."

"Why?"

"Didn't you know? Hina has to move away soon. Her dad just got a new job in Germany, so they have to move there at the end of the week," She told him, waltzing away while smelling the pretty flower. 

"What do you think you're doing?!" Shiro yelled. "I want you idiots to leave immediately!" He rushed over to where the group was, face as red as a beet. But Tamaki made no reaction, just picked up the smaller boy and put him over his shoulder. "Put me down! What are you doing? Ah!" Tamaki made no hesitation in making the way out of the building with the rest of the club following behind, still carrying the flailing boy.

"It's time to go, gentleman, Y/n,” He paused for a few seconds, turning his head around the best he could to peer at Shiro, “Quit thrashing around," Tamaki deadpanned. 

Once they all finally made their way back to Ouran Highschool Tamaki had just plopped the boy onto the sofa.

"What is your problem, you big idiot!" Shiro snapped.

"I'm sorry, but you're the idiot. You said you wanted me to teach you how to make women happy. But that's not it, is it? You're not concerned with the happiness of just any woman. You've got your sights set on one woman in particular. You only care about one, and that's Kamishiro Hina," Tamaki objected. "When you care for someone, you must find the courage to express what is in your heart. You have to tell her how you feel about her."

"It doesn't matter anymore, I've run out of time. I just wanted to hear her play before she left for good, that's all," Shiro expressed, staring at his hands in his lap, refusing to make eye contact with Tamaki. 

"That piece she played, it's Mozart Sonata in D major for two pianos, isn't it?" Tamaki wondered, walking over to a curtain in the corner and pulling it back to show a beautiful, shining piano.

Haruhi turned towards Y/n, "Wait a minute, since when is there a grand piano in here?"

"Well, this is a music room after all," Kaoru told her, shrugging his shoulders.

"So, why wouldn't it have a grand piano?" Hikaru asked her.

"It is a music room," Kyoya asserted.

"It is a music room," Mori repeated.

"It's always been there, we just had it covered up," Honey explained happily bouncing over to where the piano stayed.

"It's such a nice piano too," Y/n admired taking a few steps to the musical instrument herself. She placed a hand on the top, admiring the keys, and before reaching over to play one Tamaki had taken a spot on the bench. He peered up at the girl, a soft smile on his features, and began to play himself. Shiro watched Tamaki in his prime who was playing a mystical piece and taking multiple peaks up to look over at Y/n’s expression.

Whenever there was an ounce of free time Shiro would be right on the bench learning to mimic the rapid finger movements that Tamaki possessed, all working towards completing the goal of expressing himself to Hina.

It didn’t take long, with all the effort and time Tamaki had taken to teach the young boy soon enough he was prepared to play the piece himself. On a special day, the host club invited Hina to come to Music Room 3, dressing up for the young girl in anticipation of the cute moment that awaited.  

"Welcome princess, we've been waiting," They all announced.

"I present to you, Takaoji Shiro’s piano recital," Tamaki introduced. He took Hina’s much smaller arm in his own, joining together at the arm, and pushed out a seat for her to sit near the piano and Shiro.

"Let's play together Hina," Shiro stated, and very happily the girl obliged. She pulled up her chair more to the other piano starting to play while he played his. It was a truly beautiful musical melody, the two kids glancing back at one another while passionately playing the piece. It was a comforting and rewarding scene for the club to witness. Just the two gleeful children indulging in some musical enjoyment.

"We did a good thing," Tamaki observed the two, with a smile on his face. Y/n looked at him, her eyes scrunched up a bit to show she was smiling underneath the mask. It was on this day she got to peak into Tamaki’s interior a bit more, he was a man who had such a large passion for guiding others. 

"You did Tamaki-senpai, you aren't too bad," She laughed as a small blush appeared on his cheeks with a certain admiration sparkling in his eyes. 

A week later Shiro came in to see the host club once again.

"So, you've been exchanging emails with Hina now that she's in Germany?" Haruhi inquired.

"That's great Shiro-kun," Y/n complemented.

"Yeah, I like her but she can get pretty jealous for an elementary school girl. She'd be upset if she knew I was with you ladies, so let's keep this our little secret," He confessed to the girls surrounding him on the couch and nearby chairs. 

"Naughty boys are the best!"

"I could kiss you."

"Ah, you little brat, those are my guests!" Tamaki fumed.

"Well it looks like they have found someone they like better," Shiro voiced. "It was so easy to steal your customers, I think there's a new host king in town."

"I thought he'd make it through without exploding this time," Kaoru and his brother expressed holding down the blonde.

"We should have known he was gonna blow up sooner or later," Hikaru realized.

"I'm going to assume Tamaki-senpai was also a spoiled brat as a child," Y/n declared, making her way over to Kyoya.

"I was not a spoiled brat! I was nothing like him when I was a kid! I was a sweet, innocent, precocious, adorable child," He whined.

"Of course senpai," Y/n voiced sarcastically. "And I was living in a commoner's home growing up," To this comment the twins broke out in loud laughter. 

"Wait what does that mean? Do you not believe me? Wait Y/n!"

former chapter - The Twins Fight! >> next chapter - Jungle Pool SOS!

[minette-darling]

Waves of Ithaca

Chapter 9: To Aim Once More

dividers by: @thecutestgrotto

tw: nightmare sequence may have disturbing imagery (sort of)

art used: neal illustrator

The sky above Ithaca was deceptively calm.

Not a single cloud marred the vast expanse of stars. The moon, now a waning sliver, hung low over the sleeping palace. The air was still, the sea hushed in its breathless slumber, as if the world itself held back a tide that dared not rise. Below this peaceful sky, the great halls of Odysseus’s home were quiet—save for the faint sounds of shifting linen, the murmured breath of one soul caught in a storm of dreams.

Inside a modest chamber at the far end of the palace, shadows quivered against stone walls. A woman—no longer a child, but still navigating the weight of her own becoming. Tossed in her tangled bedding. Her brow was knit tight, her body tense, as though fighting an unseen current.

She was running, but her feet never touched the ground. The wind pulled her hair backward like seaweed in the current, and the sky was an endless vault of grey. Then came the roar of waves. Violent, ceaseless, cold.

(Y/N) fell.

Or maybe she’d never truly had solid ground beneath her.

The cold didn't sting, not immediately. It cradled her like an old friend, luring her deeper with a strange comfort she didn’t recognize until it was too late. She opened her mouth to scream, but water rushed in like breathless silence. Around her, the waves twisted, a writhing mass of emotion and memory. Something ancient stirred in the darkness—eyes like whirlpools and a voice older than the tides.

“The tide gives, but it remembers what was taken.”

The voice didn’t yell—it didn’t need to. Its sorrow was heavier than the waves crashing above her. She tried to swim upward, but her limbs betrayed her. The ocean wrapped her in salt and pressure, pulling her deeper into its womb.

“What was taken from me will echo through you.”

Her heart pounded, but her body didn’t respond. There was pain—not physical, but spiritual—as though something was slipping out of her. Something that once tethered her to the sea now unraveled, strand by strand. Her fingers reached out toward a distant shimmer of light, a memory, a sunlit horizon.

But it vanished, drowned in Poseidon’s mournful wrath.

(Y/N) jolted awake with a gasp, her skin clammy, her sheets twisted around her like sea-wrack. Her chest rose and fell in short, sharp bursts. For a moment, her ears rang with the phantom rush of waves, and the scent of saltwater clung to her nose. The room was still, but her world was not.

Then—quietly, subtly—the first light of dawn crept through the open window.

A single ray fell across her face, warm and golden. It brushed her temple gently, like a fingertip easing a fever. The trembling slowed. Her breath steadied. And something within her—fragile, but unbroken—held fast beneath the weight of what the sea had whispered.

Though the salt still clung to her skin and the fear lingered like a shadow, the light remained. Quiet. Constant.

A reminder that not all forces sought to pull her under.

The morning sky was heavy with pale clouds— clouds that had gathered quickly since dawn, pregnant with rain. Dampness clung to stone and skin alike, and the wind stirred the palace courtyard with a restless touch.

A commotion was already stirring long before Y/N arrived.

Telemachus stood near the practice grounds, red-faced and cornered by Eurymachus and a pair of lesser suitors. His tunic was rumpled from where one of them had shoved him against a pillar, and though he squared his shoulders, it was with the awkwardness of someone trying not to flinch.

“What’s the matter, little prince?” Eurymachus sneered, raising a hand mockingly. “No sister to hide behind today?”

“I heard she speaks to the sea,” another jeered. “Perhaps if we spit saltwater, she’ll appear.”

A flicker of discomfort passed through Telemachus’s face—but he said nothing.

Then a voice cut through the courtyard, low and calm as a blade sliding free of its sheath.

“Is this what passes for sport now?”

(Y/N) stood just beyond the archway, rain dripping slowly from the curls that framed her face. Her presence silenced them. She didn’t rush forward—but walked, measured and composed, until she stood beside Telemachus.

They didn’t touch. They didn’t look at each other.

But she stood between him and them.

The suitors exchanged glances, then widened their grins like jackals.

“How touching,” Melanthius snorted. “The daughter of storms, shielding her brother. Do you guard him like your precious sea guards you? Or does Poseidon guide your aim as well as your pride?”

Y/N’s lips curled faintly.

“Poseidon doesn't waste his time with barking mutts. And I have even less patience than he does.”

Laughter broke out from the crowd—servants, merchants, even a few guards watching from the sidelines. But it wasn’t cruel. It rang with satisfaction.

Eurymachus stepped forward, embarrassed heat rising to his cheeks.

"Then prove it. We’ve rigged a new contest. If your skill is your own, let’s see it.”

She followed their gaze to the far end of the courtyard, where twelve wooden rings hung from tall stakes, the smallest no larger than a bracelet. The wind swept through them, causing the topmost rings to swing like pendulums, taunting her with their unpredictability.

“Three arrows,” Eurymachus announced, his smirk a challenge. “No touching the wood. Through the center—or not at all.”

She took the bow, her fingers brushing the string. It wasn’t her bow—lighter, unfamiliar—but it felt almost natural in her hands. She stepped onto the stone platform, her eyes scanning the rings, assessing the wind’s playful pull.

Telemachus lingered behind her, his voice low, a warning in his tone.

“They’ve set this up in the wind on purpose. They want you to fail.”

She didn’t respond, but the corner of her mouth twitched. They were wrong to think she’d be thrown off by the wind.

The challenge was clear. He would go first.

With a smirk, Eurymachus accepted the bow. His fingers tested the string before pulling back, a show of practiced skill.

