#I took the opportunity to include Hoist and Grapple

[seehowsupplethespineis]

The Decepticon House of Frights! (Part 3)

(I've given up promising to have this updated regularly. To all my fellow fanfic writers, you know how it is. Anyway, hope you all enjoy this update! I'm excited to finish this story...someday, haha.)

(Warnings: generic haunted house frights)

(Part 1, Part 2)

(AO3)

This was certainly a strange place to have a haunted house. Glancing around, Ironhide saw no one else in the vicinity, just a lot of vacant lots and rundown buildings. Not good for business, Ironhide thought, but then again, what did he know about Earth business? The painted, slightly smeared sign out front said this was the place, so that was good enough for him.

“Let’s go, gang,” He waved a servo to the rest of the Autobots. Not many had agreed to join this little venture, either claiming to be too busy or flat out disinterested. He and Spike practically had to beg those who did show up.

“Will this take overlong?” Grapple groused by Ironhide’s feet. Stubborn as usual, the boom truck still hadn’t transformed to bot mode.

“Got somewhere better to be?” Ironhide asked with no small amount of exasperation.

“If you must know,” Grapple sniffed, “I’m redesigning one of the Ark’s suites. It’ll be much more luxurious once I’m through.”

“Ooh, I call dibs!” Jazz declared with a grin.

“Certainly not! It’s for Hoist and I.”

“Grapple, we talked about this” Hoist interjected with some weariness, as if he’d had to remind Grapple of this multiple times, “We’re offering the suite to Prime, remember?”

If a truck could be said to roll its eyes, Grapple did just that, “Yes, yes, I remember…but the next suite is for us.”

Hoist patted his companion’s cab, “Of course. Now, come along. The sooner we’re through with this ‘haunting habitation,’ the sooner we can get back to work.”

“It’s called a ‘haunted house’, Hoist,” Spike reminded him, shaking his head, “We’ve been over this!”

Hoist merely chuckled while Grapple reluctantly transformed to root mode. Allowing Spike to lead the way, the Autobots filed into the haunted house.

The interior was dark, as was to be expected. Ironhide’s optics did their best to adjust to the dim light. Once they had, he noticed cobwebs on the walls- the same type he’d had trouble with a few days ago. Still sour from that experience, he steadfastly avoided brushing up against them. Behind him, he heard Grapple huff in irritation as a few strands caught on his hook. Hoist patiently helped him clear them away.

“So…what happens next?” Jazz asked into the silence. No sooner had he spoken than the door behind them slammed shut. Everyone jumped at the resounding bang- everyone except Ironhide, who laughed at everyone’s expense.

“Cool your circuits! We ain’t even started yet.”

So saying, he plunged ahead, everyone else hesitantly following after.

It was nearly pitch dark, with only slivers of light illuminating the way. Once his optics had adjusted to the gloom, Ironhide could make out rafters overhead, all strewn with fake cobwebs.

Scariest thing so far, he thought to himself.

Hearing noise ahead, he quickened his pace, everyone hastening to follow. Just as Jazz entered, something popped out of the gloom. 

“Cripes!” Jazz nearly jumped into Hoist’s arms as a ghost dropped down from the ceiling, complete with a white shroud that concealed whoever was beneath. As Jazz began to relax, another ghost dropped down, this time startling Bumblebee.

“Ah!” Instinctively, the yellow Autobot looked to his human friend for reassurance, only to find there was no sign of him.

“Spike? Where’d you go?”

Ironhide turned around on hearing the trepidation in his friend’s voice and heaved a sigh.

“He can’t have got far. Calm down and try not to step on him.”

The last remark only scared Bumblebee more, and he took to staring at the floor- which promptly gave way beneath them.

“Woah, hey!”

Before Bumblebee could say more, the Autobots had spilled onto the floor at least one story below. The impact was jarring and left everyone in a groaning heap- everyone except Ironhide. Despite Grapple’s foot in his face, the oldest Autobot laughed heartily.

“That was good! Almost got me there. Almost.”

“Oh, my aching processor!” Hoist moaned, “Why didn’t Spike tell us this ‘horror home’ would be so rough?”

“Speaking of,” Grapple added, “Everyone make sure no one squished him.”

After a once over, all five bots confirmed Spike’s gory remains weren’t to be seen. There was no trace of Spike at all.

“Okay, I’m going back up to look for him,” Bumblebee said.

“You’re just trying to get out of the rest of the haunted house.”

“No!” Bumblebee snapped, folding his arms, “Me and Spike’ll join you once I’ve found him, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ironhide waved him away. The smaller Autobot took a moment to glare at his senior before leaping back up the way they fell.

“And then there were four,” Jazz declared. His words were punctuated by a chilling howl emanating somewhere ahead.

