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bettyvick · 2 days ago

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'liar!'

Unburned!Anakin Skywalker x Farmer!Reader

Summary: 'Liar!' Those were the last words the love of your life told you. Now you live in exile on a farm with your children when he comes back and begs for forgiveness.

Warnings: Angsty, dark side!anakin, breeding kink, mention of getting caught, sexual explicit content, mention of being overwhelmed during sex, mention of fullness, crying of pleasure, penetration (f receiving), oral (f receiving), use of sex for manipulation, praising, nicknames such as 'love', 'baby' and 'mommy' to reader, mention to giving birth, 3000 words.

A/N: Something a bit sad :/

—Liar! You're with him! You've brought him here to kill me— Anakin shouted with the most scary expression you had ever seen. His eyes shone red with rage. He raised his hand in the distance and the walls of your throat closed, cutting off your air. You brought your hands to your neck and coughed, trying to get some air.

—Let her go, Anakin! Let her go!— Obi-Wan spoke from the ship. Anakin stopped the effect of the Force on your throat and you fell to the ground unconscious.

When you woke up, you were about to give birth. The contractions were terrible, and you were scared to death. What if Anakin was right? What if it was true that you were going to die during childbirth? You tried to not think about it a lot, everything was going to be good. Obi-Wan held your hand during the two more scary hours of your life. After many contractions, screams and tears, your two babies were born safely (because yes, they were twins!).

—Hello my beautiful babies, Luke, Leia— you spoke softly to them while Leia gripped your finger in her tiny palms. They were red and wrinkled, but you loved them more than anything.

When the last remaining Jedi learned that you had given birth to Anakin Skywalker's children after Order 66, they decided to hide you on an abandoned planet. It was similar to Naboo, your home, but nothing was the same. There were ships constantly monitoring the planet, making sure no one got too close. No one could know you were still alive.

The habitants of every planet were told that you and your child had died in childbirth, and even a monument was dedicated to you and a fake funeral was prepared. You didn't approve of any of this, but you understood that it was necessary for survival.

That was seven years ago.

The children were now grown, they liked to play on the green fields of the farm while you did the laundry or baked cakes. Leia, with her leadership spirit, would lead the flock of sheeps through the mountains to save you work. But she loved it. It was so scary the way she was just like her father, stubborn and brave. However, Luke was busy helping you with your chores while talking about the fruits he had found in the valley. He was calmer in character and somewhat more reserved. He has Anakin's eyes.

Obi-Wan spent weeks on the farm and other weeks away. He comforted you over the loss of your husband, because Anakin was dead to you. He also gave you some conversation, which was important for your mental health since spending so much time alone with just your seven-year-old children was driving you crazy. You didn't hate the farm —on the contrary! You loved everything about it, but you missed your old life. The nostalgia was especially overwhelming at night before bed, when you thought about everything that could have been but wasn't. If only he hadn't let Palpatine manipulate him... If only he hadn't trusted his dreams... But the damage was done and there was no going back.

This morning you were extremely sensible, Obi-Wan left yesterday and he wasn't coming back for three weeks. Luke had a nightmare and woke you up at 4 AM, then you couldn't sleep well anymore. And to make matters worse, some creature had destroyed the barn and killed several chickens, thus traumatizing the children. After lunch, the twins fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from repairing the barn and catching the escaped hens. You carried them to bed and tucked them in, then kissed each of them on the forehead.

Tired, you lied on your coach and tried to rest. You closed your eyes softly and your breathing became slow. You fell into a light sleep until the mechanical sound of a ship hovering over the small wooden house woke you up. At first, you ignored it, thinking it was some soldiers checking the perimeter, but then a loud knocking sounded in the living room. Knuckles rapping on the door. Soldiers weren't allowed that close to the farmhouse.

Could it be Obi-Wan? Had they delayed their mission?

The sound repeated, and now you got up, your body felt heavy and the lack of sleep more present than ever. You took the small knob between your fingers and rolled it. Then you met his eyes, those eyes that had haunted you for so long. The most beautiful shade of blue you'd ever seen. With his scar running vertically across his eyebrow, his light hair longer than you remembered, and a black tunic similar to the one he used to wear but with some red details.

Anakin, no. Darth Vader was in front of you, invading your safe place, the safe place of your children.

—Love…— he spoke with that soft expression that you missed. You looked horrorized.

—What are you doing here?— and you sounded horrorized.

—I've been looking for you, love…

—No, no, go away— you ordered, your heart pounding.

—Is this how you greet your husband?— he asked, his tone deeper.

—You're not my husband, you're a monster. My husband died on Mustafar, I don't know who you are— you replied, your voice sounding desperate. You should have wanted him to leave, but you didn't. Instead, you wanted him to stay, to raise your children together, to be a family. Your head said that it wasn't possible, but your heart thought you could still fix him.

You stepped back as Anakin calmly passed through the doorway. He scanned the living room of your home with an expression you couldn't quite understand.

He took a photo frame in his hands and smiled at the image. He wanted to keep it in his memory forever.

You slowly approached behind him, more relaxed now. It was a picture of Luke, Leia, and you. You were holding Luke in your right arm while Leia took your other hand. You were all smiling. In the background, you could see the flock of white sheeps that the little girl loved so much. You were all dressed in white, and you were wearing the same thin dress you were wearing now. Anakin thought it was his new favorite thing in the world.

—They were two— he interrupted the silence and turned to look at you; you were closer than you had been in a long time. You nodded. —They're up there, right?— he meant the stairs that led to the upper floor. He didn't give you time to answer when he started moving slowly toward it, but you ran ahead of him and stood in the middle, slowing him down. You grabbed a pair of embroidery scissors that were on the thick wooden railing and pointed them at him.

—Stop! Don't come any closer!— you cried, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. He used the Force to pull the scissors into his hand and threw them to the floor without flinching. Anakin approached you, trying to get past you, but you didn't move. Your chests were pressed together. —Please, don't come up— you begged him through a sob.

His eyes met yours, and he held your gaze for a few seconds. He was about to give in. He looked at you with inner turmoil. You made him doubt his morals, everything he had built during those seven long years apart.

Has it really all been worth it? Losing you for his Empire had been worth it?

It broke his heart to see how scared you were of him. His hand was about to gently touch your cheek when he was interrupted.

—She told you not to come any closer— Obi-Wan's voice echoed through the living room. Anakin turned to him, his expression changing to rage in a matter of seconds.

—Obi-Wan— Anakin said, reaching for his belt where his lightsaber rested.

—No!— you said, raising your voice. You were surprised the children hadn't gotten up yet; they must have been tired. Obi-Wan already had the lightsaber in his hand, glowing in bright blue. —Stop! Stop now! The children are upstairs!— Obi-Wan looked at you over Anakin's shoulder.

—Stay back, he's dangerous— the older man said. Anakin balled his hand into a fist.

—The only danger here is you, Master. Stay away from the house, my wife, and my children— the blue-eyed spat angrily.

Obi-Wan gave you another look, asking what he should do. You lowered your head in a gesture for him to leave. He turned off his lightsaber and, hesitantly, walked toward the door.

—I'll be outside if you need me— Anakin's figure relaxed once he was gone.

He took your hand and you headed upstairs, but not before he left his lightsaber on the dining room table. You arrived with delicate steps to Luke and Leia's room. You opened the door slowly, and there they were, both asleep and tucked into different beds, each in a corner of the room.

The room was entirely made of different types of wood and filled with sheets of paper with drawings glued to the walls by the two siblings. One that particularly caught Anakin's attention was one with four stick figures representing the entire family, including him. His heart sank when he read ‘Dad’ above the largest stick figure. You noticed his gaze linger on that sheet and smiled.

—Luke made that one. He insisted on including you in the family drawing— you whispered. He nodded, shocked.

—What's the girl's name?— he asked sadly. It felt terrible not even knowing his children's names.

—Leia, she's just like you, stubborn and unstoppable.

Anakin smiled sadly and bowed his head, thinking of everything he had missed. Their first steps, their first words, teaching them how to fix ships, planting their first flowers in the garden, their first birthday… It all overwhelmed him, and his eyes began to water. He wiped the tear falling down his cheek with his robotic hand.

—Can I come closer?— he asked, his voice cracking.

You hesitated for a few seconds but finally gave in.

Anakin approached Luke's bed first and sat on the edge. He studied him for several minutes, gently stroking his hair. The boy exhaled deeply and turned to his father, still asleep. Then Anakin did the same, but with Leia. She was sprawled across the bed with her stuffed bunny around her neck. He gently kissed her forehead, and she made incomprehensible sounds.

He turned and looked you up and down after a long time. You looked more tired, but still beautiful. Your hair was in a braid that fell over your shoulder, some strands straying. You were leaning against the frame with a smile and your arms crossed.

—You are beautiful— he said shamelessly, as he used to do before; he knew that was what you needed to hear. And you blushed. He'd almost made you forget all the horrific crimes he'd committed, how he'd subjected the entire galaxy to a dictatorial regime. Almost.

Nothing was the same again. And it couldn't be the same again, no matter how much you still loved him.

You returned to the living room ready to chat for a while. Anakin sat in an armchair opposite you while you opted for the sofa.

—How did you get in?— you asked softly and he felt he could melt right there.

—It wasn't very difficult, your guards are incompetent and lazy.

—How did you find me?

—Tracking ships, planets, space movements, etc. During seven years.

—What do you want?

Anakin laughed softly and your heart raced.

—You.

You blinked nervously and played with your braid between your fingers.

—And you think after everything you've done, you can come here, ask for forgiveness, and be forgiven?

He stood up and looked at you from top.

—I came here intending to do whatever it takes to get you back— he admitted grabbing your chin with delicacy.

—End the rule of terror you have imposed— you spoke looking him directly in the eyes. He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

—I’ll do whatever you want— he whispered a few inches from your face.

His lips found yours, and a thousand sparks shot through you from head to toe. He knelt in front of you while you remained seated, and he deepened the kiss by gently taking your neck. His tongue slid into your mouth and you moaned quietly. He left a couple of short kisses more on your lips and then he dragged his mouth down your neck, reaching the beginning of your dress and leaving a couple purple marks over your skin. He massaged your bristly and sore nipples under his hands, tearing off a heavenly sound for him.

—I'm going to take you to heaven, love— he spoke with a broken voice.