He stood tall, the arrows in his quiver seeming to hum with purpose, and aimed at the rings ahead. He had made no secret of his overconfidence, his reputation as a warrior speaking for itself.

But this contest was different. This wasn’t a battle; this was a test of precision. And Eurymachus, despite all his bravado, knew his skills were more suited for brutal combat than fine aim.

The first shot. It missed wide.

He growled, blaming the wind. The audience murmured, some watching with doubt, others with disbelief that the mighty Eurymachus had failed so soon.

He stepped back, adjusting his stance, a flicker of desperation in his eyes. His hand reached for the second arrow—slightly different from the others. This one had been treated, its shaft sanded smoother, its tip sharpened just enough to slice cleanly through the air.

The second arrow flew, and this time, it sliced through the third ring cleanly. A murmur of approval rose from the crowd.

But as Eurymachus prepared for the final shot, a hint of uncertainty clouded his confidence. The wind was unrelenting, and the final hoop—tiny and swinging wildly—was a challenge no one could deny.

His fingers twitched, and he aimed carefully. The arrow flew, but instead of splitting the final ring, it glanced off the edge.

He cursed under his breath. Half. Half the rings. His face burned with frustration, and he forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“That's enough” he muttered, trying to save face, his hands twitching in frustration.

Then, it was (Y/N)’s turn.

She stepped forward without a word, the crowd murmuring behind her. Her focus sharpened. She took a breath and nocked the first arrow, steadying herself as the wind tugged at her hair.

The first arrow flew true. The third ring—sliced clean.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, but she ignored it. She nocked the second, adjusted her stance slightly. The wind shifted—jarring, unpredictable—but she flowed with it, not against it. The second arrow flew through the fifth ring with a clean whistle.

Telemachus’ voice came again, soft but sharp.

“They think you’ll miss the last one.”

She didn’t answer. Her hands moved of their own accord, her body reacting instinctively.

The last ring. The smallest. The one taunting her, swinging in the wind. It felt like everything was closing in.

And then, a whisper.

“Left foot forward. Draw with breath. Don’t fight the wind—let it carry you.”

The voice wasn’t familiar—definitely not her father’s—but it was filled with something she could trust. A calmness. A certainty.

Without realizing, her feet shifted. Her stance adjusted, just enough. The breath she took was slow, deliberate.

She released the arrow.

It sliced through the smallest ring like it wasn’t even there, the wind tossing it through without resistance. A perfect shot.

Silence descended.

Then, the courtyard erupted in applause.

Even the guards straightened in their posts.

Eurymachus’ mouth opened, then closed. He could say nothing. His pride had been shattered.

“She’s lucky,” someone muttered, but it didn’t matter. Not to her.

Penelope stood beneath the shaded colonnade, eyes steady on her daughter. She watched the posture, the breath, the bow held with quiet reverence.

Twelve axeheads. A single shot.

The thought did not leave her.

(Y/N) stepped down from the platform, heart pounding—not from the crowd, not even from the shot.

But from the echo of that voice, fading gently like light slipping behind clouds.

She didn’t believe in omens.

But something had stood beside her.

And it hadn’t come from the sea.

The storm had passed, but its weight lingered in the courtyard air. The suitors had scattered, their laughter now dulled by bruised egos. Telemachus stood near the edge of the training grounds, jaw set, arms crossed in a way that reminded her—unexpectedly—of their father.

She walked toward him. He didn’t look up at first.

“You held up pretty well,” she said.

His gaze flicked to her, a little surprised. Then he shrugged. “Didn’t cry.”

“That’s new,” she said, dry as salt—but her tone was softer than usual.

They stood together in the quiet, the wind still tugging gently at the empty hoops. One of the furthest rings spun slowly where her final arrow had passed clean through.

“You really hit it,” Telemachus said after a moment. “The far one.”

She nodded. “Only just.”

He shook his head. “No. You didn’t even graze it.”

There was something in his voice—not envy, not awe. Something like pride. Or maybe relief.

(Y/N) tilted her head toward him, studying him a moment. The boy she used to drag from trees and out of trouble was taller now. Broader. His fists clenched not from fear, but from restraint.

“You’re not a child anymore,” she said quietly. “I need to stop treating you like one.”

He didn’t respond for a moment. Then, almost shyly, “You were right to step in.”

She offered a faint, crooked smile. “You didn’t need it. But I wasn’t going to let them take a swing at my brother.”

Telemachus looked down, hiding a small smile. “If you’re looking for Mother, she’s in the loom room."

Y/N nodded. “Thanks.”

She turned to go, then paused. “If they come after you again, don’t wait for me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What should I do?”

Her grin returned—sharp and familiar. “Hit back.”

The halls of the palace were quieter now, washed clean by rain. She walked them with no particular urgency, following the familiar turns of childhood until she reached the loom room.

Penelope sat near the wide window, silver thread glinting between her fingers as she passed it through deep navy cloth. The sound of the shuttle was steady, grounding.

“You did well today,” her mother said without looking up.

Y/N stepped closer, leaned lightly against the doorway. “I slipped.”

“But you stood again.”

(Y/N) crossed to her, letting the rhythm of the loom calm her. “Telemachus said you were here.”

Penelope smiled faintly. “He’s always watching. He gets that from me.”

There was a brief, thoughtful silence. Then—

“Sometimes I wonder,” Y/N admitted, “who I am without the sea. Without Poseidon. Without all of it.”

Penelope paused her weaving, then looked up. “You are not the sea. You are the sailor. The one who reads the wind, not the one who must be carried by it.”

“But what if I’ve been carried too long?”

“Then it’s time to walk.”

Later, after the conversation faded into warmth, Y/N wandered the courtyard again and found herself before the bow rack.

She hadn’t intended to stop. But something about the way Telemachus had stood earlier—chin lifted, gaze hard despite fear—had stirred something. A memory. Or a shadow of one.

He looked like their father.

Not entirely. But enough to catch her off guard.

The resemblance lingered in her thoughts now. She had stories of Odysseus, memories dulled with time—but Telemachus had none. Just echoes in other men’s voices. A father-shaped absence.

She reached out. The bow wasn’t Odysseus’s. But it was like his—heavy, curved Ithacan yew. It felt unfamiliar in her hands, yet right. Like a shoreline remembered only by instinct.

Maybe it was foolish, but some part of her needed to know: Could I do what he did? Would he have shown me how?

Maybe she just wanted to feel that quiet warmth again. The one that didn’t command—but guided.

The rings still swayed in the wind.

She nocked an arrow.

The breeze teased her balance.

Then—Adjust your elbow. A voice, unfamiliar. Calm. Not forceful, but present.

She shifted. Released.

The arrow flew—clean, silent, perfect.

Through the smallest ring.

No scrape.

No sound.

She didn’t smile.

She just breathed.

She hadn’t touched a bow in years.

It wasn’t because she’d forgotten how. Archery had been part of her earliest lessons—long before she’d learned to command the sea, before storms and sailcloth became second nature. But something about the bow had always felt different.

She remembered it only in fragments now—scents, laughter, sun on her face.

She had been four. Maybe younger.

Her hands had been too small to wrap properly around the grip, her feet unsteady in the high grass of the Ithacan hillside. But he had knelt behind her, warm and solid, steadying her arms with large, callused hands.

Odysseus.

“Not so tense," he'd said, voice low with laughter. "It’s a bow, little naiad—not a sword. You don’t fight with it. It’s more like a whisper—gentle, quiet. You have to feel it, let it speak, and it’ll show you where the arrow wants to go.”

She remembered the feel of his breath in her hair as he helped her draw the string, her fingers slipping, the arrow loosing too soon and spinning harmlessly into the grass. She had pouted, and he had thrown back his head and laughed—loud and unbothered.

He’d ruffled her curls. “The sea will teach you storms. The bow will teach you patience.”

Even now, she didn’t know which one had stayed with her longer.

After he left, she’d stopped picking up the bow. Not deliberately. It was more like forgetting—how you forget to sing a lullaby once the voice that taught it is gone. There was something in the weight of it that ached.

So she had turned to the sea. To Poseidon. To sails and salt and storms.

The bow had remained in the shadows of her memory. Until today.

Until the hoops, and the challenge, and the wind.

And now, standing beneath the fading gold of evening, the bow’s echo hummed through her muscles, quiet but certain. She’d remembered not just how—but what it had felt like to learn. Not the precision. The bond. The moment before the arrow flew, when her father had believed she could do it.

It wasn’t just about skill.

It was about who she’d been, before the world asked her to be more.

The sun had dipped lower, smoldering behind clouds that thinned like worn cloth. Y/N found herself drawn to the gates of Ithaca—not by thought, but by instinct. The wind no longer howled, but whispered, brushing against her skin with a gentleness she hadn’t known she needed.

And there, just beyond the path, sat Argos.

He was older now—fur grizzled and patchy, one eye clouded with age. But he remained as ever, a sentinel at the edge of Ithaca, refusing to move from his post. Waiting, always waiting.

She slowed as she approached, and he shifted his head toward her, tail thudding weakly once against the ground. It had been years, and still, he knew.

“Ithaca’s finest watchman,” she murmured, kneeling by his side. “You never gave up, did you?”

He blinked slowly in reply.

She rested a hand gently on his broad shoulder. His breath was shallow, but calm. Together, they sat in silence, old dog and grown daughter, both missing someone who had once promised to return.

Footsteps approached behind her—soft, measured, accompanied by the faint jingling of metal. She turned to see a man leaning lightly on a traveler’s lyre, weather-worn cloak slung over one shoulder. His hair seemed to catch the last of the sun, glowing softly in the fading light. His smile was easy, effortless, yet never too eager. A bard, by the look of him.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said gently. His voice—warm, lilting—carried with it a strange familiarity. Like a song she couldn’t place.

She shook her head. “No. It’s a quiet place.”

He glanced at Argos with fond recognition. “I passed him by the gate. Thought he might be a statue, the way he sits. Loyal beast.”

“He’s been waiting for someone.”

The bard lowered himself to sit nearby, careful not to press too close. “Many here are.”

They sat for a moment in companionable silence, the wind tugging gently at Y/N’s braid.

“You shoot like someone who’s known storms,” he said after a time, voice more curious than impressed.

She glanced at him sideways. “You saw the challenge?”

“Watched from the edge. It was less about aim than heart.”

She frowned faintly. “I wasn’t trying to prove anything.”

“Weren’t you?” His tone wasn’t mocking—merely open. “It’s not shameful, you know. Wanting to be seen.”

She exhaled slowly. “I don’t know what I want.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Then you’re closer to clarity than most.”