“What was that?!” Grapple immediately backed away, seeking Hoist’s reassuring presence. It wasn’t there.

Spinning around, Grapple called out into the gloom, “Hoist?”

No response.

The yellow boom truck frantically looked to the others, to where Hoist should have been, and back again, “Where did he go?! He was just here!”

Jazz edged a little closer to Ironhide while Grapple continued to panic, “Uh, okay. I’m getting mad bad vibes from this place. What say we skidaddle?”

“Aw, Hoist an’ Spike are prob’ly just trying to razz us,” Ironhide cupped his servos around his mouth and shouted into the darkness ahead, “It ain’t gonna work!”

“Oh, I’d say it’s working,” Grapple hurried closer to his companions, “I’d say it’s working quite well!”

Ironhide snorted, the noise almost like a car horn, “Never thought I’d see the day when real pink-blooded Autobots would turn robo-chicken!”

“Think what you like. I’m leaving!” So saying, Grapple looked to the hole in the floor they’d fallen through. To his surprise and horror, it had been covered.

“I daresay someone is trying to trap us!”

“Nonsense!” Ironhide exclaimed, “I’d know if this was a trap.”

“Whatever, man,” Jazz tried to keep his voice level, though something like radio static edged his words, “If this ain’t a trap, then lead the way to the end so we can get out.”

“Gladly!”

The howling from up ahead hadn’t stopped. As the three remaining Autobots drew nearer, it morphed into snarls. Jazz and Grapple froze in their tracks, optics straining to see anything in the darkness ahead. Ironhide continued forward at a brisk pace. Not wanting to be left behind, the other two hurried after.

Ironhide hadn’t made it another two steps before twin screams pierced his audio receptors. With a dramatic sigh, he slowly spun around to see what had spooked his friends now. What greeted him was a larger figure in a hooded cloak.

Ironhide crossed his arms, “Really, this is what spooked ya?”

Neither Grapple nor Jazz responded, so Ironhide craned to see around the figure. 

“Where’d you two go?”

He got no reply other than the phantom advancing slowly toward him. As a so-called “real pink-blooded Autobot,” Ironhide held his ground.

“You don’t scare me, none. Now where’d my friends run off to?”

The hooded figure didn’t offer any answers. A bit fed up, Ironhide went to question him some more, when something like the sound of an animal’s claws scraping across the floor caught his attention. Ironhide had barely glanced down before something small and agile rammed into his legs. With a grunt, the truck pitched over onto his backside. Grimacing, he followed the sound of pawsteps, only catching a glint of glaring red eyes before the beast disappeared.

The hooded figure advanced more rapidly on seeing its prey downed. Ironhide glared up at it.

“Listen here, ya freaky phantom! I don’t know what game yer playin’, but I’ll have you know I ain’t the kinda bot you can-”

That was as far as he got before the figure suddenly lunged, enveloping Ironhide in its shroud. A shriek resounded throughout the haunted house just then, though Ironhide would deny it til the day he was offlined.

[will-on-the-internet]

All The Time | Aaron Hotchner

SUMMARY: Sometimes Aaron had weekends when he had no work to complete, and for him, they were the best types of weekends, because he got to pleasure you like you deserved.

WARNINGS: SMUT, MINORS DNI, Soft Dom!Hotch, choking, fingering, rough sex, unprotected sex (be safe!), penatrative sex, vagina, no pronouns used for reader.

A/N: My first Criminal Minds request, and the first piece I’ve ever written for Hotch. Remember, my requests are open for Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotcher, Emily Prentiss and JJ! Just send in an ask or message me!

REQUEST: Would love a hotch/reader smut/romantic relationship...please NO angst, include rough sex and choking with soft dom Hotch!

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Weekends without reports to be submitted or a new criminal to catch were rare for Aaron Hotchner. So rare in fact, that the whole first half of Saturday had him glancing at his mobile, waiting for it to ring and pull him back into the chaotic world of murders, victims, and insane cases.

But by the time Saturday night rolled around and dinner had been had, he knew he was in the clear, knew he had the weekend to spend with you. And for a man who often felt like he didn’t have enough time for his loved ones, he wasn’t going to waste this perfect opportunity to be with you.

You were laying against him on the couch, the top of your head tucked just underneath his chin, a small smile on your face as you mindlessly watched the TV in front of you, Aaron’s large hands holding your waist and lips pressing kisses to your hair line. For the two of you, it was a perfect Saturday night, spent in each other’s company after drinking a couple glasses of wine and sharing some Indian take out for dinner. For once, Aaron was home on a weekend, and you were wrapped in his loving embrace as his long fingers dipped under the material of your shirt and started rubbing gentle patterns against the skin of you back and waist.