He grabbed the fabric of your dress and pulled it down, revealing your beautiful tits. His pupils gave themselves away. His mouth immediately settled on them, biting and sucking.

—Anakin— you moaned of pleasure.

—I know, baby, I know.

Your clit was swollen and sore, it needed attention urgently. When he left your nipples red and sensible, his head went down your torso, dragging the fabric in its wake, until reaching your ruined panties. A dark spot was concentrated in the center.

—Fuck, baby, you're wet as hell— he said making lazy circles over your dressed clit. A sound between a gasp and a moan left your lips when you felt the friction of his finger over your sensible zone.

Then his tongue joined in, making you cry out. It had been too long since you had time to enjoy your sexuality. Anakin started licking your weeping pussy and the pressure was so good that you came a few minutes later. The orgasm passed through you like a wave, making you scream acutely with your mouth opened.

But he was hungry and seven years had passed.

You shrink your legs up onto the couch and Anakin wrapped his arms around them as he was eating your pussy out.

—One more, baby— Anakin said rubbing your overstimulated clit with his fingers. His tongue was as fast as his fingers. You started shaking and babbling nonsense. He had to cover your mouth, sliding his fingers on your throat.

—You have to be quiet, you don't want to wake up the kids.

The thought of being caught made you unable to handle it any longer and you came again in his mouth with a scream that your husband's fingers in your mouth silenced. Your dress was wrapped around your waist and your panties wet and sticky.

—That's it, mommy, you did it very well— he praised you. Your mind was blank and blurred, you were drooling and couldn't form a single sentence. Then Anakin got on his feet and he took off his clothes. He passed his finger

—Now you're gonna take me like a good girl.

And that's what you did.

—You don't know how long I've been waiting for this— he spoke with a shaking breath. You were completely overwhelmed, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sobbed and moaned. —I’ve spent seven years searching for you, and you're finally here.

At first he teased you a little, passing his dick over your vaginal lips without actually filling you. But the he lined up his thick cock on your pussy and pushed inside slowly. His face twisted with pleasure.

He sank all of his dick inside of you and then started moving slowly from out to inside. A whimper left his mouth.

You've missed that so much.

—I’m gonna live here, and you'll be my little farm wife— Anakin said, putting your legs up on his shoulders taking you to an angle that made his member go deeper. You rolled your eyes, turning them white, the sensation of fullness was too much for you. He covered your mouth again before you screamed.

—I’m gonna fill you up with my cum, and we'll give Luke and Leia another sibling, fuck-

—Mmmhmmm— you moaned. Your knees were pressing your chest, numbing against your naked tits.

—You go dumb over my dick, don't you?— he asked, stimulating again your sensible clit. You nodded.

—Ani…— you gasped. Your hair was a mess and falling over your face as Anakin lunged faster.

He penetrated you more erratically until he finally fulfilled his promise and came inside of you with a long and loud moan left on his lips while his face contracted. He withdrew from your insides, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness and he saw his sperm sliding from your cunt.

—That’s it, baby— Anakin said, kissing one of your knees, then he threw himself onto the couch and pulled you onto his lap, wrapping you in a warm hug. Your labored breaths were in sync, and you felt his chest rise and fall against your arm.

—Have you forgiven me?— he asked innocently.

You weren't sure about the answer.

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #hayden christensen x you #star wars #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen #hayden christensen smut #sam monroe x you #sam monroe smut #stephen glass #sam monroe x reader #stephen glass x reader #scott barringer #james kelly

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blueiscoool · 1 year ago

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Medieval Game Pieces Emerge From the Ruins of a German Castle

A small cache of medieval game pieces has been discovered in the ruins of a recently discovered castle in southern Germany. The finds provide a window into leisure time, possibly among actual knights, dating back nearly a millennium, approximately the time that chess arrived in Europe as an import from Asia.

The find includes a six-sided die, assorted game pieces including four in the shape of flowers, and a very well-preserved 1½-inch-high chess piece, all carved from antlers.

“In the Middle Ages, chess was one of the seven skills that a good knight should master,” said Jonathan Scheschkewitz, of the State Office for the Preservation of Monuments Baden-Württemberg. “It is therefore not surprising that known finds mostly come from castles.”

There is evidence that these are not just display objects, but pieces that were actually used. “Under the microscope,” explained Flavia Venditti of the University of Tübingen, “a typical sheen from holding and moving the pieces can be seen.”

An international team of experts from the University of Tübingen, the State Office for the Preservation of Monuments Baden-Württemberg and the German Archaeological Institute is now examining this evidence of early gaming culture.

“The discovery of an entire games collection [from] the 11th/12th century came as a complete surprise to us,” said Lukas Werther, of the German Archaeological Institute, “and the horse-shaped knight piece is a real highlight.”

The pieces came to light during excavations by the DFG Collaborative Research Centre 1070 Resource Cultures and the State Office for the Preservation of Monuments Baden-Württemberg in a previously unknown castle in the Reutlingen district of southern Germany’s Baden-Württemberg region.

“They were lying under the debris of a wall where they were lost or hidden in the Middle Ages,” said Michael Kienzle of the University of Tübingen. They are in such good condition, he added, precisely because they had been covered under those materials.

They will go on display this month in two exhibitions: “Excavated! Knights and Castles in the Echaz Valley” at the Schlössle Pfullingen (June 15–August 30) and “The Hidden Länd: We in the First Millennium” at the Archaologisches Landsmuseum Baden-Württemberg (September 13, 2024–January 26, 2025).

#Medieval Game Pieces Emerge From the Ruins of a German Castle #Germany’s Baden-Württemberg region #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #middle ages #medieval history #medieval art

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manessha545 · 7 months ago

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Historic Centre, Lima, Peru: The Historic Centre of Lima is the historic city centre of the city of Lima, the capital of Peru. Located in the city's districts of Lima and Rímac, both in the Rímac Valley, it consists of two areas: the first is the Monumental Zone established by the Peruvian government in 1972, and the second one—contained within the first one—is the World Heritage Site established by UNESCO in 1988, whose buildings are marked with the organisation's black-and-white shield. Wikipedia

#Historic Centre #Historic Centre of Lima #Centro histórico de Lima #Lima #Peru #UNESCO World Heritage Site #South America #South America continents

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boxturret · 1 year ago

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One Tenth Scale Mata Nui

Mata Nui is a cool place, but did you ever feel that it was a bit...big for what it was?

The official maps put the island at 357 kio long, which if you take to be a stand in for kilometres¹, would make the island 357 kilometres long.

This lines up roughly with what we can see in the concept art: they say that Mata Nui is around the size of Denmark, the real measurement being 368km, and it matches with what we see in the Mata Nui Rising cgi video.

So that's all well and good, Mata Nui is 357km long, the GSR itself is 3300km tall, all hunky-dory, as long as you ignore some guy named Greggory yelling about how the robot is actually much bigger, but its fine to ignore him.

But now, actually consider what this means. Denmark is by no means a small country, it has a population of 6 million and would take hours to drive across by car on modern roads. Now that isn't an issue really, but in most media depicting the island its shown to be a place that can be traversed by foot or on animal back in a reasonable time frame.

But now let us look at this earlier map:

Initially the most interesting thing to me on this map was the 3rd measurement: the height of the Mangai volcano²

Now on the one hand, this was cool, now I know how tall to make the volcano, on the other hand... 23km seems pretty big.

It is. 23km is higher than Olympus Mons, the largest known volcano in the solar system, standing at only 21.9km. So that's pretty big. This made me start thinking about how far various things are apart and how long it would actually take and using some very VERY generous numbers I started plotting out how long it would take to actually get from place to place.

It wasn't very pretty. In the Mata Nui Online Game it would have taken Takua roughly 5 hours to walk from the beach to Ta-Koro, and another 18 to get to Onu-Koro using the highway. Now this would be fine in an epic like Lord of the Rings, but in Bionicle Mata Nui is consistently treated as a place people can pretty quickly get around on.

The Toa are running all over the place and bumping in to each other. Kopaka getting in to the Caldera at the top of the Mangai volcano isn't the equivalent of climbing 3 Mt Everests in a row, its just something he does [correction: It wasn't the caldera, but a lava pool half way up the mountain, so just 1.5 Mt Everests]. Takua travels all over the island in a pretty small amount of time, unless we're supposed to insert day long journeys in between every screen transition.

But then I noticed something. Something very interesting.

Now lets look at the two keys for the sizes on the released and the early map:

Seems pretty consistent, the sizes of the island are the same, a Toa is 1.6 bio on both (incidentally a real Toa figure is approximately 16cm tall), everything seems to match.

But then I counted the zeroes.

The old map has a kio being not 1000 bio, but 100!

You can even see it on the other version of the map.

Now this is incredibly interesting! This shrinks Mata Nui to 1/10th of its commonly accepted size! It goes from being the size of Denmark to being the size of the Isle of Man.

Which....really works a lot better! This turns Takua's trip from the beach from a 5 hour hike to a short half hour walk. This turns the cable car to Mt Ihu from a massive 70km mega structure to something that's dwarfed by real world constructions.

I don't think this is a mistake either, looking at the details of the map.

You have much finer details, such as these ice shelves collapsing in to small icebergs, whereas on the full sized map some of the larger chunks of ice are kilometres across.

One of the major things it includes are the mesas that can bee seen in many of the promotional renders set in Le-Wahi which are nowhere to be seen on the final map. At this 1/10 scale the plateaus seen would match up well with the massive mesas seen in monument valley in terms of size, but with the final size they would be absolutely massive (10 times as big if you can believe it!)

So suffice to say, I don't think this is just a case of a zero being dropped, it really seems to line up with the level of detail on this earlier map.

But what does this do to the GSR? I hear you cry, well it varies. Going by the earlier numbers it would simply be 1/10th the size, so 330km tall instead of 3300km, so still very large, but depending on the size relationship between the robot and the island it could be as "small" as 180km

The island in this picture is roughly the same size as normal, just covers more of the GSR. The final GSR's head is so proportionately tiny compared to its body that the Mata Nui island had to be very small to cover it. But in any case, a robot "only" 180km tall standing up is still going to tower over anything, its many times higher than airplanes fly, its taller than most clouds, really it would be quite consistent with this render:

So, in conclusion, an earlier concept of the island of Mata Nui has it being 1/10 of the size of the final, and that size seems to work better with what we see in various media from the time, and works better with the story.