Something about him unsettled her—no, not unsettled. Calmed. The way light calms the sea when it touches it just so. And in the quiet that followed, she felt the pull of memory again—the echo of a voice from earlier, during the challenge. A subtle correction in her stance. A warmth that had steadied her breath.

It hadn’t been Poseidon.

She looked toward the bard again, but he was watching the sun with a peaceful expression, as though it answered questions no one else could hear.

“You’re a long way from any village,” she said quietly.

“I walk where the stories go,” he replied, glancing at her now, eyes a shade too gold for the fading light. “And sometimes, where they begin.”

Y/N said nothing.

He rose, dusted off his cloak. “You’ll be alright, you know. Even when it feels like you’ve lost your tide.”

“Is that a prophecy?” she asked dryly.

A grin tugged at his lips. “Just a thought from a traveler.”

Then he tipped his head, gave Argos a respectful nod, and turned down the path—vanishing into the glow as though the dusk had swallowed him whole.

Y/N remained seated, heart a little steadier than before.

The sea had raised her.

But something else—somewhere between the sun and memory—was beginning to guide her back to herself.

Argos let out a soft, satisfied sigh and rested his head on her lap.

And for a while longer, she stayed.

The halls of Ithaca quieted. Below, Y/N drifted toward sleep, the weight of the day slowly uncoiling from her limbs. Just before the darkness took her fully, a sound threaded through the quiet.

A lullaby.

Soft. Familiar.

Penelope used to hum it when the wind howled through the cliffs, when Telemachus cried from fever, or when Y/N clutched at nightmares after stories of sea monsters and missing kings. The melody was simple—just enough to anchor a child to safety.

But Penelope had not sung it in years.

And this time, the notes floated not from her lips, but from above.

Far from Ithaca, on a ridge kissed by stars—perhaps Olympus, or something older still—Apollo sat cross-legged with his golden lyre cradled in his arms. He strummed gently, each note a shimmer of memory reborn.

The music caught on the breeze.

“You meddle,” Hermes said, his voice arriving before his feet touched the stone. He stepped from the dusk like a breeze taking shape, arms crossed, brow raised. “Once more, and with song.”

Apollo did not glance up. “I offer no interference. Only remembrance.”

“You play her lullaby,” Hermes said, circling him. “A bit intimate for one who claims detachment.”

“I have not spied upon her,” Apollo replied, fingers still coaxing gold from string. “But some songs endure. Especially those born of a mother’s love.”

Hermes scoffed. “You and your verses.”

Apollo looked up, calm and quiet. “And you, ever the thief of moments, call me excessive?”

“I speak with her,” Hermes said, voice cool. “You merely haunt her path.”

“I reflect,” said Apollo, letting another note fall. “You scatter.”

Hermes gave a dry laugh. “She does not need a mirror. She needs one who will not blind her.”

Apollo’s smile was slow. “And not a storm that vanishes at dawn?”

“I do not vanish. I allow her space.”

“You vanish when it suits you,” Apollo murmured. “Just as you did when the storms came.”

Hermes’s eyes narrowed. “You gave her warmth. A breath of calm. Now you sing her to sleep. Is that your idea of restraint?”

“I offer choice.”

Hermes stepped closer. “You call it choice, yet lay flowers in her path.”

“She walks of her own will.”

“Never alone,” Hermes said sharply. “Not with you hovering at her shoulder like light itself.”

Apollo paused, the melody trembling at his fingertips. “Perhaps I am guilty of care. And so are you.”

Hermes’s gaze dropped toward Ithaca. “I have never claimed otherwise.”

AN: hi— so, this was a long one, huh? i was stuck on the nightmare part for literally like 2 days, it was really difficult for me to write because i am not the biggest fan of being in water(ironic, isn't it?) woohoo— apollo interactions. also, argos mentioned cus he is the best boy. if you guys don't like the 12 rings challenge, i can rewrite it— i thought that it would be a slap to the suitors later on when penelope basically uses their own tricks against them, also it was to show that the only ones rightful to rule ithaca are the royal family ㅠㅠ

[elyslynn]

A change in tides part 01

(Tim drake x male reader)

AN: officially graduated today :). Short chapter overall, I intend to drop a longer one soon

⋅°₊‧ ଳ ‧₊° ⋅⋅°₊‧ ଳ ‧₊° ⋅⋅°₊‧ ଳ ‧₊° ⋅⋅°₊‧ ଳ ‧₊° ⋅⋅°₊‧ ଳ ‧₊° ⋅⋅°₊‧ ଳ ‧₊° ⋅⋅°₊‧ ଳ ‧₊° ⋅⋅°₊‧

The golden banners of coronation still fluttered in the water like silk constellations, gently pulled by the currents weaving through the towers of Velorion. Though the ceremony had ended, the capital shimmered with the breath of celebration—echoes of song in coral chambers, silver petals dancing along the marble steps. The crown now sat on your brow, weightless but immeasurable.

You stood alone on the highest terrace of the palace, overlooking the kingdom that had risen with you.

Velorion was beauty carved into legend—its streets paved in white shell and gold-veined stone, bridges laced with glowing kelp and moon-glass, and high towers that spiraled like starlight into the sea’s expanse. The whole city glowed beneath a net of bioluminescent lights strung between spires, an artificial night sky to mirror the one above. They called it the Kingdom Beneath the Sailing Stars—a realm not ruled by steel and tide alone, but by radiance, legacy, and grace.

You were not a stranger to it. You were born into this kingdom, raised in its heart, and crowned by its devotion. The people did not fear your power—they had watched it bloom from the moment your veins first shimmered with golden-red light. You had mastered it before you ever wore a crown. To them, you were not a weapon, but a wonder. Their sun beneath the sea.

You passed down the marble steps, nodding to guards clad in armor that glinted like dawnlight on water. They stood not out of fear of what you could do, but out of reverence for who you already were. In the Hall of Songglass, your steps echoed with quiet music—a resonance built into the architecture itself. The air carried the scent of ocean lilies and sea-wax candles still burning from the night before.

You paused before a tapestry older than Velorion itself. It depicted the descent of Asterion, the star-god who fell from the heavens, dying as he plunged into the ocean. In the woven starlight, his divine essence scattered—his light seeding the royal line of Velorion. Every monarch since had been marked by a unique blessing. Your great-grandfather wore a crown that revealed the truths others dared to hide. Your grandmother cloaked herself in silence and storm. Your mother ruled with a halo of healing light, her touch enough to knit flesh and quiet pain.

Your blessing was stellar anchor, granting you the sword—Celestial’s Edge—a blade forged of a collapsed core star, summoned only by your will. It was not a weapon you learned, but a gift given, the way a torch is passed from one sacred hand to the next. Its weight did not burden you. Its light did not burn you. It belonged to you the moment your fingers closed around it, as though the god who gave it had always meant it to rest in your palm.

Later that day, you walked the market lanes below the palace. You wore no disguise. There was no need. Children greeted you with laughter. Vendors called your name, offering golden pomegranates and pearl-wrapped sweets. An old woman, her skin like dried kelp and her voice like smoke, pressed a small token into your palm—a carved replica of your sword, bound in silver string.

“You shine like your mother,” she said softly, her blind eyes turning toward you. “But stronger, brighter, like her heart grew wings.”

You smiled, touched her hand, and tucked the token into your sleeve.

Back in the throne chamber, as twilight settled through the city’s dome of light, your advisors gathered in a ripple of tension. The Gathering of the Eight Kingdoms drew near. It would be your first as king—a summit where rulers from Poseidonis to Crastinus would come together, speak in veiled threats, and pretend to be allies.

Poseidonis, proud and ancient, still called you a ceremonial child. Tritonis scoffed at your elegance, calling you “the silk prince.” Xebel mocked your silver-threaded robes and polished diplomacy. Crastinus whispered that your blade was more theater than threat. Even the mystics of Nanauve had begun to cast doubt—if only in riddles.

Shaeyris, sharp-tongued and secretive, called you a plaything of a dying god. Neptunos watched with silence, but silence, in court, was rarely neutral.

They called you the God-Touched King. To your people, it was a blessing. To the others, a pretty title for a prince with no scars.

⋅°₊‧ ଳ ‧₊° ⋅⋅°₊‧ ଳ ‧₊° ⋅⋅°₊‧ ଳ ‧₊° ⋅⋅°₊‧ ଳ ‧₊° ⋅⋅°₊‧ ଳ ‧₊° ⋅⋅°₊‧ ଳ ‧₊° ⋅⋅°₊‧ ଳ ‧₊° ⋅⋅°₊‧

[melpomenelamusa]

Mer whump with Neela and Inlan (I couldn’t come up with a pretty title).

~Original story~

A/N: Neela and Inlan are two mer OCs I created when I was younger. Inlan is the prince of the Sea Kingdom, and Neela is the royal guard in charge of protecting him. They’re the same age and grew up together in the palace. Right now, they’re traveling through the ocean in search of a way to save their kingdom from the human threat, since humans are hunting merfolk. I never worked more on this story, so all I have is the concept idea and excitement, but to make the most of Mermay, I decided to write a fic using these characters because I simply love them very much.

CW: Mer whump, mer whumpee, kidnapping, held for ransom, royal whump, bound and gagged, whumpee x caretaker.

Neela had been so stupid.

She had let her guard down too much, and now Inlan was in danger.

She and Prince Inlan had decided to camp near a giant kelp forest. The royal guard trusted the lush environment would let them go unnoticed by possible predators, so she chose a small cave nearby where they could rest.

“I trust your judgment,” the prince had told her with a smile.

Neela was confident in her decision: they would have food and fresh water currents. She had also seen what looked like a house close to the area, possibly belonging to kelp farmers, so if the place was inhabited, it meant it had to be safe.

“I’ll go hunt something to eat. Your Highness, please stay here,” Neela announced, gripping her trident.

The prince smiled at her. His white scales shimmered like a pearl in the water.

“I’ve told you to just call me Inlan,” he said kindly. “We’re friends. You don’t have to call me by my title.”

Neela looked down, hoping the red scales on her face would hide her blush.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” she repeated, before leaving the small cave.

Finding food wasn’t difficult—forests were always abundant with fish, algae, and mollusks. The mermaid was catching fish easily when suddenly, a leopard shark came out of nowhere and attacked her, aiming directly at her tail with its sharp teeth. That was odd; leopard sharks were usually peaceful creatures, and there was enough food around to avoid any kind of predator conflict.