You knew instantly what he was aiming at, and when you caught a glimpse of his growing smirk as you let out a blissful sigh, he knew that you had caught on to his plan. Adjusting yourself, you leaned your arms on his chest and looked right at him, smile widening as his grip on your waist tightened.

“I gotta say, having you home is pretty nice.” Your words were quiet but caught his attention over the sound of the TV.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that, darling?” His lips were slowly moving closer to yours, so tantalizingly close that you nearly couldn’t resist kissing him. But you had other plans.

“Well, it’s not often we get to be like this, relaxing and having dinner and not acting as if a lot of the world is out to get us. It’s nice to just have some silence, it’s nice not to have your phone ringing or my pager going off.” He hums in response, hot breath against the skin of your cheek, and as you adjust yourself once more to straddle his waist, weighing down against his already hardening cock, you know you’ve got him, hook line and sinker.

But what you don’t know, is that he had this all planned out ever since you laid against him on the couch.

“Mhm, that is true.” His hands are moving lower slowly, cupping your ass, and eliciting a sharp whine from you when he gives it a squeeze, lips pulling up into a shit eating grin. “But do you know what I think is the best thing about being home?” His lips were on your skin then, tongue against your neck and teeth grazing your pulse point as your eyes widened in surprise at how the table suddenly turned on you.

“What-what’s the best thing about being home, sweetheart?” You could barely form a sentence as his fingers squeezed the globes of your ass and his mouth nipped at your jaw, his eyes bright with want and need.

“Knowing I have all the time in the world to fuck you, to take you apart on my fingers and cock and to turn you into such a pretty little thing on this couch.” Aaron had you moaning then, the sound slipping out from your gritted teeth as he started to peel your shirt off you.

You tried to catch his lips, tried to kiss him like you so desperately wanted to, but Aaron wasn’t having it, instead sending you a frown and hands coming up to cup your face.

“Uh, uh, baby, I’m not going to kiss you until I think you deserve it. Now be good.” His words were firm but soft, and you knew that he was going to make you feel so insanely good, even if you had to wait a while.

He shifted the both of you then, moving on the couch so your body was laid delicately under his and his frame hovered over you, caging you in and making you see only him, his chapped lips, and broad shoulders.

Aaron started his ministrations then, lips attaching themselves to your collarbone and neck, sucking deep purple marks into your skin with fingers toying with the waist band of your track pants. You knew you needed to be good, needed to do what Aaron wanted if you were going to get the relief you so badly wanted, but as his mouth pressed against the skin of your breast that was spilling out of your bra, you knew you were closer than either of you imagined, hips bucking into his. He let out a warm laugh as he looked down at you, took in your embarrassed expression that only made his smirk widen.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so needy, sweet girl. You must really want me.” You nodded back at him, letting out another moan when he pulled your pants off you, fingers quickly pressing into your clit through the material of your underwear. “Well then, I did want to take my time with you right now, but I can always do that later.”

“Please, Aaron, fuck, I want you.” Your lover didn’t hesitate to slip a finger in your then, pushing your underwear to the side and curling his finger so you felt the full stretch. His other hand yanked at the cups of your bra, not even bothering to fully take the flimsy material off you, watching as your breasts spilled out, waiting for his hot mouth to envelop them.

Suddenly you were seeing stars, his lips tugging at your nipples and hand in your pussy that was pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He could feel you, filled with your escaping juices and nearing putty in your hands, and Aaron could only smile down at you, pulling away for a moment to tuck some hair behind your ears.

“God, you look so beautiful, baby. Looking so perfect. How the hell did I end up deserving you?” He didn’t wait for an answer because he finally kissed you.

It was like you had reached heaven, his lips on yours and hands all over your body. He kissed like it was going to be his last one, with so much need and want and love all rolled into one it nearly sent you into a frenzy, grappling to hold onto whatever part of him you could reach. His hand was moving faster in you then, three fingers thrusting in and out of you as you whined and whimpered against his open mouth.

He surrounded you, his body the only thing you could see, his dark pupils blown and hair a mess as you ran your hand through it, tugging it slightly when he bit into your lip. Aaron knew exactly what to do to turn you into a mess in his arms, your chest raising erratically as his free hand tugged and groped at your breasts, the touch of his skin feeling like flames against your skin.

“C’mon baby, I can feel you, you’re so close to cumming on my fingers. Be a good girl darling and cum for me.” You were gone then, sinking into his embrace as you flooded his fingers, mouth opening for a silent moan and eyes near rolling to the back of your head as Aaron littered kisses all over your face and neck, soothing you as you came down from your high. “There we go, good girl. You’re so good for me, darling.”

He pulled his fingers from his mouth, watching as your cum slowly dripped off them, before taking his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean as you melted once before his eyes, a desperate whimper sounding through the room. He helped you out of your soaked underwear and bra that still was some how hanging onto your body, and then shucked his own clothes off, becoming a pristine piece of artwork, all sculptured muscle with rosy skin and sharp angles that nearly made you want to weep.