Personally this is what I'll be going with in terms of the scale of the island going forward, as it really fits with my vision of the setting and works well with all the story and media from that time.

¹-I don't care about someone saying a bio is 4.375966487787¾ feet, feet aren't real and neither are you. ²-Mt Ihu is NOT the highest point on the island, the GSR isn't Pinocchio with a big pointy nose, this has never been reflected in any visual media.

thank you for reading/have a nice day

Update: I have made a companion post with many renders of George visiting places on the island to hopefully better illustrate the scale.

#bionicle #hypothesis #writeup #Mata Nui #GSR

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peascribbles · 2 months ago

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just a muse/analysis on a dragon's life cycle but cws angst(?), forward discussion of death in nature, mini marine biology nerdout

Dragons make homes in flower covered valleys. If a dragon knows it will die soon... It flies to a valley and waits alone. In the dragon's final moments, flowers will bloom from its body. Only when the flowers cover every bone does the dragon pass away.

These lines from Valleydream Bloom remind me of a hauntingly beautiful phenomenon in our world called a whalefall.

When a whale dies, its journey in the ocean is far from over. It slowly sinks to the seafloor, its final resting place, and becomes a source of incredible, teeming life - there are whole ecosystems that form around its body - a vast bounty for creatures, big and small, that come across it. From the tiniest speck of bacteria digesting a scrap of blubber to sharks that tear away great chunks of its flesh, and quite literally everything in between: molluscs, crabs and lobsters, sea snails and urchins and little shrimp.

Some of these scavengers don't simply eat and go. Some live in its exposed bones, under its massive ribcage, or perhaps in the hollow of an eye socket, where they create homes to feed and reproduce. Entire decades can pass in this manner - an afterlife where the whale continues to enriches the ocean as it decays, leaching precious carbons that are as good as liquid gold in fueling our oceans' vast and complex food chains.

What if a dragon's death fuels life in the same way?

Driven by pure instinct when its time has come, that calls for it to retreat into the deepest valley it can find. Find places that are untouched by mortal hands which may covet its bones, carve its flesh, skin its scales for the gold that corrupts humans souls and nourishes not life but greed. Dragons are just as greedy in their lives, but in the moments before passing, they commit to this monumental act of giving back to the cradle of the earth.

In time, the creatures of the valley poke out their heads and ensure that the dragon that lies there is not taking a short nap, but resting in eternal slumber, and the great feast begins. Lions and vultures, worms and bacteria. A swarming empire of insects.

When the predators have had their fill, stripping most of the flesh, their prey finds sanctuary in the cover of its immense body. Singing birds that perch on its spine. A gazelle mother who births her young in the shadowed cover of its pelvic bones.

And when even the herbivores have moved on to other pastures, the wild itself comes to claim the bleached bones, vines and grass winding up the trellis of its skeleton, the enriched soil giving way to blossoms and rustling leaves.

Centuries have passed since it made its final landing, and now, the dragon finally rests, smothered in flowers that it has helped to nurture itself.

To read more on whalefalls: one two three

#how on earth do I tag this #sylusposting #lads sylus #lnds sylus #dragon sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #love and deepspace #pea.snax

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celestiachan · 9 months ago

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just found out that you can separate ro from her child in the level where ro gets separated from her child and it is extremely funny to me

#xenon screams #monument valley #idk why the two screenshots are compressed to shit #i thought it would be like ''hey dumbass go back and get your daughter''#but it isn't #so now she is kneeling on the y-axis #monument valley 2

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winxanity-ii · 3 months ago

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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 58 "Chapter 58 | a muse between gods⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

He took you everywhere after that.

First, the constellation vault, just as he'd promised.

It was a place tucked just behind the western clouds, hidden in a bend of the sky like a secret tucked in his chest. He'd led you up a staircase carved from golden light, each step forming beneath your feet like it had been waiting. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the sky peeled open.

You'd gasped.

Stars bloomed all around you—huge, close, alive. They pulsed like hearts in the dark. One of them flickered pink when you blinked too long at it. Another hummed a low note that you felt more than heard. They weren't still. They moved, breathed, shifted like water, and glowed in impossible colors.

"Every one I named for you," he'd whispered into your ear, his arms draped loose around your waist. "Each a moment you made me feel something. I made them permanent so I'd never forget."

You didn't know what to say. So you didn't.

Then came the orchard of suns.

Then the garden of voices—where each flower sang your name in a different dialect of Ancient Delphic.

Then the quiet lake where your reflection always smiled back, even when you didn't.

He showed you everything. Every corner of Olympus he thought would make you soft again. Every secret he'd never shared. Every glittering monument built in your image before you even knew your own name.

And you...

You smiled when you had to.

You gasped when it felt safe.

You nodded and murmured, "It's beautiful," even when your throat felt too tight to speak.

Because it was beautiful, and that made it worse.

Currently, the two of you were in a small pocket valley where he kept his golden lambs.

They were... strange.

Beautiful. Soft. Quiet.

No taller than your calf, each one with fur like molten coin—rich, liquid gold that shimmered like it could melt beneath your fingers. Their eyes were pure white. No pupils. No light. Just blank and glowing, like moonlight through parchment.

"They used to be people," Apollo had said softly, crouching beside one and brushing its ears back. "The most devoted mortals who worshipped me with all they had. Gave their songs, their souls, their last breaths to my name. I didn't want their prayers to go in vain, so I gave them a peace that'll churn forever under my care."

The lamb had leaned into his touch like it didn't know anything else. Like it didn't remember being human.

You had crouched beside another one, your hand hovering above its back.

You didn't touch it.

You couldn't.

Because something about it—something deep in your gut—told you that if you laid a hand on it, you'd feel nothing back.

And you didn't want to know what that kind of silence felt like.

Apollo watched you for a moment. Then stood, brushed off his hands, and held out his hand. Wordlessly, you grasped it and the two of you began walking once more.

You thought, after all that, he'd finally take you back to his palace.

Back to the sun-drenched bedchamber with gold-threaded curtains and honey-sweet wine. Back to the place where his voice sang lullabies to walls that remembered you. Back to the shrine of sound he'd made in your name.

But instead, he turned toward the tallest palace at the edge of Olympus.

Not his.

Bigger.

Taller.

Sharp white marble. Black stone veins. Pillars like tree trunks. Lightning carved into the goldwork. The kind of place that made the air hold still.

You blinked. "...That's not your palace," you said carefully.

He smiled. "No."

You stopped walking. "...Then where are we going?"

Apollo didn't answer at first.

Just squeezed your hand gently and tilted his head with a soft, knowing coo. "Wait and see, my muse~"

His voice was honey again, but it stuck in your throat like it was trying to trap you.

So you walked. Slowly. Careful. Into the light spilling from the tallest doors Olympus had ever built.

And still—you followed.

Because you had to.

Because you needed to know what waited behind those doors.

Because this time, the story didn't feel like it was just being written.

It felt like it was closing in.

And you weren't sure anymore who you were playing or what ending he'd already planned for you.

.☆. .✩. .☆.

You didn't ask again.

Not where you were going. Not why you weren't turning back. Not what this had to do with the lambs or the stars or the way he looked at you like you were already home.

You didn't ask—just let him lead. Your hand stayed tucked in his, warm and easy, but your steps started to slow. Something in your chest—tight. Off. Like a heartbeat pulled too far forward.

At first you thought it was just the walk. The long day. The sun still trailing down your back like it couldn't bear to let you go. But the closer you got to the palace at the end of the path—the taller one, the gleaming one, the one that touched the sky—your heart picked up.

Not in awe. Not even in fear. Just... instinct.

You didn't know why. Couldn't name it. But your fingers twitched where they met his, and your throat stayed dry no matter how many times you swallowed.

Apollo didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to say anything. He was smiling. Still. Like he had a secret. Like this was the moment he'd been building toward from the start.

And then—you were there.

The doors were huge. Not golden-painted. Golden. Pure. So tall you had to crane your neck just to see the top. They shimmered without movement. No handle. No hinges. Just sealed power in the shape of a gate. And before you could even ask if someone would open them, they did.

Not by touch. Not by force. Just... opened. Quietly. As if the building itself had been listening for him.

They didn't creak. Didn't groan. They moved like light.

And when they parted, you stepped into power.

Not the kind Apollo carried in his laughter or the way Artemis turned her head before she spoke. This was older. Heavier. The kind that didn't ask to be felt. The kind that had already decided it was owed your breath.

The halls inside were carved from marble and light. Cold, clean, too perfect. The floor gleamed so sharp it made your reflection look wrong. The air smelled like lightning and incense—like something holy and burnt.

You blinked. Then again. Because the walls weren't plain.

They told stories.

Every step, another scene.

Zeus, carved in stone and gold, holding newborn Athena in his arms—her eyes open, her body fresh from the split in his skull. He looked proud. Triumphant. As if pain had been worth the daughter.

Then another. Zeus towering over a crumbling mountain, thunder locked in his grip, Cronus half-buried beneath his foot. The sky behind him cracked open in light. The titans fell in every direction, mouths stretched open in silent screams.

Another. Zeus crowned, seated, eyes looking down from the throne with his brothers at his sides. Poseidon with his trident. Hades wreathed in shadow. All carved smaller. All looking up.

Every panel bled into the next. Victory after victory. Power after power. No softness. No love. Just a god who had taken the sky and decided it was his.

You didn't speak.

Neither did Apollo.

The two of you walked in silence—past high, spiraling halls etched with runes that glowed faintly as you passed, past columns wrapped in flickering murals that moved if you looked at them too long, past nymphs who skittered out of view the second your eyes met theirs. They were fast. Quiet. Like shadows in silk.

The deeper you went, the quieter it got.

Your sandals clicked softly against the marble.

The air began to change.

It shimmered. Grew heavier. Not hot. Not choking. But charged. Like standing in the air just before a storm cracked the sky. Like your bones could feel it before your skin did.

And then you stopped.

Apollo brought you to the final doors.

They stood taller than the first.

Solid gold. Untouched. Polished like mirrors, but you couldn't see yourself in them. Just light. Too much of it. Etched into their surface were swirling storm clouds, sharp-edged bolts of lightning, a tree split down the middle, a chalice overflowing.