Neela swam upward to dodge the bite, but the shark lunged again with its mouth wide open. Neela swam through the tall kelp, trying to lose the creature, but it stayed close, as if it were hunting her. Unable to shake it off, she realized she had no choice but to fight. She gripped her trident firmly, and when the shark charged at her again, she slashed its tail. She didn’t want to kill it, but if it kept coming and posed a threat to her or the prince, she’d have to defeat it.

A few more strikes from her trident left the shark unwilling to keep fighting. It turned around and swam off, disappearing into the kelp forest, leaving behind a faint trail of blood from its wounds. Neela finished hunting and, once she had enough fish for a sustainable dinner, swam back to the cave.

That’s when her heart stopped.

The cave was empty.

There was no trace of the prince anywhere.

“Your Highness?” she called, thinking maybe the prince had gotten bored and gone off to explore the nearby area. But there was no reply.

Neela kept calling out, swimming around the cave, the panic growing stronger in her chest.

“Your Highness! Your Highness, where are you?! Your Highnessss! INLAN!”

Nothing.

Neela found it harder and harder to filter oxygen through her gills.

Something must have happened. Something had happened to the prince.

She remembered the leopard shark and its strange behavior. Leopard sharks were calm, wild creatures that wouldn’t bother you unless provoked. Then she remembered something her father once told her—that some mers trained small and medium-sized sharks to guard their gardens or farms, and they could even be trained to attack on command. Neela also recalled the stone house she had seen not far from the kelp forest, and a chilling thought took shape in her mind.

What if someone used the leopard shark to distract her and kidnap the prince?

Inlan’s bag, which held his personal belongings and jewelry, was also missing from the cave. If he had gone out to explore, there would’ve been no reason to take his jewelry with him. That only fueled Neela’s suspicion, and she clenched her trident tighter.

It was her duty as royal guard to protect the prince. If anything happened to him…

Without hesitating, Neela began swimming toward the stone house she’d seen earlier. She tried to stay hidden the entire time, blending into the kelp. Her bright red and blue scales weren’t exactly subtle, but she did her best to be as cautious as possible. She couldn’t risk being seen by someone who might have been watching them.

After a while, she reached the house. It was carved into a rocky cliff wall. Light was shining through the window holes. In front of the house was an adult merman bandaging the leopard shark’s wounds—clearly the same one Neela had fought earlier. The merman threw the shark a piece of meat before going back inside. Once the door closed, Neela began to plan her way in.

If Inlan was in there, she had to save him.

Dealing with the leopard shark would be easy—she had the strength and skill to kill it if needed (though she honestly hoped it wouldn’t come to that)—but she didn’t know how many mers were inside the house. If it were just the one she’d seen outside, she could handle it; her training had prepared her for one-on-one combat. The problem was if there were too many. Not because she feared getting hurt herself, but because one of them might threaten or harm Inlan to control her.

Neela decided it was best to wait for nightfall.

When the waters grew darker and the light inside the house became brighter, Neela got ready.

The leopard shark, as was its custom, swam off toward the kelp forest to act as a guard. Neela swam quietly after it, making as little disturbance as possible. While she had waited, she had braided several ropes using strands of kelp. Once she was close enough to the shark, she threw one of the ropes, looping it around the creature’s head and binding it. Neela wrestled with the animal until she managed to tie its fins with the rope as well.

Unable to move, the shark slowly sank to the sandy seafloor. Neela couldn’t help but feel bad for the poor creature, who was only following its master’s commands, so she decided she’d come back to free it once Inlan was safe.

The mermaid swam back toward the house, staying out of sight of the windows. As she got closer, she began to hear multiple voices—specifically unfamiliar male voices talking.

“Did you find anything out, Eel?” said the first voice, probably talking to one of the others.

“Pardy already headed to the forest,” the merman named Eel replied. “If that mermaid tries to come near this area, our pet will make sure to keep her busy while we find a new hiding spot.”

“We have to move quickly,” added a third voice. “If we’re going to ask the crown for ransom, we need to do it before someone finds us.”

“MMMMH!”

“Seems His Highness isn’t too excited,” said the first voice. A thud followed, then a soft whimper of pain. “What’s a prince doing so far from home in dangerous times like these? It’s like he was begging to be captured.”

“With what we get from the ransom, we can finally say goodbye to this boring farming life,” said the third voice with enthusiasm.

“Patience, Kaup. We’ll continue with the plan tomorrow. I’m sure there are plenty of mers—or even humans—who’d be interested in paying a fortune to possess the prince of the sea.”

“Mmmmh! Nnh!”

“Should I knock him out again, Rostratu?” asked Kaup.

“Mmn! Mmmmmh!”

“I think the prince is willing to behave tonight—unless he wants us to lock him in a basket,” said Rostratu. There was a moment of silence before he added, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“In that case, I’ll take first watch,” Eel offered. “You guys get some sleep.”

A few minutes later, the lights inside the house dimmed. The slim merman Neela had seen feeding the leopard shark came out the door.

During all that time, the mermaid stayed hidden behind some coral next to the house. The more she listened, the more she felt her heart tighten, the harder she gripped the handle of her weapon, the more difficult it became to control the violent impulse to storm the place and take down everyone who had dared to lay a finger on Inlan.

Her opponent carried no weapons and didn’t seem very strong. If she was fast enough, she could attack and incapacitate him in the blink of an eye, before he could alert his companions. Taking a deep breath to flood herself with courage, Neela swam upward and attacked from above, striking the back of her opponent’s head with the handle of her trident.

It wasn’t the most honorable technique, but it was effective, as her opponent instantly collapsed onto the sandy floor without making a sound. Neela tied him up and dragged him behind the coral cluster where she had been hiding.

The mermaid peeked through the window of the house, revealing an empty room. She pushed open the shell door and went inside. Ahead was a hallway that led to more rooms. Neela swam as silently as possible, listening intently for the slightest sound. She managed to hear soft sobbing coming from the room to the left, so she hurried in that direction.

It looked like a small storage room with various tools for kelp harvesting, such as long knives, pitchforks, rakes, and large collection baskets. However, what truly caught her attention was the body with shining pearlescent scales at the far end of the room.

Inlan.

The prince lay on the floor, on his stomach. His arms and wrists were bound behind his back with kelp ropes. An extra piece of rope was tied to the fin of his tail, pulling it back and connecting it to his wrists, leaving him in an uncomfortable position that made it completely impossible for him to swim or even move. Thick pieces of sticky seaweed covered his lips, wrapping around his head and sealing his mouth completely, muffling his sobs.

Neela felt her heart break at the sight of him and couldn’t hold back when she cried out:

“Inlan!”

The prince turned his head. A bruise was starting to form on one of his cheeks. When he saw her, his light blue eyes reflected only pure relief.

Neela swam to him, ready to free him—when suddenly…

“Mmh! Mm-mmh!”

Inlan shouted through the gag, squirming in his restraints, his terrified expression fixed on something behind the mermaid. Suddenly, the two unknown mermen, Rostratu and Kaup, appeared in the storage room.

“How did you get in? What did you do to Eel?” one of them—Kaup—shouted.

Neela didn’t waste time explaining. She pointed her trident at them, baring her sharp teeth in a hostile snarl.

Kaup didn’t hesitate either. He grabbed one of the long knives from the storage and lunged at the young mermaid with a thrust. She blocked the attack with her own weapon, and they quickly engaged in combat; but Neela’s skill allowed her to disarm and knock out her opponent in little time. These mermen might have been bigger and more aggressive than she was, but they lacked the technique of a trained guard.

Unfortunately, that made her opponents prone to fighting dirty.

“Mmnh!”

“Drop the weapon or I’ll kill him!”

Rostratu had moved next to Inlan. With one hand he gripped the prince’s light blue hair tightly, lifting his head, and with the other he pointed the knife’s blade at his neck.

Neela had to restrain the sudden urge to act violently and risk Inlan getting hurt. She doubted these criminals truly wanted to kill the prince—he was more useful alive—but poor Inlan had just been kidnapped and mistreated, his face showed nothing but pure terror, and Neela wasn’t going to subject him to more pain. She had already failed enough as a royal guard for one day.

She dropped her trident to the floor.

Inlan writhed uselessly in his captor’s grip, shaking his head and looking at Neela with concern. The mermaid tried her best to keep her hands from trembling as she raised them in surrender.

She just had to be patient.

The moment her enemy moved away from Inlan, lowering the knife and reaching for one of the ropes to tie her up, Neela struck, throwing herself at him and biting his arm hard enough to draw blood. The merman screamed in pain, pulling at Neela’s pale hair to get her off.

The mermaid let go and, taking advantage of his dazed state, swam to retrieve her trident and struck him with all her strength on the head. He collapsed to the floor.

Silence fell, broken only by Neela’s ragged breathing.

Once calm again, she quickly tied up the criminals, making sure they couldn’t follow or bother them again, before heading to free Inlan.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” she said, her voice full of anguish and guilt as she quickly cut through the ropes that bound the prince. “I’m so sorry, Inlan, you shouldn’t have had to go through all this, I was careless…!”

Neela suddenly felt all her emotions crash over her like a wave pounding her against the rocks, and tears welled in her eyes.

She was so lost in her own guilt that she was surprised when a pair of arms gently wrapped around her.

“You came to save me,” said Inlan, his voice the sweetest sound in the whole ocean. “That’s what matters most. The only thing I could ask for. My savior.”

The prince pulled back and smiled at her. How could he look so happy after everything that had just happened? There was a bruise on his face and marks around his wrists—how could he smile so beautifully? Neela wiped her tears.

“Let’s go before these guys wake up. We need to find a new safe place to spend the night.”

The two young mers left the house, not without first retrieving Inlan’s backpack, and returned to the small cave in the kelp forest. Neela also released the leopard shark, which darted away in terror without attempting to attack them.

As they swam through the ocean, Inlan never left Neela’s side. The prince’s encouraging words slowly helped Neela regain some confidence.

“Come on, Inlan, we still have a long way to go.”

Inlan let out a soft chuckle.

“You’ve said my name a lot today.”

Neela felt her cheeks grow warm again.

“Well, it’s just… we’re friends, right?”

Inlan’s eyes widened slightly, then his expression softened back into his kind smile.

“Yes, we’re friends.”

[queen-of-andor]

Daenerys being the ruler of Meereen on top of the Great Pyramid observing the city from above:

[...]From here she could see the whole city: the narrow twisty alleys and wide brick streets, the temples and granaries, hovels and palaces, brothels and baths, gardens and fountains, the great red circles of the fighting pits. And beyond the walls was the pewter sea, the winding Skahazadhan, the dry brown hills, burnt orchards, and blackened fields.[...]