He hoisted you up as he sat back on his legs, moving you so that your legs hung loosely around his hips and your body was arched up, pillow behind your head.

“Now, as much as I want to go slow with you, I think you need me to much. So, what do you, baby?” His lips were tugging at the lobe of your ear, pressing himself against as you felt his thick cock against your stomach, warm and throbbing and already leaking with precum.

“Make me yours, Aaron. Do what you want to me.” As soon as he grinned at you, a grin that was wolfish and made your toes curl, you knew you had made the right choice. And Aaron didn’t hesitate, making quick work of stroking himself and lining himself up before pushing right in, not giving you any time to adjust.

Aaron pounded into you, rough and hard like he knew you wanted it, making you moan like he knew he could. Watching the muscles of his hips move and his cock slide into you, you nearly couldn’t keep focus on everything around you, losing your grip of reality as his mouth came down once again to suck on your breasts, not once losing his pace.

He was covered in sweat, and the noises that filled the room were feral, a growl leaving his mouth when you scratched his back.

That was when he changed, his eyes turning completely dark and his hips knocking into yours with such ferocity that you were worried he was going to knock you off the couch. And then his hand was around your neck, stroking it as you whimpered at his touch, not knowing how to cope with all the pleasure that was flooding your veins.

“Fuck you would look so pretty with my hand around your neck, so damn hot baby.” He wasn’t applying any pressure, not wanting to pass any boundaries, and giving you the moment to decide what you wanted, but as soon as you placed a hand on his and nodded, he was gone.

“Do, Aaron, I’m yours.” He sucked in a moan at your words, and then slowly applied a light pressure, wary of how much you could handle. He was still thrusting into you and you could tell he was close, his eyes closing in pleasure for a moment before they snapped back upon to watch you come undone under his hand and filled with his cock. “Please, Aaron, more.” You gripped his shoulder, trying to edge him on further as his thrusts became sloppy. “I need more, Aaron.”

“You need more, sweet thing? Then I’m going to give it to you.” He nearly split you in half with how hard he thrusted in then, earing a shocked but pleasure filled shriek as his hand still gripped your throat. He lifted you so that you were nearly folded in half, and he gazed down at you hungrily, watching as your breasts shook and how your face contorted in pleasure and eyes rolled to the back of your head.

You screamed when you came, soaking him and clenching around him in a way that had him seeing red and cumming with you, filling you up with his cum as you went limp, spent and resting right on the line of pleasure and over stimulation. His hand dropped from your throat, leaving a red hand mark on your skin. He collapsed next to you, shifting his weight so that you laid on top of him again, an arm flung around your waist as you pressed your face to his neck, slowly coming down from your high that left you shaky and breathing heavily. The both of you were slick with sweat, covered in each other’s cum and wrapped up in an embrace of love and comfort.

“Fuck, Aaron. I didn’t expect that to happen.” You spoke softly against his skin, your hand lazily drawing patterns on his chest, cradled close to your lover, who made no attempt in letting you go.

“Did, I hurt you at all? I know the choking thing was new for us.” You shook your head, running a hand through his hair that was longer than usual, a lack of time causing him to miss his usual hair appointments with the barber.

“No, baby. You didn’t hurt me at all. I actually think it was quite hot.” He smirked at your response, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips and entangle your fingers with his.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm, I thought it was very hot, Aaron. Definitely something that suits you.” He chuckled at your words, then smiled down at you as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull his mouth closer once again.

“Well then, I’ll keep that in mind. Now how about we take this upstairs? I think our large bed is going to be more comfortable than our couch, especially if tonight’s going to continue.” He didn’t even reply, just stood up and hoisted you into his arms, lips once again attached to yours before he walked towards the stars.

Sometimes Aaron longed for a case to come his way, to catch another bad guy and to save another helpless victim. Sometimes he longed for his desk at the BAU, to be surrounded by his team and friends, discussing the latest crime, and profiling the newest unsub. And sometimes, he only longed for you, your body, and your time, wanting to give you everything he had, wanting to be with you for as long as he could, until the world called him back to the chaos and danger.

And you, you were happy to wait for him, something he was forever grateful for.

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[sonofsallyjackson]

Heroes of Olympus should have been in first-person.

@jo-march-is-a-lesbian​ wrote a really wonderful post about how “Percy Jackson and the Olympians is better than Heroes of Olympus…because it understood simplicity and character development.”  It highlights some reasons I also found HoO less rewarding namely that it was an overcomplicated story with limited character growth, lacked a common thesis, and was super jarring when it switched perspectives.  