He let go of your hand. Just gently.

You looked up at him. He was already smiling.

Like this was it.

Whatever "it" was.

You opened your mouth to ask. To say his name. To stop whatever this was about to become—but Apollo was already moving.

His hand lifted before you could flinch, cupping the side of your face like he'd done it a thousand times before. His thumb brushed softly along your cheek, slow and warm, the way someone might calm a skittish animal.

"Shh," he hummed, voice so low it barely stirred the air between you.

Your breath hitched.

He leaned down, tipping your chin up with two fingers, slow and sure, like he was easing you into place. His face brushed close—too close—his nose skimming along the line of your cheek, then the other side, barely missing your mouth.

"Tonight," he whispered, lips ghosting the edge of your skin, "is going to be a very special night..."

You froze.

His next words poured warm into your ear, rich and soft like sunlight in a cup.

"And I hope you'll enjoy it just as much as I will."

Then—a kiss.

Quick.

Too quick.

Right at the corner of your mouth.

Not quite your cheek. Not quite your lips. Just enough to make your body stutter in place.

You didn't move, because everything inside you split down the middle.

Part of you flinched—wanted to shove him back, to wipe that look off his face, to scream what in Hades are you doing and who do you think I am and stop pretending this is love when it's a stage you built for yourself.

But the other part—the part you hated more—just... preened.

Beneath his fingers, your skin warmed. Your breath fluttered. That aching, needy part of your heart leaned into it, greedy for attention, even when it was wrong. Even when it was dangerous. Even when it came from him.

You hated it.

And still, your chest stayed open, like a door half-cracked and waiting.

And then—light.

The doors opened.

Blinding.

White-gold poured into the hallway like the sky cracked open behind it. You gasped, instinctively raising a hand, eyes narrowing against the sudden glare.

And with the light came sound.

A rush of it—music, voices, clinking goblets, a chorus you couldn't understand layered with laughter and distant bells. Every note hit at once, like a festival had erupted just past the threshold, too loud to name, too thick to breathe.

You staggered back a half step, your senses scrambling to catch up, and Apollo grabbed your hand.

He squeezed once. Tight. His smile still bright as ever.

"Come," he said cheerfully, tugging you forward like this was a party and not something with a heartbeat already echoing down your spine.

You stumbled once, caught yourself, and stepped through the threshold.

Right into the light.

Laughter, flutes, clapping, music, talking over music, glasses tapping over it all. It was too much.

Too loud.

Too bright.

Too perfect.

Your feet landed on polished marble streaked with gold and something too smooth to be real. The room opened in every direction, wide and gleaming—a massive feast hall, high-ceilinged and candlelit, though the air shimmered with a light that couldn't possibly come from flame.

Everything glowed. Everything pulsed. Everything shimmered like a dream just starting to unravel.

The long table in the center stretched so far it vanished in haze. Food spilled across it in wild color—bowls of fruit so ripe they glittered, meats still steaming, plates of glistening fish wrapped in fig leaves, tiny golden pastries stacked in spirals. Goblets floated from hand to hand. Wine poured itself.

Nymphs in gauze-thin robes moved between chairs, twirling and weaving as they went, some dancing midair, others trailing flower petals in their wake. One smiled at you in passing, slow and sweet, like she knew something you didn't. Like they all did.

But none of it compared to the gods.

They lounged across the space like the room was made for them.

Some reclined on velvet benches, some perched half-casual in golden seats, others sprawled across thick cushions near the head of the table, their laughter curling like smoke. Their bodies shimmered differently than the rest—like reality had been wrapped around them too loosely. Limbs too long. Skin too smooth. Eyes too old.

You saw one sitting with grapes in one hand, gesturing wildly as a few nymphs giggled around his ankles. Then another, regal and unreadable, head tilted as she listened to someone speak. You couldn't even place all of them. The room didn't stop moving long enough to count.

But one—

One you knew right away.

Artemis.

She sat near the far end, leaning against a low curve of white marble, legs tucked to one side as she spoke quietly to a woman beside her. The other goddess—tall, sharp, wrapped in a sea-colored silk—tilted her head in return, brushing silver hair from her temple as she listened.

You didn't know her name.

But Artemis?

She saw you the moment you saw her.

Her face didn't shift much—just her eyes, just her jaw. But something behind her gaze clicked sharper. Not cruel. Not warm.

Just watchful.

You barely had a moment to blink before Apollo was tugging your hand again.

"Come," he said, grinning. "Let's say hello."

You didn't move at first. Not on your own. Your feet stayed rooted in place while your eyes swept the room again—trying to make sense of it, to breathe it in.

But then Apollo stepped forward.

And you followed.

Still clutching his hand like it could anchor you, even when the light had already pulled you too far in.

You barely had time to find your footing again before the room noticed you. Not all at once, not in some grand hush—but slowly. In waves. A few heads turned first—minor gods and lesser deities, perched lazily across velvet lounges and ivory steps. Their eyes flicked to Apollo like he was the sun finally showing up to his own party. Smiles spread. Goblets lifted. Nods passed from mouth to mouth like wine.

"Apollo," someone greeted softly, laughter curling at the end like smoke.

"Always late," another teased.

But none of it was angry. Just... delighted. Familiar.

And then, the eyes found you.

Not in the same way.

They looked. Blinked. Tilted their heads just slightly. Like they were trying to figure something out. A few lingered longer than others, their gazes crawling up from your feet to your shoulders, pausing where the headpiece Hephaestus gave you caught the light. Then—quietly—they looked away.

Back to their cups. Their plates. Their companions.

Back into the glittering chaos of this myth-soaked celebration.

The nymphs were the worst.

Dozens of them moved through the space like petals on wind, barefoot and dripping with perfume. And when they saw Apollo, they flocked—sweet voices calling his name, arms grazing his shoulders as they passed. They didn't touch for long, didn't dare. But they smiled. Whispered. Giggled.

A few glanced at you while doing it.

One tilted her head just enough to catch your expression before twirling off again, hair glinting gold.

Apollo didn't stop walking, didn't slow, either.

He just squeezed your hand like he didn't notice.

But you knew he did.

When the two of you finally reached the raised curve of the dais where Artemis had been sitting, the goddess was already rising to her feet. She moved with quiet command—smooth and effortless. The woman beside her had already vanished, slipping into the fold of the crowd so quickly it almost didn't seem real. Like she'd never been there at all.

Artemis watched your approach in silence. She didn't smile. She didnt frown. Just watched. Her expression unreadable.

Apollo gave her a bright grin, tugging you just a little closer to his side as if presenting you. "Sister," he greeted warmly, then glanced around the empty seat beside her with a small, thoughtful hum. "You haven't seen Father, have you?"

He looked past her, scanning the room casually, like Zeus might just appear between goblets and platters, humming with thunder and divine charm.

Artemis raised a brow. "I'm sure he's busy," she said dryly, folding her arms. "Probably caught up with whatever has most recently stirred his loins."

Apollo chuckled at that, soft and amused. "You say that like it narrows anything down."

"It doesn't," Artemis replied. "But you asked."

Your eyes flicked between them, heart thudding in your chest. The way they spoke—so casual, so calm—it didn't match the thrum beneath your skin. Like none of this was real, and yet too real all at once. Like you were standing inside a painting that had somehow started breathing.

Before Apollo could say anything else, Artemis shifted her weight and spoke up again, her tone quieter this time, but sharper. "Before seeking Father out, I advise you to say hello to Hera first," she said, tilting her head toward the far end of the room, "She's... a bit annoyed right now, to put it lightly."

You followed the direction of her nod, eyes glancing past the glittering chaos of divine bodies and flickering wine-light—until they landed on her.

You hadn't noticed her before. Or maybe you had, and just didn't register her presence properly. Because now, now that you were really looking—gods—there was no missing her.

She sat farther back than the rest, partly shadowed by a curtain of golden drapery, her silhouette cut sharp against the soft folds of silk. Dark-skinned, regal, tall even while seated, her back straight and chin lifted like a queen at court who no longer cared for the ceremony. A goblet rested in one hand, long fingers curled around it with slow elegance. The other hand was outstretched slightly, gently feeding a plump berry to the creature perched upon her shoulder.

A peacock.

Its feathers shimmered green-blue in the candlelight, eyes gleaming as it preened against the fold of her hair.

Her gown was deep indigo, almost black, threaded through with delicate lines of gold that curled like constellations over her arms and collar. Tiny flecks of gold dust caught in the fabric—flickering, alive—and you couldn't tell if they were sewn in or conjured from air. Peacock feathers lined the collar of her cloak, sweeping back from her shoulders like a throne worn instead of sat on. And her eyes—bright gold, piercing—flicked over the room like they were searching for something worth her time.

They landed on you for half a second, and narrowed.

Not cruel. Not curious. But the kind of narrowed that said I'm measuring you.

You stiffened without meaning to.

"She's not exactly thrilled to be here," Artemis added under her breath. "Can't say I blame her."

Apollo let out a sigh, dragging his fingers through his hair as if the very mention of Hera's mood had already given him a headache. "Of course she isn't," he muttered, voice low. "Father disappears without a word—again—and you just know he's going to come back with a lightning bolt in one hand and someone newly pregnant in the other. Meanwhile, we're the ones stuck dealing with a scorned Hera on Olympus."

He paused, then turned to you.

His expression shifted—bright arrogance slipping into something softer, more polished. His gaze met yours with a faint smile, warm and familiar, though his shoulders were still tense. He lifted his hand, brushing his knuckles along your cheek with a slow, practiced care. "Give me a moment, my muse. I'll be right back."

You nodded before you could think. His fingers lingered for half a second longer than necessary—just enough to leave the ghost of his touch burning against your skin. Then he turned, straightened his shoulders, and stepped off toward Hera like he belonged in her line of sight.

You watched him go, your eyes stayed fixed on his back as he crossed the hall, weaving effortlessly through laughter and glittering plates, wine and divine conversation, like none of it could touch him unless he said so. He barely had to look where he was going. The crowd parted for him.

And Hera—she looked up before he even reached her.

Her face didn't change much, but you caught it anyway. The shift in her eyes. The way she turned her head slightly, slowly, the peacock on her shoulder twitching once as she brought her goblet to her lips. She took a long sip, set it down with purpose, and then tilted her body toward him like a queen finally acknowledging the prince at her door.