ASOS, DAENERYS VI

Bran Stark while climbing observing Winterfell from above. At the end of the passage below, it also foreshadows that one day Bran will be Winterfell's ruler like Dany is Meereen's. ( currently he actually is the heir of Winterfell due to Robb's death).

When he got out from under it and scrambled up near the sky, Bran could see all of Winterfell in a glance. He liked the way it looked, spread out beneath him, only birds wheeling over his head while all the life of the castle went on below. Bran could perch for hours among the shapeless, rain-worn gargoyles that brooded over the First Keep, watching it all: the men drilling with wood and steel in the yard, the cooks tending their vegetables in the glass garden, restless dogs running back and forth in the kennels, the silence of the godswood, the girls gossiping beside the washing well. It made him feel like he was lord of the castle, in a way even Robb would never know.

AGOT, BRAN II

[ohthethingswedoforlove]

Yandere!Sal/Syakesan headcanons

I wasn't joking when I said I was back in my 2014 era.

Warnings: yandere character; descriptions of violence; death; big spoiler warning for the last half of the story and bad ending N°2;

Sal

❤️ It's funny. Something about him had always felt just a little bit... Off.  

❤️ In theory, you had no good reason to distrust him. And surely neither did any of the other inhabitants of the Blue Sea.  

❤️ Sal is nothing if not kind, helpful and reliable. A dutiful member of the princess' court and a good friend to many, if not just a bit of a pushover.  

❤️ But maybe... Maybe it was the constant smiles, maybe it was the overbearing friendliness, or maybe even the stares you could feel searing into the back of your head.  

❤️ Maybe it was the fact he could tell that you didn't fully trust him. 

❤️ He tried his best to get in your good graces. Offering his help, his company, some small trinkets here and there. Always with the air of an old friend who just wanted to catch up.  

❤️ And you accepted, slowly but surely, you did. If one of your drawers back at home full of small gifts made of seashells and pearls are anything to go by.  

❤️ After all, he couldn't afford any suspicion.  

❤️ Not after everything he had to go through. Not after he waited for so long in this godforsaken sea.  

❤️ You are endearing, yes. Charming, he could even admit. Though this felt different from the way he had taken a liking to Wadanohara.  

❤️ He would be lying if he said that he didn't get some enjoyment out of your little game of back and forth. Of the way you always seemed just a bit wary of him.

❤️ It dulled the boredom. It made it feel like there was at least someone in this sea who wasn't completely and brainlessly trusting.  

❤️ It made him want you to be the first he would seek out on the day everything would go to hell. What would be your reaction, he wonders? For your fears to be proven right in the most horrific way possible?  

❤️ He felt like you never quite fully bought into his little song and dance, no matter how stupid he made himself look or how cheery he acted. And while amusing, it came with concerns.

❤️ He almost let himself feel wary, even worried that you could pose some sort of threat to his plan, that you would go and run your mouth.  

❤️ But then again... Maybe he overestimated you a bit.  

❤️ Because not even you saw what was coming.  

❤️ How could you, really? How could anyone? Who would truly believe what he had done, what he was capable of? 

❤️ Even you couldn't predict the return of the Red Sea.

❤️ And his plan came to pass, nearly as perfectly as he had hoped; and he watched as the shock of betrayal turned everyone against him.

❤️ Sal had been disappointed in Wadanohara's reaction and choice in alliances, but then again, he wasn't surprised either. Of course she wouldn't take his side or accept him now, none of the inhabitants of the Blue Sea would. 

❤️ Well, most of them didn't. But at least the sea witch's violently smitten octopus familiar served a good enough purpose in the end.

❤️ He didn't care anymore. After leaving Wadanohara's fate in the bloody and traitorous hands of Fukami, he knew exactly who he was going to see next, leaving them behind as her screams echoed through the halls of this decaying palace.

❤️ You had nowhere to run.

❤️ Surviving amongst the wreckage and violence was near impossible, and trying to help any familiar faces was basically a suicide mission that wouldn't end without you either losing limbs or just straight up dead.

❤️ And with Wadanohara gone, it's not like there was much hope left for the sea to be saved.

❤️ He found you curled up in a corner, hiding away as much as you could in this chaos, shaking and terrified. Who could blame you, really?

❤️ Funny. A glint catches his eye, an insignificant detail he shouldn't have bothered with. You were still wearing one of those stupid seashell bracelets he made for you.

❤️ And he had noticed. Back when he revealed his true form and alliance to the red sea, your expression hadn't been of anger or one that showed you had seen this coming, like he had always imagined it would be. No. You were in disbelief. You looked betrayed.

❤️ You were scared.

❤️ He guesses, in the end, you might have started to warm up to him. Genuinely started to enjoy his company. The revelation made his heart twist, but for a reason he didn't want to spend any time pondering.

❤️ What a shame.

❤️ When he started to approach you, bloody, sword in hand and the sharpest smile pulling at his face, you could only think of death. But he had other plans.

❤️ He didn't care about your approval on the matter, like he tried getting with Wadanohara. And he isn't planning on you ending up like her, either. Death would be too sweet of an escape for you. 

❤️ His companion and newest victim. He thinks you could stay forever and endure the pain with him. What a wonderful ending for you. For both of you. Forever tied to the Red Sea, forever tied to him.

❤️ He's been alone for so long, won't you keep a shark some company?

[niteshade925]

Apr 11, Xi'an, China, Beilin Museum (Stele Forest):

I must preface this post with an unfortunate news: because the Museum dug up a Tang dynasty taimiao/太庙 (imperial ancestral shrine) within the Museum area itself while renovating, all of the actual steles have been moved in order to begin excavation, and all we saw were ink rubbings of the steles. I will provide some pics I found online of the actual steles where possible.

Jingjiao Stele/大秦景教流行中国碑:

First up is one of the most famous steles of the Beilin Museum, known in the West as the Jingjiao Stele or the Nestorian Stele. The actual name is 大秦景教流行中国碑, which translates to "Memorial of the Propagation in China of Jingjiao from Daqin". Jingjiao/景教 is the ancient Chinese name of Church of the East, and Daqin/大秦 is the ancient Chinese name for Eastern Roman Empire. The stele was first erected in 781 AD (Tang dynasty, during reign of Emperor Dezong of Tang).

This stele is not only valuable because of what it records, but also because it has Syriac on it too:

According to Wikipedia this is what the Syriac text on the bottom says:

"In the year of the Greeks one thousand and ninety-two, the Lord Yazedbuzid, Priest and Vicar-episcopal of Cumdan the royal city, son of the enlightened Mailas, Priest of Balach a city of Turkestan, set up this tablet, whereon is inscribed the Dispensation of our Redeemer, and the preaching of the apostolic missionaries to the King of China. ["The Priest Lingpau", in Chinese] "Adam the Deacon, son of Yazedbuzid, vicar-episcopal. The Lord Sergius, Priest and Vicar-episcopal. Sabar Jesus, Priest. Gabriel, Priest, Archdeacon, and Ecclesiarch of Cumdan and Sarag."

Here's the full view of the actual stele and the full text:

Letter about a Stomachache/肚痛帖:

This is my personal favorite, by famous Tang dynasty calligrapher Zhang Xu/张旭 (685 ? - 759 ?). This work is hailed as one of the greatest examples of Caoshu/Cursive Script/草书.

The actual contents are quite funny, however, and it roughly reads:

忽肚痛不可堪，

"Suddenly I have an unbearable stomachache,

不知是冷熱所致，

I don't know if it's because of the cold or the heat,

欲服大黃湯，

I wanted to drink some medicine,

冷熱俱有益。

Which should alleviate the symptoms regardless of the cause.

如何為計，

What should I do,

非臨床。"

Not near bed."

Because Zhang Xu may have been trying to hold it back while writing, you can see feel how his stomachache progressed in the way he wrote everything. Caoshu truly is an expressive script. In fact it's so expressive, the last three characters (on the very left) have become unsolved mysteries in academia. In my own translation above, I just directly translated the three characters that most academics think is on the last line.

Logograms Making up a Picture--Kuixing Pointing at the Dipper/集字魁星点斗图:

This is a very interesting stele, in that it's a carving of a painting that's made up of Chinese characters, which evolved from pictures themselves. The painting is by Ma Dezhao/马德昭, and the stele was erected between 1862 - 1874 (Qing dynasty). It depicts the Kuixing/魁星 (translated as "god of literature", but he's not the only god of literature btw) standing on the back of an Ao/鳌 (mythical turtle creature) and pointing at the character 斗, which is short for the Big Dipper.

The characters making up the god of literature reads:

“正心修身，克己複禮” (written out above in red-orange-yellow-green-cyan-blue-purple-magenta), which roughly translates to "rectify your mind, improve yourself, have self-restraint, and practice good manners".

This painting subject also has a legend behind it. One version says that when Kuixing was a human, he was a talented and learned scholar who received first place (called zhuangyuan/状元) in the imperial exams, but because his ugly appearance scared the empress, he was chased out of the palace. Out of anger at how he was treated, he threw himself into the sea and drowned. The Jade Emperor pitied him, so he gave the scholar a red brush, and made him watch over all imperial examinations. Thus Kuixing became the god of all students and aspiring scholars.

Logograms Hidden in the Picture--Bamboo Poem about Guanyu/关帝诗竹:

This stele erected by Han Zai/韩宰 in 1716 (Qing dynasty) is similar to the previous one in that it's also a picture made up of Chinese characters, but it's more hidden within the picture.

It's a poem about Guanyu/关羽, the famous general during Three Kingdoms period (220 AD - 280 AD), and it reads:

不謝東君意，

I shall not be thanking the spring wind's kindness directly, ("spring wind" here refers to Cao Cao/曹操, who treated Guanyu well)

丹青獨立名。

But shall leave my name in history as an upright loyal person.

莫嫌孤葉淡，

Although the leaves may be sparse,

終久不凋零。

They will never wither and fall.

The poem was supposed written by Guanyu before he left Cao Cao to reunite with his sworn brother Liu Bei/刘备, and uses the imagery of bamboo--both in a visual sense and in a literary sense--as a metaphor for Guanyu's unwavering loyalty.

One Stroke "Longevity"/一笔“壽”:

Again by Ma Dezhao/马德昭, this time in 1870. I must say I like his ideas. This is an abstract calligraphy piece of the character for longevity/壽, written in one stroke, but is actually composed of the numbers 九十九 (99) and 二十一 (21) (read from top down). Because 99 + 21 = 120, and if anyone can live to be 120, they will have lived a long life indeed.