And with that my little brain went: I can fix this.  Which frankly is ridiculous.  I can’t come up with a compelling thesis like “The idea that we should place our hope in our loved ones, our friends and our family, and if we do that, we won’t be tempted to give up hope again.”   But I can imagine a simple change that would have solved some of the issues and also played to Rick’s strengths as a writer:  Each book should have been written in first person and narrated by a different character.

With so many people on the quest, I often felt like I was watching a bunch of one-dimensional characters fight for their right to be the main character.  I didn’t know who to focus on but I was also dissatisfied.  There were all these new wonderful characters in front of me who I wanted to love, but I didn’t feel like I actually knew them.  I mean I don’t feel like I know the Stoll Brothers either, but I’m not concerned about that fact because they are side characters.  When everyone is painted as the main character,  I have certain expectations for growth, personality, and voice.  The story would have been better served if the characters took turns narrating the action, allowing us to settle into their perspective, see their growth, and better understand their personality.

Plus Rick kills first-person.  While I’m not particularly a fan of Trials of Apollo, it’s not because I don’t know the characters.  Apollo is so very different than Percy. Their voices, even though they can both be jokesters at times, reflect their different life-experiences, thought processes and provide massive insight into their characters.   If the Seven (and Nico and Reyna) got the same treatment, I would be absolutely giddy.  

I recognize that rewriting the HoO series in first-person is something a talented fanfiction writer with a lot of time on their hands could actually do.  But I am not talented like that and I certainly don’t have the discipline to actually write that much fic, especially if I was trying to keep the events vaguely the same just with different narration and pacing.  So instead I’ve included who I think should have narrated each book below the cut.  I’d love to hear any opinions people have regarding this idea, especially who they would have wanted to see to narrate each book.

In addition to picking the narrator, I’ve highlighted what should be the “quest” so to speak of each story.  Personally, MoA, HoH and BoO are kind of a blur to me despite reading them all recently.  It’s hard to distinguish what happens in each book because it’s all one massive quest with a whole bunch of mini-quests.    While the different narrators would obviously make the books more distinctive, splitting the series into seven books would also help simplify each book’s individual goal.  Eight books would have allowed for better integration of the plot to find the physician’s cure, but with the prophecy of seven, it seemed like seven books was the best option, if I was going to be doing something as blasphemous as splitting books.   

As a note, I ran out of steam as I went so not all opinions are fully fleshed out. 

Book 1:  The Lost Hero The Quest: Rescue Hera/Juno Narrator:  Jason 

Why this would be cool: 

He is literally Juno’s chosen sent on a quest to rescue her.  It’s poetic enough to give him the book.

Jason’s journey is just as much about rediscovering himself as it is about saving Juno.   Of the new characters, I feel like I understand Jason the least. Mainly because I felt like I was missing the entire first half of his story.  Jason, like Percy and Annabeth, is a hero of the Titan War. I know some of his accomplishments, but I don’t have any bearing on what his life was like or how he felt about it.   He doesn’t seem like the type to relish Praetor-ship since he doesn’t have the same intense need to get back to his camp as Percy.  Was he just hoisted on his comrades’ shields after killing the Titan without any real choice in the matter? Give me Jason’s memories coming back slowly over the course of the quest (with potentially a fractured memory of a mistake he made in the Roman’s final Titan battle that makes him doubt their ability to both rescue Piper’s dad and save Hero but he makes the decision to anyway because he can’t just hurt his friend like that.   Let me understand how Jason is the person he is today.  Give me glances of the Roman Camp with emphasis on the heavy expectations that have always followed him as the son of Jupiter and foreshadow why he eventually chooses to design all the shrines for the minor gods so he can have his own place in the world as a figure between the two camps.

Let’s dive into those feelings of anger/guilt/resentment when people at camp are disappointed with him for not being Percy or in Chiron’s case are nervous about what his presence means. 

I want to dig deeper regarding Jason’s feelings about reconnecting with Thalia.  He knows that if the gods hadn’t been determined to keep the two camps completely separate, he could have grown up with his sister. 

What does telling the narrative like this sacrifice:  

We miss some of the internal turmoil regarding the fact that Piper’s Dad has been captured and she must betray her friends. 

We also don’t feel the tensions of Piper’s relationship with Aphrodite. I don’t see Piper bringing up the conversation with her mom saying that her mist memories were so strong because she automatically sensed the potential of a romantic relationship with Jason.  

We don’t have any of Leo’s conflicted feelings regarding rescuing Hera or his fear of being made an outcast for his fire abilities.  Jason has to go with Leo to discover Bunker 9 and Festus.  

Leo doesn’t actively save the day with the Cyclops. 

We don’t know how Piper feels about her charm-speak or see her defeat Madea (as the boys are in their weird trance thing). 