You weren't sure if it was a welcome.

Or a warning.

You didn't realize how long you'd been staring until a voice nudged you from the side.

"Enjoying the tour?"

You blinked and turned your head—Artemis stood closer now, arms folded neatly across her chest, one brow raised. Her expression was cool, unreadable, but not cold.

Your mouth opened, but the words didn't come easily.

"I—uh. Yeah. I mean..." You gave a small, awkward laugh and shifted your weight from one foot to the other. "It was... beautiful. All of it. The stars. The—uh—music. The lambs were..." You trailed off. "A lot."

Artemis snorted, the smallest smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth. "Of course it was," she said, voice dry. "He wouldn't do anything less."

You looked at her.

She looked like she wanted to roll her eyes but didn't bother. "Do you know," she added, gesturing loosely toward the feast, "he helped plan this too? Picked the wine. Oversaw the guest list. Got into an argument with Dionysus about the fig spreads."

Your brows lifted slightly.

Artemis glanced over at her brother across the room. "He needed everything perfect... For you." She said it plainly. No edge. No sarcasm. Just fact.

"...What do you mean by that?" you asked, voice smaller than you wanted.

Artemis' smirk faded. Her brows pulled together slowly, mouth pressing into a straighter line. Her head tilted the smallest bit as she studied you like you'd just asked where Olympus was. "You didn't know?"

You blinked. "Didn't know what?"

Her expression shifted. Not shocked—just... off. Like something was clicking into place for her that hadn't for you. Her eyes searched your face before she spoke again, slower this time.

"The feast," she said, voice lower, like she didn't quite believe she had to explain it. "It's for you."

You didn't move.

You didn't even breathe for a second.

Your whole body just—froze. Your spine locked up, your throat tightened, and all the sound around you faded to nothing as the words sank in—for you. The feast. The music. The wine. The crowd. All of this. Your head lifted slightly, eyes flicking between Artemis and the gold-soaked hall that felt too loud and too large.

And somehow, that made it feel even heavier.

You weren't sure what to feel. You weren't even sure what was real. Your heart stuttered once, then again, like your body was catching up before your mind could.

Before your thoughts had the chance to go too far—

"Aha, there you are."

Apollo's voice—smooth, bright, warm—slid in from behind you.

A hand wrapped around your waist, firm and familiar. He pulled you back into him in one fluid motion, your body fitting to his chest like a puzzle piece he already knew the shape of. His other hand came up to gently brush the side of your face, knuckles grazing your cheek, and he gave a pleased little hum against your ear.

"So she told you," he murmured, eyes flicking over to Artemis with a grin. "Good."

You turned your head toward him, stunned. "I—wait, is that—did you really—?"

Apollo barely let you finish. "Of course," he said, as if the answer should've been obvious from the start. "You've done more in weeks than most mortals manage in lifetimes. What kind of god would I be if I didn't honor you properly?"

Your mouth opened, a hundred questions on your tongue, but Apollo was already moving.

He stepped forward, guiding you with him like a dance. His hand slipped into yours again, squeezing tight, and with the other, he raised his goblet in a wide arc.

"Everyone," he called, voice ringing across the marble with sudden, startling clarity. Every conversation halted. Every chair shifted. Every gaze turned.

And suddenly—all eyes were on you.

"The guest of honor has arrived," Apollo declared. "And I, for one, think it's time we begin."

The room lit up in response. Goblets raised. Laughter burst back to life. The music shifted into something grander, fuller. Plates clinked, magic shimmered in the air, and dozens—no, hundreds—of gods and spirits and demigods turned their eyes to you.

Watching.

Smiling.

Whispering.

And you stood there in the center of it, hand in Apollo's, a crown on your head, the air warm with wine and sound—unsure if this was Olympus or the start of something you couldn't undo. Apollo's hand stayed firm in yours, anchoring and possessive all at once, his thumb grazing along the side of your hand like he could calm your heart just by touch.

And then—he turned to you.

His fingers slid gently beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. His touch was featherlight, careful, but it left a trail of heat down your throat. His gaze searched your face like he already knew what he'd find.

Still facing the crowd, his voice rose again—louder this time, but no less warm. "I have waited centuries for this," he said, every word slow, honey-thick, rich with something deeper than pride. The crowd quieted, drawn back into him like gravity. "Centuries of silence. Of searching. Of songs without endings."

He smiled, and it was blinding.

"But now," he continued, eyes never leaving yours, "my muse stands beside me."

You didn't speak. Couldn't. The weight of him, of this, of all of it pressed down over your shoulders heavier than the crown Hephaestus had set there.

A beat of silence.

Then the room erupted in cheers again.

Wine sloshed over goblet lips. Golden confetti burst midair from nowhere. Laughter echoed across the vaulted ceilings, gods calling out blessings, nymphs clapping, the energy shifting like Olympus itself had exhaled. But none of them were looking at him.

They were looking at you.

Apollo raised one hand, palm lifted. The room responded instantly, quieting back down like a tide pulled at his command.

His voice lowered slightly, tone reverent. "Bring forth the lyre."

The crowd parted, soft and fluid like silk being drawn aside. From between the folds of dancers and servers, Clytie stepped forward. Her dress shimmered as she walked, gossamer blue-green shifting with the candlelight. Her hair was twisted back, and little sunflower earrings caught the light at her jaw. In her hands—cupped, delicate—was the lyre.

Your lyre.

She knelt as she reached the dais, head bowed, holding it out with both arms like an offering. "For you, my lord," she said, voice soft, almost dreamy.

Apollo smiled, his hand slipping from your face as he stepped forward to take it. His fingers wrapped around the lyre like it was a holy thing. Like it was alive.

Then—he turned back to you.

The lyre cradled gently in his arms, he stepped close enough that you could see the flecks of starlight glowing across his collarbone. He held the instrument between you both now, golden strings shimmering beneath the light.

"For me?" he said quietly, low enough that only you could hear. "Play."

Your breath caught.

His voice wasn't harsh. Not demanding. But it didn't ask, either.

It trusted.

Trusted that you would obey. Trusted that you knew what it meant if you didn't. Trusted that the silence between his fingers would mean more if it was broken by you.

All eyes were still on you.

And the weight of Olympus sat heavy on your spine, waiting.

You couldn't breathe right. Not fully. The air caught somewhere high in your chest, sharp and thin, like your lungs had forgotten how to fill.

Your fingers gripped the lyre tighter than they should've. Too tight. You could feel the soft pulse of it still humming—quietly, expectantly—like it knew what you were about to do.

But you didn't.

Your thoughts raced, questions crashing into each other like waves with no space between them.

When did they take it? How long has he had it? Did he always plan this? Why does everyone look like they've been waiting for this moment but you?

Eyes. So many eyes.

Watching from every corner of the hall—some bright and wide, others narrowed, half-lidded, curious. Whispers curled under the music like smoke. You couldn't hear what they were saying, but you could feel it. All of it.

The gaze of gods burned differently.

Still, somehow, you found your voice. A small thing, shaky around the edges.

"...Okay."

You tried to curtsy, stiff and clumsy, a half-bow more than anything else.

Apollo chuckled—soft and thrilled, like a child unwrapping a long-awaited gift. "Perfect," he said under his breath, eyes shining too bright.

He waved his hand once.

The marble beneath your feet shimmered—bent—and from it bloomed a low, curved bench, spun from sunlight itself. Gold and warm, smooth as polished amber. It glowed faintly, rippling like water even as it held its shape.

Apollo stepped aside, slow and graceful, like he wasn't making space for a performance—but a coronation.

He looked at you like this was the moment he'd been writing toward his entire life.

"They've heard the songs I wrote for you," he said, voice lilting with pride. "Let them hear the one you choose."

Your heart pounded against your ribs, a low, frantic drum. You stepped forward, body moving on some instinct you couldn't name, your hand still locked around the lyre as if letting go of it might undo you.

You sat.

The bench didn't creak or shift. It welcomed you—solid and warm like it had waited for only you. The heat of it soaked into the back of your legs, into your spine, grounding you in a way nothing else had all night.

You inhaled slowly.

The hall was too loud. Too bright. Too gold.

So you did the only thing you could.

You closed your eyes, and tried to remember how to breathe.

But your thoughts wouldn't slow down.

You could barely feel your fingers. Everything was too loud. The hall, the wine-sweet air, the heat rolling off the golden lamps and godly gazes—it pressed down on you like a second skin, sticky and buzzing, wrapping around your ribs and making it hard to focus. You stared at the strings. At your hands. At nothing.

You weren't sure where to begin.

And then—something small.

A whisper inside you, soft but sure. Not loud. Not a shout. Just the quiet voice of something that hadn't given up yet.

You've got this.

The memory came so quick it almost hurt—Telemachus. Sitting beside you. That familiar warmth in his smile, the one that made your chest loosen and the corners of your mouth pull up without trying.

His voice quiet, joking, but always gentle. That stupid little nod he'd do when he wanted you to believe in yourself but didn't want to embarrass you in front of the others.

You could almost feel the pressure of his knee against yours. The way he'd glance sideways at you, mouth twitching with something close to awe and a lot closer to home.

Your fingers relaxed.

Your shoulders lowered.

And without another thought—you played.

No words at first. No melody planned. You just let your hands move, the strings soft beneath your touch, ringing out one by one like the room was holding its breath for them. The first few notes echoed gently across the marble, golden and quiet and sure, like they'd always been inside you, just waiting for your hands to find them.

And Apollo?

He sat down.

Right at your feet.

Without hesitation, like it was natural. Like the god of prophecy, the sunlit, golden-bright being worshipped in every temple across Greece, was exactly where he'd always meant to be—cross-legged on the ground, arms draped casually over his knees, looking up at you like you were starlight bottled into a body. His eyes gleamed wide, starry with wonder. Every note that left your lyre made him look more in love. More devoted. More undone.

He leaned forward just slightly, his chin resting on one hand, the corners of his mouth turned up in that breathless, boyish smile that made the nymphs behind him sigh like they were watching a love story unfold in real time.

If anyone else tried to get his attention, he didn't blink.

His entire world was you.

And for once—you didn't flinch under the weight of it.

You just kept playing.