Pine and Red Crowned Crane/松鹤图:

By painter Zhu Jiyi/朱集义 in 1680 (Qing dynasty). Pine in traditional Chinese imagery means resilience and longevity, and red crowned crane also symbolize longevity, especially in Daoist imagery where they are the mount of choice for many immortals. Together they make up the word 松鹤延年, which means "pine and crane brings longevity".

Dongpo's Authentic Work/东坡真迹:

This is an authentic calligraphy work by Su Shi/苏轼 (1037 AD - 1101 AD), whose pen name is Dongpo/东坡. The stele was erected in 1081 AD. Here he wrote down Returning Homeward/归去来兮辞 by Tao Yuanming/陶渊明 (365 AD - 427 AD).

Xie Fangbao's Epitaph/解方保墓志:

Epitaph of Xie Fangbao/解方保, a Sui dynasty (581 AD - 618 AD) general who died in 610 AD. Ancient Chinese epitaphs have a two-piece structure, the tablet where the epitaph is engraved (right), and a protective stone covering that has the deceased's name and title engraved on top (left), surrounded by engravings of imagery that represent the universe. This epitaph is considered to be an excellent example of Sui dynasty epitaphs and calligraphy.

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 28 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇mostly gonna be a filler chapter with acrisios

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Acrisios leaned against the railing of the palace’s outer courtyard, enjoying the cool breeze that carried the scent of the sea. Telemachus sat beside him on a stone bench, his legs sprawled out lazily as he toyed with a dagger, tossing it between his hands.

“So, Acrisios,” Telemachus began, his voice light but clearly mischievous. “You’ve been oddly quiet lately. A bit distracted, I’d say.”

Acrisios side eyed him, already sensing where this was going. “I’m not distracted. You’re just louder than usual.”

Telemachus smirked. “Oh, I’m plenty loud, but not as loud as your heart probably is whenever you think about Lethea.” He dragged her name out teasingly, watching as Acrisios visibly stiffened.

Acrisios tried to play it cool, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “What are you on about now?” he muttered, looking out at the horizon as if it would save him.

“Don’t act dumb,” Telemachus said, nudging his friend’s arm. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The thin girl with the classy walk, always looking like she belongs in the heavens with the Olympians.” He grinned as Acrisios groaned and rubbed a hand down his face.

“Don’t start,” Acrisios warned, but it only fueled Telemachus further.

“I mean, seriously,” Telemachus continued, his tone mockingly dreamy. “She’s so proper, so pristine. And you… well, you’re a sailor’s son who smells like saltwater half the time.”

Acrisios turned to glare at him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, friend.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Telemachus said with a laugh. “It’s just… Lethea? Really? I can’t picture her even looking at you without flinching, let alone returning your feelings.”

Acrisios crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. “And yet I’d bet she’d look at me with more interest than Y/N looked at you before your pillow incident.”

Telemachus froze, his smirk faltering as his face turned crimson. “That—was—different!” he stammered. “We’re not talking about me!”

“No,” Acrisios shot back, his smirk returning. “We’re talking about you shutting up before I throw you into the ocean.”

Telemachus rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop laughing. “Fine, fine. But seriously, you’ve got to tell me—how’d you even meet her? Did she drop a handkerchief, and you picked it up all gallantly?”

Acrisios sighed, clearly reluctant to share. “It was nothing like that,” he said, his voice quieter. “Her father’s religious practices take him near the docks sometimes. I… ran into her there, helping some workers distribute offerings.”

“And what? She smiled at you, and suddenly you’re writing ballads about her?” Telemachus teased, though there was a genuine curiosity behind his tone.

“No ballads,” Acrisios muttered, though his ears turned red. “But she… she’s different, alright? She has this presence, this way of holding herself. It’s like she’s untouchable, but she doesn’t look down on anyone. And those little strands of hair sticking out from under her veil?” He shook his head. “They drive me insane.”

Telemachus let out a low whistle. “Wow. You’ve really got it bad, don’t you?”

“Shut up.” Acrisios pushed him lightly, though there was no real force behind it.

Telemachus leaned back, grinning. “I’ll admit, she sounds like a goddess. Maybe I should meet her myself. Who knows? She might think I’m more her type.”

Acrisios’s glare could have cut stone. “If you so much as breathe in her direction, I swear—”

Telemachus raised his hands in surrender, laughing. “Relax, sailor boy. She’s all yours. Just… good luck convincing her father that you’re worthy.”

Acrisios sighed heavily, leaning his head back against the railing. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Telemachus watched his friend with a smirk, but there was a glimmer of respect in his eyes. “You’ll figure it out. If she’s really as amazing as you say, you’ll find a way to reach her. Even if you do smell like fish half the time.”

Acrisios shoved him again, but this time he couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips.

——

Acrisios leaned against the edge of the palace balcony, gazing at the distant horizon, his mind far away from the bustling noise of the palace. He wasn’t thinking about the sea this time, though. No, his thoughts were focused on her. Lethea. The way her veil delicately framed her face, those stray strands of hair that peeked out like golden threads from beneath it, and the serene, almost ethereal way she carried herself.

“She’s so…” Acrisios murmured, almost to himself, before catching the faintest sound of muffled snickering behind him.

He turned to see Telemachus leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed, and the widest grin plastered across his face. “So what, Acrisios? Pretty? Divine? A walking poem?”

Acrisios groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Do you always have to sneak up on me?”

“Well, when you’re standing here, looking all dazed and dreamy, it’s hard not to,” Telemachus shot back, laughing. “I’ve never seen you like this, Acrisios. You’re smitten! Absolutely smitten!”

“I’m not smitten,” Acrisios muttered, his cheeks flushing.

Telemachus gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Not smitten? You’ve been standing here staring at the sky for an hour, probably imagining her descending from Mount Olympus, all glowy and perfect!” He stepped closer, eyes wide with mock excitement. “Do you write her name in the sand when no one’s looking? Or carve it into the mast of the ship? Tell me!”

Acrisios shoved him lightly. “I don’t do that. And stop making such a big deal about it.”

Telemachus wasn’t deterred in the slightest. “Oh, no, this is a huge deal. You, Mr. Rough-and-Tough-Sailor, have a crush! And not just on any girl—on the daughter of a religious man, all classy and proper. You’re in trouble, my friend.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Acrisios grumbled, though his lips twitched as if suppressing a smile.

“But seriously,” Telemachus continued, his grin turning a bit softer. “What is it about her? You’ve seen plenty of women at the ports. Why her?”

Acrisios hesitated for a moment, leaning back against the railing as he looked up at the sky. “She’s… different. Most people look at someone like me—a sailor’s son—and see nothing worth their time. But Lethea doesn’t. She… sees people, you know? Like she really looks at you. And she’s just so—” He paused, searching for the right word.

“Beautiful,” Telemachus finished for him, his grin returning.

“More than that,” Acrisios said, his voice quieter. “She’s like… sunlight. Warm, but not overwhelming. Just enough to make you want to stand in it a little longer.”

Telemachus froze, blinking at his friend before letting out an exaggerated squeal. “Oh my gods, Acrisios, you’re hopeless! This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard! I can’t believe it. You’re actually—wait, wait, I need a moment.” He pretended to fan himself as if overwhelmed by the sentiment.

“Are you done?” Acrisios asked, though he was clearly fighting back his own laughter.

“Absolutely not,” Telemachus declared. “I’m going to tell everyone.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Acrisios growled, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, I so would,” Telemachus shot back, still laughing. “But don’t worry, I won’t. For now.” He clapped Acrisios on the shoulder, grinning. “I’ve got to admit, though. You’re really into her, huh?”

Acrisios sighed, shaking his head but smiling slightly. “Yeah.

——

Acrisios leaned back in his chair, propping his boots up on the low table in Telemachus’s room. The two had been lounging for a while, enjoying a rare moment of peace. Acrisios took a sip of his wine, smirking as he glanced at Telemachus, who was sprawled out on the bed with his tunic messily half buttoned and his hair a wild, unkempt mop.

“You know,” Acrisios began, his voice dripping with mock seriousness, “it’s kind of amazing.”

Telemachus turned his head lazily, raising an eyebrow. “What’s amazing?”

“That in less than a month, you’re going to be married. To Y/N. Y/N. The daughter of the enemy. And not just married, married and crowned as king of Ithaca. And yet,” he gestured dramatically at Telemachus’s appearance, “you still look like a drunken sailor who’s been shipwrecked for a week.”

Telemachus snorted, throwing a pillow at him. “Oh, shut up.”

Acrisios dodged the pillow with ease, laughing. “No, seriously, how does Y/N put up with you? Does she think this whole ‘slob aesthetic’ is charming or something? I mean even Antinous has more manners.”

Telemachus groaned, sitting up and running a hand through his hair, making it even messier. “It’s not that bad.”

Acrisios pointed at the half-eaten loaf of bread sitting on the floor next to the bed. “You’ve got crumbs everywhere, your tunic’s hanging on for dear life, and I’m pretty sure your sandals are mismatched. Are you planning to show up to your wedding like this? Because if so, I want a front-row seat for Y/N’s reaction.”

Telemachus threw another pillow, this time hitting Acrisios square in the chest. “I’ll clean up, okay? Gods, you sound like my mother.”

Acrisios grinned, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. “I’m just saying, Telemachus, kings are supposed to look… regal. You? You’re one step away from being mistaken for a stable boy.”

Telemachus rolled his eyes. “What do you know about being a king? You’re a sailor’s son.”

“And yet I’ve got better manners than you,” Acrisios shot back, smirking. “At least I know how to brush my hair.”

Telemachus groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “Why are you even here? Don’t you have a ship to catch or something?”

“Nope,” Acrisios said cheerfully, crossing his arms behind his head. “I’m here to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself completely before the wedding. Someone’s gotta whip you into shape, and clearly, Y/N given up on that front.”

Telemachus sat up again, pointing a finger at Acrisios. “You’re lucky you’re my friend, or I’d throw you out of the palace right now.”

Acrisios laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Your Majesty. I’m just preparing you for the kind of teasing you’ll get from your in-laws. Antinous isn’t exactly going to go easy on you, you know.”

Telemachus groaned again, flopping back dramatically. “Don’t remind me.”

Acrisios shook his head, chuckling. “You’re hopeless, Telemachus. Absolutely hopeless.”

——

Telemachus ducked behind his bed, clutching a pillow like it was a shield in the heat of battle. “You’ll never win, Acrisios!” he taunted, a mischievous grin plastered across his face.

Acrisios stood on the other side of the room, holding two pillows like weapons. “Oh, I’m already winning. Watch and learn, future king of Ithaca!” He lunged forward, hurling one pillow across the room.