Knowledge about Gaea’s involvement in wrecking Leo’s life will come later.  

Book 2: The Son of Neptune The Quest: Free Thantos Narrator:  Hazel

Why this would be cool: 

The stakes are so incredibly high. Hazel is literally risking her second chance at life by agreeing to go on this chance.  She’s going to the place she died to fight the monster she created. She also has to deal with the trauma of knowing she may have bought the world time with her first sacrifice but it now means nothing if she can’t succeed again.  

We get to see Camp Jupiter from the view of someone who loves it but doesn’t really fit in.  Hazel joined Camp Jupiter just after the final battle.  She enters a community that has learned to fight as a well-oiled machine but that has lost people.  Dakota or the others may remark to her about how things were before or the people who are missing.  Hazel sees a community that she’s not quite a part of both because she didn’t fight in the war and because she’s in the fifth cohort with a feared godly parent.

It would explore her relationship with Nico more (because I love their dynamic and I want more).   She knows she can’t replace his real sister, but she feels comfortable and happy at the opportunity to have a brother, especially one who is out of time like she is.   

What does telling the narrative like this sacrifice:  

Frankly, the largest pushback would be from the fans who expected this to be Percy’s book since we just watched Jason rediscover who he is.

Percy’s phone call to his mom doesn’t have the same intensity.  

Frank’s relationship with Mars and how desperate he was to be claimed but now he doesn’t think he can live up to his father’s expectations.  

Frank and his grandmother.  We aren’t in Frank’s head as he changes shape till later.  

Book 3: Mark of Athena The Quest: Close the Divide Between The Two Camps by finding Athena’s statue and Rescue Nico Narrator(s):  Annabeth and Leo

Why Annabeth: 

So I can have all the emotions at the reunion with Percy.  

Annabeth’s relationship with her Mom has never been great, but imagine beginning the book with Annabeth being given the Mark of Athena. They haven’t left for New Rome yet and her nerves are already all over the place.  Then Athena/Minerva comes, gives her an impossible quest, and breaks her hat.   Annabeth wants to prove to her mother that she’s worthy because despite everything she still values her mother’s opinions.  Also her fatal flaw of hubris makes her believe she will succeed where everyone else failed.

Much of the book already follows her in third person limited so we just get things with a little extra emotion.  

Why Leo:  

Leo has to grapple with the fact he started this war by being the one to fire the cannon even if he didn’t have any control.  He is motivated to fix it

If we’re going to include the Sammy plot, we need to do it now.   Leo doesn’t like being the odd one out on the ship but he certainly doesn’t like the feeling of being notable because of his grandfather.  

We still need to get into those feelings of abandonment and anger at Gaea for killing his mom.  

Nemesis 

Leo comes into his own with the discovery of the Archimedes sphere and the decision to value people over objects.  

What does telling the narrative like this sacrifice:

The aquarium shenanigans 

The fight between Jason and Percy in Kansas needs to happen differently so that the others are present and try to stop it.  

Neither of them went ashore to meet Hercules.  

I think we might need to move up the Calypso meeting to this book, but that also kills some of the suspense since Frank will have the fireproof coating prior to his adventures in Venice when he gains faith in his abilities.  It also might mean Leo opens the fortune cookie from Nemesis unless for some odd reason he doesn’t have it.  There’s a lot more narrative weight for it coming later, but in order to get in as many book events as we can in, it might need to come earlier. 

Book 4:  House of Hades Pt. 1

The Quest: Survive Tartarus Narrator(s): Annabeth and Percy

The first time I read House of Hades, I read it out of order (reading all the Percy and Annabeth chapters until they were on the elevator out of Tartarus before going back and reading the others), because I couldn’t handle the back and forth.  I felt like the tension would build, I’d be invested in this plot and then we’d switch to the other plot. Plus I was very concerned for my children.  So I feel fully justified in saying that there is more than enough material to give the two of them their own book.

I just feel like all the feelings would be magnified.  

Percy’s commentary slowly losing its humor because he can’t anymore.

Annabeth’s guilt at having pulled him in being extra loud.  

Downsides beyond adding an entire book: Just imagine all the outrage at two cliffhangers in a row, because you know the book would end with them in the elevator remembering Bob’s words about the stars.   

Book 5:  House of Hades Pt. 2

The Quest:  Close the Doors of Death Narrator(s): Frank and Hazel

Frank and Hazel experience the most growth on the quest to close the doors so this book is all theirs.  Hazel learns to control the mist.  Frank experiments with his transformations.  I want nothing but them growing into themselves and their abilities.  

The good thing about turning the two warring storylines from House of Hades into separate books is that we lose very little plot.  