Your fingers moved like they remembered something your heart hadn't caught up to yet. With every note, the room pressed in tighter—quieting, listening. The clatter of goblets dulled. The voices dropped. The gods stilled. Even the air held still, like Olympus itself leaned in.

And then... you sang.

It started low, caught between breath and melody. But once the first words left your mouth, they didn't stop.

You didn't plan them. You didn't need to.

The lyrics poured out like they'd been stitched under your ribs long before tonight. Your voice trembled once, then steadied, and you let the sound fill the space—the kind of sound that didn't have to shout to be heard. The kind that knew someone would be listening.

"If I was written from stars that forgot their place, Would you still reach for me in the dark? If I was born too late, too loud, too much— Would you call me yours with a steady heart?"

"I don't know if I was meant for this. I don't know if I was meant at all. But your hands pulled me from the silence, And now I can't remember how to fall."

"So take me, name me, say it's fate— I'll wear the myth if it sounds like love. Even if it burns, even if I break, I'll follow the thread I'm undeserving of."

Your throat tightened, but you didn't stop.

And even as Apollo sat at your feet, eyes wide and shining like you were naming him with every line—you weren't.

Not really.

Because deep down, you weren't singing to the sun.

You were singing to the boy who stayed. The boy who waited. The boy who never asked you to become divine to be worth something. You were singing to Telemachus.

And it broke something open in your chest.

The last note hovered in the air, trembling. You let it ring until it faded on its own, your fingers lifting from the lyre like they'd been moving in a dream.

Then—

The hall pulsed.

Not with applause. Not at first. But with something else.

The marble under your feet shimmered faintly. The golden walls thrummed with a soft vibration, like the whole of Olympus had heard you—not just the gods, but the stone, the sky, the stories carved into its bones. The very air felt different, fuller, alive with your name and the echo of something too human to be holy.

And then—chaos.

The room erupted.

Cheers broke like thunder. Goblets clinked hard against the tables. Nymphs clapped their hands over their hearts. Even the gods raised their voices—some calling your name, others whooping with approval.

A chorus of voices filled the space, and all of them were looking at you.

You, seated in light, crown still burning soft at your brow, your lyre glowing faintly in your lap. The mortal girl with a song the gods couldn't stop listening to.

And still... only one person mattered.

And he wasn't in the room.

A/N: ahhhh! guys, y'all, peeeps, my babeiusssssssss tell me why i was walking my dog and a MAN tried talking to me 😭😭😭😩 tell me why i told him i was 17 when he asked my age cuz i panicked lolol im sorrry, if you're not on paper/book character, it's not gonna work 💀💀 like don't get me wrong, i wanna boo but like frfr, no 😭😭 im sorry im trumatized, y'all... i dont have the best experiences and SWEAR i'm always about to get kidnaped 😭😭 like literally last week, chilling on my porch smoking and a dude walked up on me out of nowhere/tryna get me to walk down A DARK ASS STREET WITH HIM. i mean just blew my high... but yeah thats all hahhah! also! will be doing a double update tongiht cuz i will be supper-supper busy and won't be back till like 1-2 weeks later (maybe sooner ijust added a day or two just in case)

also i've been blessed with more fanart, hehehe ❤️❤️❤️ (email: [email protected] | tumblr: winaxity-ii) also because wattpad/tumblr is being a meanie, i can't show 18+ drawings on here, even if edited 😭😭 but don't worry i shall still sing my praises! but good news! i have them available on archiveofourown (ao3) and have my account/books to where guests can see so you guys don't have to make an account ❤️❤️

from Sushiiin

OH. OH OKAY. SO YOU JUST—DECIDED TO RUIN MY LIFE WITH THIS???? because what do you mean this is how mc looks. what do you MEAN this is her in apollo's light. the golden glow. the soft freckles. the laurel crown on her eyebrows like this is divine-baroque-sunlit-delusion and i'm going to start crying again. she looks like she just walked out of a dream that apollo's been having for years straight. the necklace?? the embroidery?? the emblem on her arm?? you even got the multiple solar points—sun motif chestplate, shoulder, necklace, starburst piercing my soul—i'm unwell. it's giving "the gods will crown you, but they'll burn you too." it's giving "i didn't ask for this favor, but i'm wearing it anyway." it's giving main character energy with a curse woven into the hem of her dress.

EXCUSE ME?!? why would you paint this like it's a sacred tapestry in a ruined temple by some ancient civilization that knew more about gods and beasts and love than we ever will??? the softness. the melancholy. the closeness. the way their foreheads touch like they're made of the same sorrow, the same myth, the same eerie stillness of a world that only pretends to be quiet. I am on the FLOOR. and Lady??? Oh, Lady is EATING in this. that void-slick oil-black fur soaking in the violet tones, the single gleam of her eye glowing just enough to remind you—she's not a pet. she's a predator. but in this moment, she's gentle. loyal. almost mournful. ;ike she recognizes something divine and doomed in the girl she could've devoured. and didn't. stooop you're bringing out the poet in me 😭

OH MY GOD Sushiiin. You did NOT just draw yourself holding my book like it's your favorite bedtime story and you're waiting for me to tuck you in and say, "Okay... just one more chapter."?!?!?! because THIS?? this is beyond adorable. this is criminally soft. i'm pressing charges for how hard this made me squeal. look at you. LOOK at you. big sparkly eyes. clutching "Godly Things" like it's the only thing keeping your heart warm in this cruel, god-touched world. you're literally baby. i'm adopting you. come here. this isn't fanart. this is emotional support. this is serotonin. this is what i'm looking at every time i feel stuck mid-chapter like, "why am i even writing this??" then BOOM—you appear, looking up at me like "...next part please 🥺👉👈" and suddenly i've written five more pages. this is going in the fandom museum under "Winxies: The Faithful."

from Simp_0207

AHHHHH! why does this look like a still frame from an animated movie where the character's voice cracks mid-sentence and you know she's about to walk away and leave whoevere in her path in complete shambles??? "No one wants to be told 'you'll do'"—NO BECAUSE THAT LINE LITERALLY LIVES IN MY RIBS. and you captured it perfectly. that expression??? the quivering mouth, the furrow in her brow, those glassy, hurt eyes that are just barely holding it together?? she looks like she's standing under some sacred light and trying not to cry in front of a god. this is character depth in color and linework. and the fact you hand-lettered the quote like that?? like a glowing thought too painful to say out loud??? SIMP, YOU GET IT. you GET this story and this girl and I am gonna scream into the embroidery of that sun pendant.

OH MY GODDDD??? you've officially weaponized Apollo. I need a moment. actually no I don't—I need therapy. because HELLO?? That line?? "All you have to do is say yes"? are you JOKING?? are you trying to make me fold like parchment in a heatwave? because it's working. that is not just divine energy, that is cult leader with a smile that could kill you energy. that is "I will give you the world but only if you give me your soul first" and honestly??? VALID. i've been keeping it a secret but... I'M AN APOLLO SIMP 🫣🫣 i know i know, but how can i not?? i swear i'm only writing/having mc be realistic, cuz BABYYYYYYY i'd been on him faster than Zeus came down to punsish the crew in MUTINY 😩😩 propechy be dAamned!!!! like the black eye mask??? the sun disk halo??? the two suns on his body—the branded ink on his bicep and the pendant over his heart like a damn target??? the gold braid woven through his hair like a crown he gave himself because no one else was worthy to touch him??? AND THE WAY HE'S REACHING FORWARD?? I don't know if I'm supposed to kiss his hand or run. probably both. also, thank you—sincerely—for making him hot and unsettling. he's smiling but I know he'd burn down a village with that same exact expression if you even hesitated.

I'm gonna be staring at this every time I write his dialogue now like: me: maybe Apollo should— this image: "All you have to do is say yes." me: ok he's getting another scene.

from nishayuro

you absolute menace to godly society. I am LOSING it. this is Hermes energy distilled, filtered, carbonated, and bottled for divine distribution. the top left?? "Hermes rizzing you up"??? that's the exact face he makes after dropping an innuendo that's 30% charm, 70% psychological damage, sunglasses perched, red cloak looking like he's about to rob your heart and your coin purse. he's not even sorry. top right??? he's looking sideways like, "Damn. I just KNOW I left her on Earth like two minutes ago. How'd she get up here that fast??" just confusion and mild panic. bottom left??? THAT is peak "panicked lover caught off guard when his side quest becomes the main storyline." because once again, BABY HOW DID YOU GET HERE??!? and the bottom right?? ✨ You're doing amazing, darling! ✨ EXCUSE ME?? the gall. the audacity. the cosmic levels of charm. it's so accurate i'm going to throw my laptop. i am printing this and taping it next to my writing desk. this is canon now. this is what Hermes looks like every time he phases in and out of MC's life like a fever dream in designer shades.

from riftstar

I—No because—the way I'm sitting here fully REELING. like my GODS!! the way you drew Telemachus looking at MC's portraits like a man who would collapse an empire just to remember the sound of her voice. this is art. this is religion. this is obsession wrapped in reverence wrapped in the most tragic kind of devotion. "My god, my universe." i'm sick. 😩😭😭you didn't even need dialogue. yhat line alone is more intimate than a kiss.

from yang

YANG, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!?!?! MC's face—expressionless, barely holding it together—and those glowing hands? they're not comforting. they're controlling. one's cradling her chin like she's a doll. the other? just holding. just there like the gods themselves are saying, "Smile, muse. You were made for us." and those tears?? WHHEEWWW. they're not loud, they're not ugly, they're quiet. which somehow makes it worse. it's like she's so used to being touched without consent, watched without rest, when all she wants is to be left alone 😩.

from Kath_Realm21

"Apollo iz grounded so he couldn't make it to the doodle meeting." I AM NOT OKAY. Hermes in full ✨gremlin mascot mode✨ arms out like "I'm here bitches!" Meanwhile MC and Telemachus are standing like sweet peas about to go on a pretend date. the little steaming trashcan named Andreia??? you even doodled a mini-existential crisis showing what happens when we listen to "Get in The Water" like it's some kind of indie trauma playlist. I AM ACTUALLY IN TEARS.

I'M GOING TO SCREAM. PENELOPE LOOKING AT THEM LIKE A SHOUJO PROTAG SHAKING WITH HOPE WHILE ODYSSEUS IS JUST STANDING THERE LIKE "??? I'm just trying to make it through the day" is ACTUALLY insane.tThe quote. "They're gonna kiss I just know it." she is the fandom. She is the audience. She is me. Also: "Penelope = No.1 Shipper"??? tattooing that on her forehead.