Telemachus yelped as the pillow smacked him square in the face. “Cheap shot!” he cried, throwing his own pillow back with full force. It missed Acrisios entirely and hit a vase, which wobbled dangerously but didn’t fall. They were both laughing like children, the room an absolute mess of feathers and disheveled bedding, when the door suddenly opened.

“Telemachus, are you—” Y/N’s voice trailed off as she and Lethea stepped into the room.

Acrisios froze mid swing, his pillow raised in the air, as his eyes locked on Lethea. She stood beside Y/N, her veil perfectly in place but with a few strands of hair delicately escaping, framing her face. Her hands were folded in front of her, but her head tilted slightly, and her wide, curious eyes settled on him.

For a moment, it was dead silent. Then Lethea’s gaze flicked to the chaos of the room—the feathers scattered everywhere, the pillows strewn about, and Acrisios standing there like he’d just been caught stealing. “What… is happening?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow at her fiancé and his friend.

Telemachus cleared his throat, hastily tossing the pillow aside and trying to sit up straight on the bed. “Uh… strategy meeting?”

She gave him an unimpressed look, crossing her arms. “With pillows?”

“Very advanced strategy,” Acrisios mumbled, lowering his pillow slowly, but his eyes stayed glued to Lethea.

Lethea blinked, her gaze moving back to Acrisios. Her expression didn’t change much—calm, composed, with a slight air of curiosity—but it was enough to make Acrisios’s brain short circuit.

Y/N glanced between the two and smirked knowingly. “Anyway, we just came to—”

“I-I didn’t mean—” Acrisios stammered suddenly, startling everyone in the room. He dropped the pillow entirely, his hands going to smooth his tunic, which had been ruffled in the chaos. “This isn’t what it looks like. I mean, it is, but it’s not—uh—usually I’m not…”

Lethea raised an eyebrow, her veil fluttering slightly as she shifted her head. “Usually you’re not… what?” she asked softly, her voice calm but clearly curious.

Acrisios’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Telemachus, sensing his friend��s impending meltdown, tried to step in. “What he means is, Acrisios is just really dedicated to… physical activity.”

Y/N snorted. “Right. Physical activity. Sure.”

Acrisios shot Telemachus a desperate look, his face going redder by the second. “I, uh… I mean…” He trailed off completely, shifting awkwardly under Lethea’s steady gaze.

Lethea’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, and she turned to Y/N. “Should we leave them to their… physical activity?”

She grinned, clearly enjoying Acrisios’s discomfort. “Oh, absolutely.” She grabbed Lethea’s arm and started leading her out of the room, but not before throwing a teasing glance over her shoulder. “Try not to destroy the place again, boys.”

As the door closed behind them, Acrisios let out a loud groan and collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in what remained of a pillow. “Kill me. Just kill me now.”

Telemachus burst out laughing, flopping onto the bed beside him. “You’re hopeless! Did you see her face? She was so judging you!”

Acrisios groaned louder, smacking Telemachus weakly with the pillow. “I made a complete fool of myself. I’ve got zero chance with her now. Zero!”

Telemachus wiped a tear from his eye, still laughing. “Oh, you had zero chance before this. But hey, at least now she knows your favorite weapon is a pillow.”

Acrisios rolled onto his back, glaring at the ceiling. “I’m never showing my face again.”

“Good luck with that,” Telemachus said, grinning. “You’ll need it for the wedding next month.”

Acrisios groaned again, throwing the pillow over his face to block out the world.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches

@sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan

@holywizardprincess @galaxygurlil @pjopinkk @xo-cuteplosion-xo

[queen-penelope-of-ithaca]

I wrote WYFILWMA from my own perspective, it might be a tad repetitive and advice would be appreciated, but here's my little short 'story' of sorts :)

And there he was.

There is nothing in the room, nothing in the palace, nothing in the world other than him and I in this moment. It must've only been a minute since he'd left for war. Maybe he was coming back to grab his bow.

In that instant, twenty years of pain- two decades of sorrow and longing- faded quicker than I could blink.

"Is it you?"

He looked up. Those eyes. Gods, those love-filled eyes. They hadn't aged a day.

"Have my prayers been answered? Is it really you standing there?"

It couldn't be. My mind- my heart- my very essence- had paused in true and utter disbeleif.

"Or am I dreaming once more?"

That must be it. I had dreamt of our reunion for nearly twenty years. I must be within one of those bittersweet reveries.

But no. Something was different.

"You look different- your eyes look tired. Your frame is lighter, your smile torn,"

His face softens, holding a gentleness only a man who knew true cruelty could express.

This was no dream.

"Is it really you, my love?"

He sighed. Such a simple, gentle sound- but that soft sigh, that small exhale, my entire being had yearned for small little things like that for longer than I bothered to remember.

"I am not the man you fell in love with,"

But he was- the same honey-like eyes. The same soft black hair I used to run my fingers through. His hair was longer now- tousled and salt-blown from years on the sea.

"I am not the man you once adored,"

Once adored? What was he talking about? There was not a minute of my day, waking or resting, where I had not yearned for this man. There was no 'once adored'.

"I am not your kind and gentle husband,"

And yet, yet, his voice was ever so soft. He turned. He avoided my gaze. This man, my husband, avoiding my gaze. I'd never seen such an action from him, in all my time.

"And I am not the love you knew before,"

This bastard. I wait for him, wait for his arrival, I hold out on sheer hope and faith that he will return to me one day- and when he does, he dares tell me that he is no longer my love? It was all I could do to keep from scoffing aloud.

"Would you fall in love with me again?"

And there it was. He believes- he thinks, in that ever-so-quick mind of his- that I had ever even considered moving on from him. My eyes narrowed momentarily, but I remained silent.

"If you knew all I've done?"

My head tilted. What did he mean? What, upon this gods-forsaken earth, could possibly sway my devotion for this man?

"The things I cannot change- would you love me all the same?

I know that you've been waiting- waiting for love,"

I sighed. Maybe he truly had done something I might find reprehensible. No matter how much doubt weighed in my stomach, the question made its way out of my lips.

"What kinds of things did you do?"

He looked back up at me. His eyes, his soft eyes, held so much sorrow. Shame was eating at him from the inside out.

"Left a trail of red on every island-

Traded friends like objects I could use,"

Ah. So that was the fate of his fleet. For a moment, I considered how Ctimene might react- but, my sister-in-law was my lowest concern in this moment.

"Hurt more lives than I can count on my hands- and all of that was to bring me back to you,"

I knew it. Nothing he had done could waver my adoration, my steadfast affections- he was dumb to think so.

"So tell me, would you fall in love with me again? If you knew all I've done-"

I knew what he'd done. Or some shortened version of it- and nothing in my heart had changed. Staring into the face of love himself, I could never care this way for another.

"The things I can't undo- I am not the man you knew- I know that you've been waiting, waiting-"

He knew nothing of my wait, if he truly believed I could possibly deny him, or his loving embrace. It had been near impossible not to wrap my arms around him the moment he entered the room. But-

Patience was a virtue I had much of.

"If that's true- could you do me a favor, just a moment of labor-"

If he held such an idiotic belief, such as that I might no longer wish to love him- I would ask him a question of equal stupidity.

"That would bring me some peace.

See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over- lift it high on your shoulders- and take it far away from here!"

I watched the change in his face. The hurt. The anger. The complete shock. Good. He knew some of how I had felt when he questioned my vow of lifelong devotion.

"How could you say this? I had built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat,"

I know. I know that. And I had waited twenty years with unfaltering hope for his return- I knew what that blood and sweat devotion felt like.

"Carved it into the olive tree where we first met! A symbol of our love, everlasting-"

He was so close to the point- but he managed to miss it each time. God, this man. Prodigy of Athena, huh?

I guess it never stopped me from loving him, did it?

"Do you realize WHAT YOU HAVE ASKED ME?"

I didn't react to his tone. He was upset- a man torn by war and sea, a man who had fought tooth and nail to return home to me and our son. And yet, he beleived I'd dare deny him the love that I, too, craved so deeply.

"The only way to move it is to cut it FROM ITS ROOTS!"

Finally, at long last, he had reached my point.

"Only my husband knew that, SO I GUESS THAT MAKES HIM YOU!"

He appeared taken aback- his anger rapidly dissipated, replaced by that characteristic softness I was so fond of.

"....Penelope...."

Gods, how I had longed to hear my name from him, just once more. The nights I'd spent crying to Aphrodite to return my love to me, just so I can hear him speak, just so I can hear his voice, just one more time- all of that was granted, every sleepless prayer, every offering I'd burnt in desperation- my decades-long sorrow ended in this moment.

"I will fall in love with you, over and over again- I don't care how, where, when- no matter how long it's been, you're MINE,"

He stepped closer. I could see the little nick-scars on his face- marks that I was certain hadn't been present twenty years prior. Marks that made him look so ethereal, so unreal, so divine.

"Don't tell me you're not the same person- you're always my husband, and I've been waiting-"

And oh, how long I had waited. How many days had I stared at the beaches of my island, hoping I might see the speck of a ship on the horizon, or walking my palace halls just hoping to hear his joy-filled laughter lighting up the halls again.

"Waiting-"

Tears pool in his eyes. I knew they were flowing from mine just as freely. I didn't bother to wipe them away.

"Penelope-"

This day, this holy day, every single crevasse and crack that had dug its way into my heart over the past two decades sealed itself closed, healed with the very words leaving the man's lips.

"Waiting, waiting-"

He had said something. I couldn't hear him over my own wails of what felt like all-consuming, disbelieving joy.

"Waiting, waiting, waiting-

Oh, for you,"

His arms wrapped around me. Those arms, so strong and worn. He hid his tears in my shoulder as I wept openly, holding him as close to me as I could manage, as if I feared he might be whisked away with a moment's notice.

"How long has it been?"

I finally managed to croak the question to him. It felt like no time in the world had passed. Maybe we were still young and in love, maybe I'd just awoken from a nightmare and he was comforting me so softly.

"Twenty years,"

It didn't matter. Not a moment of my life had been spent without his presence. I would never, never leave this man. Not in my life, nor in my death. I would hold him in his sickest days, tolerate him at his most temperamental, hold him as he sobbed- just as I had all those years ago. Nothing- not one ounce of my love- had seeped away.

"I love you,"

Odysseus, Reigning King of Ithaca, Father of the brave prince Telemachus, General of the Trojan war, protégé of the wise and bold goddess Athena, Slayer of the Kalydonian Boar- he was all of those things, yes- but at this moment, he was my husband.