Book 6:  House of Hades Pt. 3/Blood of Olympus Pt 1 (Personally I would call this one Ambassador of Pluto)

The Quest:  Unite the Gods’ Personalities. Narrator: Nico

To clarify what I mean by HoH 3, I just mean anything done with the intention of trying to cross paths with Reyna, including the adventure with Cupid, in addition to the existing Nico&Reyna plotline in BoO.  

Nico dealing with all the emotions and his most recent near-death experience.

He kept the secret of the camps so the world wouldn’t end in chaos, but now that the world is in chaos he will be the one to fix it.  

In the short time he’s on the Argo 2, Nico realizes that even though this wasn’t his quest; this is his family and he needs to protect them.  

The reader has a pretty good idea Nico is gay, even if the word isn’t explicitly said from the descriptions (his guilty Percy thoughts - he let down the man he loves even if he won’t admit it.) This means that Cupid’s forceful outing is potentially less surprising so the reader can be properly outraged at Cupid.  

Downside: Reyna definitely has adventures when Nico is passed out, especially the whole waking up with the Hunters, but I think it’s excusable for a whole book from Nico’s perspective.  

Also, the battle between the camps and gifting of the statue needs to happen in this book, but we shouldn’t find out if the gods have regained control of their forms yet.  We alleviate some tensions because Camp Half-blood is likely to be overrun with Octavian’s monsters instead of the Roman armies and Gaea could awaken any second, but there’s an odd moment of calm and an uneasy truce.  (Octavian is potentially taken under custody to be held for trial only to escape in the next book.) 

Book 7:  Blood of Olympus Pt 2 (and the aftermath)

The Quest:  Like The Last Olympian, the final book’s focus is entirely on defeating the series’ big bad, in this case, Gaea.  Leo’s quest for the Physician’s cure parallels Percy’s River Styx visit.  

Narrator(s):  Leo and Piper

Leo has his death hanging over his head.  He has decided that he will be the one to die not any of his friends.  He got the cloth from Calypso so the “fire” portion of the prophecy applies to him and not Frank.  (Yes I know you can’t control prophecies, but do you think that’s going to stop Leo.)  

It’s the ultimate revenge for killing his mom.  We can have memories of both the happy times with Esperanza and the fear he felt for thinking he caused the fire. 

Piper’s perspective is necessary as we need to be with her during the fight with the giants.   

This series began with Piper, Leo, and Jason.  It ends that way too with the three of them killing Gaea and the two of them narrating.  

Downsides: 

The Percabeth I love you-the feud is over scene remains in Piper’s perspective.  

Since we’re not following Reyna’s delivery of the statue concurrently we don’t know when to anticipate the healed gods appearing in the battle with the giants.  

The book can still get away with not showing us Percy’s reunion with Sally or forcing Leo to tell the others he’s alive so they’re all grieving. 

[alitheamateur]

The Grind-Chapter 10

Warnings: Violence. 

Round Two

Mendez wasted no valuable time in attacking Colton when the bell for the second round rang out. Three left jabs connected to Colt’s rock-hard jawbone, and he rattled his head as if to shake off the confused stupor clouding him.

“Don’t let him back you into the cage, Colton!! Get off the cage!!” Mac coned his mouth to project the cries of instruction.

The newly named “punisher” masked his stubbled cheeks and doubled over, flexing his abs to lessen the blow of the jabs he was suffering at the hands of The “Matador” Mendez. Colt was able to duck beneath the repetitive one-one-two-one-two pattern and escape. Danny turned swiftly on his right foot to directly meet a lightening surged, spinning back fist produced by Colton that couldn’t have been more perfectly executed had it been wrapped in a floppy red bow. The fastens of the championship belt were metaphorically loosening from the waist of the current title holder. Mendez collapsed wobbly to land at the feet of his assassin, while the rest of the room, myself included, rose in entirety for confirmation that Mendez was rendered unconscious.

A mumbled “shit” rolled over my bitten tongue when he scraped his busted body off the mat, and I realized there was still some fight left in him. Too much for my liking, as a matter of fact. Colt detected Danny was standing on loose bearings, fully primed to finish him off so that referee could lift his likely shattered hand in victory.

“Brett, I’ve taken many a hit like the one Ritter just slung, and I can promise you that Dan doesn’t even know where the hell he is right now.” The retired fighter turned announcer crumpled his nose as The Matador staggered clumsily about the confines of the cage.

Beads of sweat waterfalled from Colton, while it appeared he had turned Mendez’s sweat to blood now. Crimson mist from the brutal blow veiled my Colt’s face in sprayed decoration, leaving him to resemble a battling Spartacus. He was hunting the afflicted animal of his adversary, who was obviously giving his best efforts to remain untouched the dwindling minutes of the round. Effort that sadly for Danny was in vain as his Punisher cornered him with panther like reflexes, unleashing combative hammer fists to his crouched torso. A strident roar more chilling than that of any jungle predator crawled from Colton’s straining, veined throat as he was peeled away from Danny, who was now quaking in the momentary safety of his corner until the next bell rang out beginning the third round.