NOOOOO HE'S SO BABY. his cheeks are pink. his hair is messy. his little toga is too big. THIS is the exact expression he'd make the moment MC said hi to him too softly and he was like "Yep. Soulbonded." the fact this is drawn on lined paper too?? feels like I just found his school notebook and now I'm crying into it.

from sarligo

STOP RIGHT NOW. HE'S PERFECT. HE'S FLYING. I'M SCREAMING. ;ook at him. just LOOK at him. the winged cap. the sandals. the little curls. the staff. he's even got that mischievous "I definitely just stole something from Zeus and now I'm hiding in the clouds about it" expression and it's SO Hermes-coded. you understood the assignment and snuck in two whole clouds like the man just dropped in from Mount Olympus with a smirk and a scheme. this isn't just a sketch. this is Hermes' official passport photo, like, "Yes, I am the god of travelers. And liars. And you."

from chari

Oh, my... this isn't just MC underwater—this is the moment after, the breath you don't come back from. hair drifting like seaweed, limbs loose, body light but not free. and the little notes?? "Insert dead crew." Gods. GODs. that hit harder than anything. like you were designing a mural at the bottom of a godless ocean. this is a scene, and I feel it in my ribs. thank you bby 😩❤️❤️

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

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rabbitcruiser · 2 years ago

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Native American Heritage Day

National Native American Heritage Day is observed on November 26, a day after Thanksgiving. American Indians are accorded special honor on this day, and their rich cultures, accomplishments, contributions, and heritage are celebrated. The history of America begins with Native Americans, and the bald eagle on the U.S. shield is an Iroquois symbol. On this day, we can enjoy displays of their cultural fashion and unique recipes and speak out against the grave injustices they have experienced.

History of Native American Heritage Day

Dr. Arthur C. Parker of the Seneca nation first protested for National Native American Heritage Day between 1912 and 1915. At first, he was fighting for an “American Indian Day” to be recognized within the Boy Scouts of America. In 1990, President George H. W. Bush signed into law the legislation introduced by Congressman Joe Baca, to designate the day after Thanksgiving as American Indian Heritage Day. The law was established on November 28 as a day to pay respects to the Native Americans for their numerous contributions to the United States. The American Indian Heritage Day was supported by the National Indian Gaming Association (NIGA) and 184 federally recognized tribes.

The Native American Heritage Day encourages Americans of all backgrounds to appreciate the indigenous cultures appropriately, with ceremonies and activities. Schools are also encouraged to enhance their students’ awareness of Native Americans by providing classroom activities focused on their history, contributions, and achievements.

The United States House of Representatives initially passed the Native American Heritage Day Act of 2009, with technical adjustments made by a collective consent in the United States Senate. The House of Representatives unanimously voted to pass the legislation again, including the Senate’s adjustments. The legislation was then signed into public law by President Barack Obama on October 30, 2009.

Native American Heritage Day and Month is a huge platform for Indigenous people to educate society about their communities. On this day, more than ever, they lead the discourse on culture, celebrate their heritage by donning traditional footwear (“rocking the moccasin”), and shed some light on the diverse tribal communities.

Native American Heritage Day timeline

12,000 B.C. The Native American Origin

Archaeologists believe Native Americans might have crossed into America from Asia at about 12,000 B.C.

1912 American Indian Day

Dr. Arthur C. Parker of the Seneca nation begins his fight for the Boy Scouts of America to recognize an “American Indian Day.”

1924 Native American Citizenship

After Congress enacts the Indian Citizenship Act, Native Americans are finally granted citizenship in their indigenous country.

1976 Native American Awareness Week

President Gerald R. Ford declares the first national, week-long observance for American Indians.

1990 National American Indian Heritage Day

President George H. W. Bush signs a resolution establishing the national holiday.

2009 National Native American Heritage Month

President Barack Obama declares the month of November as National Native American Heritage Month.

2018 Elected Native American Women

Sharice Davids and Deb Haaland are the first Native American women elected to Congress.

2019 Native American Census

The population of Indigenous People in the United States is 6.9 million, 2.09% of the country’s population.

Native American Heritage Day FAQs

What is the more appropriate term to use, American Indian or Native American?

Both terms are appropriate.

Do American Indians pay taxes?

Yes, they do. Both tribes and individual American Indians pay taxes, except those who work on a reservation.

How are tribes organized?

Tribes have innate rights to govern under their own systems of government. Tribal governments have various structures, and several of them have adopted constitutions, while others retain traditional methods of rulership. The governor of a tribe is commonly called the tribal chairperson, chief, governor, or president.

How to Observe Native American Heritage Day

Know the facts

Be socially active

Cook like a true Native American

Watch documentaries or read books that properly represent Native American history and culture. Take a tour of a Native American museum or heritage center near you.

Participate on social media or in online events observing Native American Heritage Day. TikTok’s #NativeFamily is a famous Native American Heritage community.

Choose a Native American meal to make. Try Three Sisters Soup, Pemmican, or simple Buffalo Stew. Native American meals are famously delightful, so try out some of their decadent recipes.

5 Facts About Native Americans

Their median age is 31

Few Native Americans hold a professional degree

They own over 24,000 businesses

There are hundreds of Indian tribes

The sequoia tree has a namesake

Native Americans consider the age of 31 as middle age.

8% of Native Americans over 25 have a graduate or professional degree.

American Indians and Alaska Natives own about 24,503 businesses in the U.S.

As of 2020, the number of federally recognized Indian tribes equals 574.

The giant redwood tree is named after the Cherokee leader Sequoyah, who helped develop the Cherokee alphabet.

Why Native American Heritage Day is Important

To accord rightful respect

For appropriate involvement in their culture

We learn and educate others

It is a day to honor and recognize the indigenous people’s contributions to the United States. An official holiday enlightens people on how to do this right.

We take part in the rich and diverse art, culture, and tradition of the Native people. This particular day allows us to bask in the beauty and uniqueness of their heritage, experiencing its multifaceted nature.

We learn and are inspired by how tribal citizens have synergized to conquer these challenges, and we hear these stories from the Natives themselves. It is the perfect chance to educate the public, to raise awareness about the unique challenges Native people have faced, past and present.

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riding-with-the-wild-hunt · 9 months ago

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"They had come to the desolation that lay before Mordor: the lasting monument to the dark labour of its slaves that should endure when all their purposes were made void; a land defiled, diseased beyond all healing; unless the Great Sea should enter in and wash it with oblivion." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers, "The Passage of the Marshes"

@tolkienhorrorweek day 3 ⇢ mordor + "the pitiless land" || GEOGRAPHY OF MORDOR

[ID: an edit comprised of seven banners in muted natural tones.

1: A lake surrounded by mountains overhung with mist and trees giving way to gravel banks. White gothic-style text in the center reads "Lake Núrnen," and below that in a thin sans serif, "the lake of sad waters" / 2: A valley between dark mountains, with a dirt path leading through it. Text reads "Udûn" and "the dark valley" / 3: A rocky plain leading towards distant mountains that fade into a dark, smoggy sky. Text reads "Gorgoroth" and "the plain of deadly fear" / 4: An erupting volcano in the dark. Text reads "Orodruin" and "the burning mountain" / 5: Sharp mountain ridges with snow along the lower slopes beneath a cloudy sky. Text reads "Ered Lithui" and "the ashen mountains" / 6: Bare rock mountains beneath clouds. Text reads "Ephel Dúath" and "the mountains of shadow" / 7: Pale rock formations on an arid plain, with slopes rising in the distance. Text reads "Lithlad" and "the plain of ashes" //End ID]

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kissingghouls · 7 months ago

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The Emperor (Suck Club IV)

Part One: The Foe // ao3 // Part Two

Vampire Primo x Female Reader

Summary: Once upon a time a vampire saved your life. Now it's up to you to save him and his empire. Tags: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, reader uses a fake name sometimes, horror themes, vampire violence, violence, blood, (eventual) smut, and more tags on ao3 // 2700ish words div by @gothdaddyissues

All places have their secrets. People too. Families, friends, enemies, strangers—everyone’s got something to hide. You were no different than anyone else. For years you ran from your past and now you lived so comfortably in a lie there were times you started to believe it was real. And maybe some parts of it were real, but the truth was you couldn’t live in a fairytale forever.

The ones with vampires never had happy endings anyway.

Primo used to remind you of this. Not maliciously, just with the matter-of-fact certainty that often accompanied his statements. The arrangement couldn’t last forever no matter how well it worked between you. “Fate has her own plans, Diavolina,” he’d say while staring off into the distance. And maybe that was why your vampire was gone. Maybe you’d done or said something to remind him of the inevitable, something that drove him from away from this place. It didn’t matter that his letter said otherwise.

Calling him yours might seem arrogant, but the letter had said that too.

Over a year had passed and the pages grew softer each time you held them in your hands. Soon it would fall apart completely, but looking at the neat script, the tight loops and sheer elegance of his penmanship made it feel like he was still right there. You didn’t need to read it anymore—the words lived in your mind from the first moment you’d read it, permanently etched between synapses and ignited with each thought like a neon sign in a dive bar. Hope lived in that letter. A hope that often brought tears to your eyes if you let it burn too bright. But how could you not?

“Excuse me? Are you even listening?”

You shook your head, blinking away the tears and brought yourself back to the present. A forced smile crossed your face as the woman in front of you huffed and tutted her way toward the counter. The mayor’s wife had never been pleasant, but now that she and her husband had few extra zeros in their bank account she’d become a fucking monster. Still, you swallowed your pride and answered softly, “yes ma’am.”

“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me,” she tsked. “Rude and entitled brat. Just look at the state of this place! It’s no wonder you have no customers with your attitude—”

“Will that be all, Mrs. Chadwell?”

“Yes,” she replied tersely, dropping a handful of items on the counter. She sighed impatiently as you rang in and bagged her purchase. “You’re lucky we even bother with your store, you know.”

You gave her another gith smile. “Thank y—”

“Once that shopping center is finished I’m never coming back,” she added quickly before grabbing her things and spinning on her heel. The objects along the window rattled violently as she slammed the heavy door behind her.