[wordy-little-witch]

HIIII IM INTERNING :'D

ALSO, from the recent ghost roger (ghoger?), wat was the spy incident thingy? 👀👀 did buggy crossdress or something? Im also gld that rog was pissed that his boys wer left alone jdjsjsjz he mustve been so sad that they separated too, atleast rogue is w him hnggg

Also, can we know abt wat roger thinks now that his clown son is one of the most eligible bachelor/ette in the grand/line and abt his polycule? lmao

Hiiii welcome to hell! (/j)

In order, my beloved:

1) yes Buggy did cross dress. It was a common theme growing up, and even up to the present. Clothes being gendered is super stupid to him, so he just wear what he wants, when he wants, and anyone who has an issue with it gets stabbed and or choked out (not even by Buggy nowadays. The crew and guildmen are very protective)

2) as for the incident itself, it boils down to Shanks and Buggy going on a miniature adventure that very quickly spiraled out of control. They were on an island, following a treasure map, and the map itself was. Very old. So the map was a little bit outdated. A town had settled in the area of the woodland where it was supposedly buried. But the town was a high class area. So the kids decided to sneak in and look around from there. This was soon after Buggy ate the Chop Chop fruit, and they were agonizing over how to get into the town without drawing suspicion. Shanks has the idea to Chop off Buggy's nose, but they couldn't get a prosthetic. So then Buggy had an idea to get a veil from one of the local middle class towns. Only issue is that the veils were worn by women and girls. Men don't wear the veil on that island. So he shrugs and goes "Alright I'll just be a girl for today, no biggie."

They get their outfits, dress up, and go into town. Looks are sent their way for a while but it's nothing agrressive so they're vibing happily. They even manage to figure out that the treasure is likely around this one area, near a book shop. They stop by, trying to be stealthy, and the shopkeeper sees a blue haired child in traditional wear and a red haired boy in simpler traditional clothes and snatches them up without hesitation.

He calls Buggy "princess Kíli" and calls Shanks "Kai'o" and gives them a lecture on sneaking out of the palace walls so frequently. The kids are bamboozled. They never do get the treasure, but they do get taken to the palace. Turns out "princess Kíli" is infact the only daughter of the island's king, and she's a spitfire of a little girl with a tendency to get into trouble. "Kai'o" is her guard, a boy two years older than her, and both are little troublemakers.

So Buggy and Shanks accidentally get taken into the palace, accidentally gl undercover, accidentally uncover a lot of shitty stuff the kingdom is doing, and as a result wind up getting found by Roger and the crew and flip the entire island on its head. Kìli and Kai'o were actually involved with a revolutionary group at the time so things went.... fine, in the end.

Buggy never got to live it down that he got mistaken as a lively little princess. Roger to this day will call him his little princess, and every time Buggy craves a strong drink or a severe concussion.

((Buggy also stole a frankly unfathomable amount of riches from the palace btw. Like. A comical amount. They get back to the ship and Buggy unceremoniously starts unloading gold and jewels and books and a... a chandelier....? Nobody knows how he managed it. Shanks is just cackling. Buggy keeps going. The piles grow higher. Roger can't breathe. Rayleigh needs someone else to deal with this- IS THAT A LIFE SIZED GOLDEN HORSE-?))

3) when Roger finds out what actually happened, yes he is fucking livid. It only helps that his kids actually managed to be more mature about it than the LITERAL ADULTS and managed to mostly talk things out. Shanks and Buggy didn't split AS badly in this au. There's still some hurt and uncertainty, but they are Red and Blue, Shanks and Buggy, Day and Night, Sky and Sea. They're ship-brothers, besties, allies. They just fight a lot. It's a given. Their love language is bullying (/hj). Shanks has someone he doesn't have to Keep Up Appearances For, and Buggy doesn't have someone he needs to Hold Back On. Roger is proud of them.

4) as for Buggy being the focus of so many Attentions, well. He laughs at first. He'd always said Buggy would grow up to be swiping treasure and hearts alike. He absolutely saw this coming.

Then the Protective Dad Mode activates. These bozos think they're good enough for his baby blue?? Hell nah. Ouija board shovel talks are only the beginning. If someone wants his baby's attention, then they have to be cool with a lot of weird shit, and Roger is absolutely going to be putting them through a trial by fire.

Buggy is Highly Desired, and Roger is caught between being so proud and frothing at the mouth.

And anyone who thinks that he's bad hasn't even begun to think on Rouge.

It's a hot mess.

Perona, however, is very happy she has grandparents!

[moonwatcher3]

Matthew Hooper from Jaws but if he was a silly hybrid in wings of fire :3

theres more under the photo please keep reading

so he's a sky-sea hybrid, that being cause hes a marine biologist and a city boy, skywings used to be all artsy and theyre really community based as far as the books say so I think that fits a more city boy esque character and he has to be a seawing so he can better study the ocean, in Jaws he says that as a gift he recieved a boat when he was a kid, which was destroyed by a shark, implying he lived near the ocean as a kid, so for his wof lore, his dad is a skywing, and a rather rich one at that, but Matt is a hybrid, so to avoid any punishment from the queen for fraternizing with another tribe and having a kid with a seawing they live in a hut near the sea on a far outpost of the kingdom, his dad keeps his wealth by staying mostly near the palace, working and living with his skywing only family, keeping up good appearances and allat yk, leaving Matt to eventually be all rebelious and pursue a life in studying the ocean without any ones help (like he does in the movie) and he works super hard for his career, I'll probably re draw scenes from the movie w him and allat in the future but not tonight (I've drawn three full drawings and colored two of them today so I'm like really tired)

even more (sorry I really like this guy)

hes inspired by a nurse shark, since most seawings are blue/green colors and most skywings are red/orange colors I wanted to blend and blur those into the browns that nurse sharks have, and I really like nurse sharks, theyre chill :3 quint would be full seawing, and Brody would maybe be like a mudwing? actually probably an icewing cause Brody had high expectations pressed onto him by the mayor and he had to try his best to live up to them despite his own preferences (like pretty much every icewing we have gotten a pov from) but anyway yea :) I'm really tired guys

his wof name might be something like cirratum (the last half of nurse sharks scientific name) but it only sounds cool in Latin so idk

[captain-blue027]

Royal Love, Fanfiction on Ao3 and Watpad future fic ideas.

'Royal Love' is a series I started over on Ao3 (and Watpad now).

Originally it started out with only and Etho + Bdubs fic, but it grew into a Flowerhusbands one, and a Ren + Martyn one (the last two wip as of 3/16/2025).

It's a Royal Au.

The Etho and Bdubs one is called 'The Prince and The Fox' by Captain_Blue (on Ao3) and CaptainBlue27 (on watpad) (Both me!) and is fully posted!

It follows the story of Etho and Bdubs as the fall for eachother.

A summary: "Etho a fox shapeshifter cast out of his pack as a punishment to help a human before he can return is stuck in his fox form. Bdubs an (emotionally, physically, and verbal) abused prince is gifted a rare white fox from his half brother Scar. Will both boys find love and safety with each other, or will they be alone forever."

The Flower Husbands one follows Jimmy and Scott as they fall for each other. (This one takes place 6 years before the Ethdubs one)

It's called 'Red Poppies and Warm Kisses' by Captain_Blue (on Ao3) and CaptainBlue27 (on watpad) (Both me!)

Summary: "Scott and Pearl were betrothed to be come married when Scott turned 18. Both of them did no want to married to each outer, and stay just friends, but both their parents had arranged it when they were born. When Scott is sixteen he started sneaking out to a flower filed near the palace, that is owned by a ranch near by, and one day about two weeks after his 17th birthday, he see Jimmy frolicking in the flower field. will the prince and his non royal lover ever be able to love or will they be forced to say goodbye when Scott is crowned king and married to his friend, or will their love prevail and they will have their happily ever after?"

The Ren and Martyn one is called, 'Let's Change Our World' by Captain_Blue (on Ao3) and CaptainBlue27 (on watpad) (Both me!)

It follows Ren and Martyn, how they met, fell in love, overthrew a tyrant, and explore their relationship together.

Summary: "Ren walks towards the thrown his father sits upon. The glamour concealed axe in his hands weighs heavy in his grip. He stops next to his father's thrown, his smaller one next to it. Ren's eyes catch that or Martyn's blue from where the blond stands in the crowd in the thrown room. Martyn nods and Ren looks back towards his father, dropping the his glamour on the axe. He swings the axe, chopping the head off his father's head, continuing generations of sons killing their fathers for the thrown. Blood sprays his face, he lets go of the axe now lodged in the back of the thrown. He pulls the crown off the king's body-less head, "THE RED KING HAS FALLEN!" or, Martyn and Ren, one human, one dog hybrid with royal status. How will they navigate their world with their unusual love."

Finaly, so far there is also one oneshot, about Bdubs and Etho when they are engaged called, 'Engaged Morning Kisses' by Captain_Blue (on Ao3) and CaptainBlue27 (on watpad) (Both me!) and it's done!

The ideas I have for this series are as follows:

- (I felt broken, but you fixed me) How Mumbo and Grian, two shapeshifters, of different animals, meet, help heal, and fall in love with Scar, A physically disable prince who deals with the issues of an absent father, dead mother, and being lonely. - (Oh Love, why can't I kill you) False and Wels and how one assassination of a certain avian knight could go so wrong (?) - (Two royals and him) Xisuma/Xb/Keralis how these three came together and started ruling an kingdom and how Xb feels bad for not being part royal like his loves. - (The secret of our love) Pearl and Gem, how the princes who was betrothed to her best friend fell in love with her handmaden. - (The siren song calls my heart) Joel and Lizzie, how the young prince of Mezalea meet a creature of the sea who was supposed to drowned him, but they fell in love instead. - (Armored hugs) Imp and Skizz, how two inseparable boys deal with the love they hold for each other and life as the two royal guards assigned to protect to the royal family's two princes. - (I can't help but get lost in you) Tango and Zed, Tango runs into a sheep hybrid in town, he has never seen a hybrid before, but when they ask for a place to go what will Tango do? - (I keep finding myself standing in your shadow) Ex and Hels, both of them are living in their brother's shadows, will they find what they need in each other? - What happened when Bdubs met Etho's pack. - Cleo a young girl who seems to be able to see the dead ever since her 16th birthday, meets a weird boy with long brown hair and pure white eyes in the woods as she explores it. The boy won't seem to leave her alone, he keeps saying 'Howdy' and somehow manages to predict the future spilling a poem from his lips with lime green smoke.

I will be rambling about this world latter lol.

Have a good day!