“Guess I’ll just go fuck myself,” you muttered into the empty store.

Rows and rows of untouched products in bright, dust-free packages stared back at you—a monument to your dedication and current failures. Aurea Valley had always felt a little off. While it was as quiet and boring as any other small town, a current of something no one could quite define ran beneath the layers of the mundane. Not luck, or fortune, or even fate, the energy itself was neither good nor bad—just present. That strangeness bound the inhabitants and built a beautiful community—or at least it had. Things had never been this bad before. Even the people who weren’t kind used to be somewhat courteous to each other. Now it felt like the energy that tied them all together was diminishing rapidly.

You could pinpoint the exact moment everything had changed. You hesitated to admit it to yourself, but you still knew. Those cracks in the Valley were hidden deep, but they’d revealed themselves the second Primo Emeritus left. A tired sigh left your lips as you pushed the thoughts of Primo from your mind. No amount of worrying was going to bring the vampire back. You weren’t sure anything could.

You glanced over at the clock and groaned. It was slightly too early to close the shop, but you headed for the door anyway. Outside, a rolling fog had moved in and covered the streets, hiding all signs of life save for a little fox dashing down the sidewalk. The fox certainly wouldn’t mind if you headed home before the posted hours.

As you reached for the lock the door swung open, narrowly missing you. An expensive pair of dress shoes scuffled over the threshold and a sharply dressed man stood in the doorway. You hadn’t met, but Sebastian Night had already made a name for himself in the Valley. When he first arrived, you’d written him off as nothing more than a vaguely goth nepo-baby—all flash and no substance—but it wasn’t long before he proved to be slightly more threatening. In a few short months his company managed to purchase vast amounts of property, demolished half the town, and started construction on a vanity project that was supposed to “revitalize” the area.

The stranger smiled, his teeth a little too straight and white to be natural. Mr. Night and his tailored suits already stood out against the bleak backdrop of a dying town, but the light of the old streetlamps softened the sharp lines of his face. Nearly every busybody in town had stopped to casually mention how handsome and smart he was, how he was “just looking out for the community.” Maybe he was those things and maybe he did want to save the Valley—you didn’t know or care. All you could see standing in front of you was little more than a vulgar display of material wealth, a flashy disguise men like him used to hide their true intentions.

Primo would have wrinkled his nose at such a man, in the subtle, endearing way he used to try to mask his judgements before labelling the man “gauche” in a quiet whisper.

He would’ve been right.

“I’m so sorry,” Night muttered apologetically. “Are you closing up?”

His tone was soft and light. Friendly. An uneasy feeling washed over you—a sinking in your stomach that burned like acid. Seeing him up close, something about him was off. His appearance made your skin itch under the surface, like your own bones were trying to get away.

You took a step back and gave him a tight, but polite smile in return. “Oh, the shop closes at 8.”

He glanced at the expensive watch on his wrist. He tapped once on the face before shooting you another grin as he asked, “I have a few minutes then?”

“Of course,” you replied with all the saccharine-coated customer service pleasantness you could manage. Opening the door a little wider, you made a sweeping gesture with your hand. “Come on in.”

“Thank you. I promise not to take up too much of your time,” he assured you and slipped his hands into his pockets as he crossed the threshold. He wandered less than five feet before turning back to you, the leather of his shoes creaking with the movement. “I’m glad I caught you, Miss Emeritus.”

It was a simple statement, but it set you on edge. Alarm bells and the memory of Primo’s words rang loudly in your head, preventing you from responding for a moment. Be wary of strangers, Diavolina. No Matter how friendly they might seem. Your heart skipped a beat. What if this was exactly the kind of stranger Primo had warned you about?

“Call me Gia,” you replied, offering up the rest of the false identity you’d been wearing for years. Gia Emeritus: average Aurea Valley resident.

Night licked his lips, eyes sparkling with recognition. “Gia,” he repeated sweetly, his lips curling around your borrowed name before they upturned in a smile. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, Gia. I’m—”

“I know who you are, Mr. Night.”

“Oh?” he breathed in surprise. “Forgive me, I was so sure we hadn’t met—”

“We haven’t. But it’s difficult not to notice when a man like you suddenly shows up and buys half the town,” you informed him flatly.

“Ah, well,” he laughed nervously. “Fortunately, I’m not here to discuss business.”

“May I ask what you do wish to discuss?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I—I was hoping to meet you,” he admitted. “I thought I’d stop by and introduce myself, but I can see I’ve caught you in the middle of closing. My apologies.”

“It’s…fine,” you offered in a confused tone.

“Perhaps some other time,” he added and inclined his head before he spun around. He only took a few steps before he paused and turned back toward you. “It’s funny you mention it—the town, I mean. Isn’t it your family who owns the other half?”

“Mr. Night—”

“Please, call me Sebastian.”

“Mister. Night,” you stressed slowly through clenched teeth. “Is there something I can help you find?”

He smiled too brightly, a little too sinister for all those perfect little teeth. “I believe there is, but I’m afraid we’ll have to wait for another opportunity. Have a good night, Miss Emeritus.”

The door closed with a loud click and you slid the bolt into place, double checking the handle just to be sure. A shaky breath escaped your lips as you began to pace the length of the store. Miss Emeritus. You dug your nails into your palms, pressing awful little half-moons into your skin. Miss Emeritus, the smug voice repeated.

It wasn’t that he’d said it. You’d borrowed the name a long time ago and wore it so long nothing else really suited you. You were proud of that name, proud to have been given such a name. But this man—this stranger—didn’t use your name with the same respect the rest of the Valley had. He coated it in venom and spat it out like an insult. A threat—a thinly veiled one at that.

You quickly grabbed your things and headed out to your car, breath fogging up around you as winter settled in. Trying to calm yourself, you unfolded the thick paper of the familiar letter and stared down at the words between your fingers.

Diavolina,

Time is a luxury; one I took for granted in my old age. Naively, I thought you and I might enjoy more of it. There are many things I should have told you, so much I should have said during our time together. I suppose I assumed I would have the perfect chance someday.

Fate takes as well as it gives, and the consequences of my actions are further proof that none of us can outrun what has been set for us all. Not forever anyway. I am sorry for leaving you with such a terrible burden and little explanation. This is not what I wanted for you. The cottage is yours should you want it. I only ask that you give it time to grow on you and keep it in my name.

Yours eternally,

Primo Emeritus

P.S. Please don’t look for me, diavolina. I will return to you as soon as I can. Until then—be wary of strangers no matter how friendly they seem.

-x-

Fog settled into the low spaces of the Valley, covering the empty streets with a ghostly mist. The sharp snap of cold trailed closely behind, much too cold for this time of year. By morning the ground would be coated in a layer of frost that hides the traces of his careful footsteps, but Primo sank deeper into the shadows. The streetlamps, weathered and long overdue for replacement, burned a dim orange glow into the hazy atmosphere as the heavy air pressed against him like stones across his chest.

He crouched in the underbrush. Watching. Waiting. For what, he wasn’t quite sure. A sign, a signal, something more substantial than this feeling gnawing on his bones. It had been a long time since he’d felt something like this—felt like he was standing at the precipice of ruin. It wasn’t something he ever wanted to feel again.

A short distance away a fox skirted the tree line, cautiously sniffing the air. It moved away quickly, not daring to enter the woods. It darted over the road leaving only the sour scent of fear that stung the vampire’s nostrils. It wasn’t just the fox. Everything—the town, the woods, and the old abandoned highway that ran between seemed to be covered in an unfamiliar stench. A disgusting, acrid odor of despair and decay had overtaken the entire Valley.

Something was coming. Or worse, it was already here. It hardly mattered. There wasn’t a soul on this earth that could keep him from protecting you. This place could be headed straight for the Pit and he’d still let himself be damned a third time to save you. Maybe that was love. Or maybe he was just an old fool. He’d been alive long enough now not to know or care anymore. He’d been powerless in the face of time for centuries, stuck watching and endless ebb and flow. He’d seen more cities than he could name crumble only to be rebuilt and destroyed again. Unstoppable. Perpetual. No matter how long he lived, the cycle of creation and destruction carried on. All things pass; all things reborn.

A snake swallowing its own tail.

Perhaps he was the ouroboros stuck in an infinite loop, doomed to repeat his mistakes along the way. He wasn’t called back to this place because fate was kind. There was a price—there always was—but paying with his own suffering wasn’t enough this time.

The vampire stood; his eyes narrowed as he focused on the window of your little shop. If he could see you just once…Satanas, how he missed you. Your laugh. Your smile. Maybe he was nothing more than a desperate man after all these years, longing to bask in your presence once more. It was foolish, but he wished it all the same.

His breath caught in his throat as a break in the fog finally revealed your beautiful face. And you smiled—not at him, of course—but at the man in the dark suit seeking entrance to your shop. Some younger man he didn’t recognize was on the receiving end of your warm welcome. Perhaps you’d taken a lover in his absence, found someone who could give you the things he could not. Then again, maybe this was just the insane paranoia of a man who’d lived too long already, urged by fate’s unending desperation to taunt him.

Primo felt sick the second he heard it, that little tell-tale skip of your heartbeat. He wasn’t in the habit of eavesdropping on your conversations—you’d be furious if you knew—but he slowed his breath and turned every bit of his attention toward you.

“Call me Gia.”

His chest tightened. It was a name you’d used hundreds of times over the years, but it wasn’t really yours. The two of you had buried your real name beneath the cottage long ago and left your past interred next to his own terrible secrets. The man repeated your name, but Primo had heard enough. He kept watch long enough to see the man exit the shop. A few moments later you emerged, pulse quick but steady, as you climbed into that old car of his.

The wind carried a high, horrid sound through the trees, an incorporeal laughter that cut through his soul. He doubled over, body wracked with indescribable pain. He wished she would leave him be, to just sit back and let things unfold as they would. But fate wasn’t finished with him yet. His connection to you shouldn’t have been so strong. He hadn’t marked you; he would never dream of such a thing. But he could feel it all, each hair on the back of his neck down to the nerves in his teeth, every cell in his body screaming as something followed you.

more stuff by me // please please let me know if i missed your name on the tag list or if you would like to be added.

#my fics #suck club forever #mdni #primo x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #vampire primo #papa primo x reader #papa primo fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #x reader #reader insert

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