Colton’s posse catered to his unsteady breathing chest by smashing ice packs to his pecks, and blotching back muscles, leaving Mac to pour water into his gapping mouth. My eyes drooped in mesmerizing ignorance upon the realization of what the world of competitive fighting really entailed. Men who chose this career path were born with the hearts of gladiators, and unfaltering dedication that I deeply admired. When I wisped back to the present moment, my dilated eyes were matched with the two belonging to Colton. His mouth drawn into an expressionless line, jaws flexing in tension, he held onto my gazes for only a moment, however long enough to feel as if I would suffocate from the intensity. It was like he wanted to assure me that he knew I was there, and where exactly. And that he was okay.

One Sunday over brunch at his favorite greasy diner he shut up my harassment of questions.

“You’re gonna have to cool it with the worryin’, woman. Have some faith in me, ight! When you tell me about a story you been workin’ on you don’t hear me sayin’, ‘You sure you wanna do that?’ or ‘that’s a lotta pressure, baby.’ Because I know how amazing you are at what you do, and I got total confidence you’re gonna make that story your bitch. I appreciate the concern. Honestly love, I do. But it’s gonna be fine, I promise ya’.” And in his eyes, tonight in that ring, he reiterated that very same Sunday brunch pep talk.

 Round Three

Colton had appeared to have jumped the proverbial hurdle described as Danny Mendez. Now, we just needed to cross that finish line, and cross it first. There was no way Dan could withstand another round like the previous two, physically or mentally. He was all but a whipped pup whimpering at his master’s feet by this point, but Colt had to finish him. Seal the deal, as they say.

“C’mon, baby. C’mon, baby,” I chanted through clenched teeth, my nervous hands clasped to each side of the chair to protect my newly manicured nail polish from being whittled away in edginess.

Light hands were being tossed between the two men, nothing quite connecting initially. However, when Mendez carried out a right hook resembling Rocky  himself to Colt’s left cheek, he was triggered. From several feet back, separated by a metal cage, a waist high barricade, and two rows of people, I had chills from the look on his face. Raw rage was swirling in Colt’s blue eyes that must be like mood rings because I would swear with every ounce of me that they melted to a muddled charcoal grey shade as his murderous ferment grew.  Blow after blow. Swing, after swing, after swing rained from his hands of steel, some connecting, most not. His overpowering fury and lack of control was swelling all too quickly.

A wonky, sloppily executed move sent him clumsily into the grasp of Mendez, who perfectly seized the fluky opportunity. When Colt nearly knelt to reach for the leg The Matador, his nose and sharp cheekbone crashed to the thigh of Danny. The muscled, male flesh grappling along the blood tarnished canvas was more jumbled to me than the most abstract piece of Picasso. Finally, when the bodies settled a little, I was able to distinguish better what was unfolding. The Punisher’s clearly weakening forearm was constricted between the bulging limbs of Danny.  I subconsciously lunged out of my seat, for a millisecond forgetting what my role truly was here tonight. Not Colton’s girlfriend, not a woman concerned for the well-being of the man she loved, but a columnist for the Pilot. So, as quickly as I was up, I was regretfully seated, left to repel the blazing desire I had to hop that padded retaining wall and run to where Mac stood to be at the side of my Colton.

His face buried into the upper body of his attacker, who was using his hooked arms to ease Colt’s elbow to the back side of his neck. Silencing the uproar of the crowd, and the desperate grimaces coming from the ring, and I could almost hear the tendons buried under my boyfriends tanned skin creaking in stretch, nearing a tear.

“FOLKS IT IS HAPPENING RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW. If you’re not seeing this one first hand boys and girls, you should be! Danny with the flawless Kimura Lock, Brett. Will Ritter be able to escape this one?” The analyst screamed.

We’d been over arm bars, bare naked chokes, bow and arrow chokes, triangle chokes. Many nights I spent cross legged against the ring post watching Colton perform, and escape nearly every martial arts submission known to man. But the word Kimura didn’t draw any recognition when I heard the broadcaster scream it to the world. Seconds as long as the day ticked, ticked, ticked by. 44 seconds remaining… 41…….. 35……….. Suddenly, the tapping of a submissive hand to the mat. 

A hand strapped in black gloves. Gloves marked Ritter. Mendez was ceased by flailing hands of the ring official, signaling the end of the battle. His victorious hand raised to display, mouthpiece hanging out the left of his lip. In all my life, you could’ve never convinced me this egotistical, loud mouth, headache of a man would commit the act he did next. Squatting to his still face down, defeated opponent, Danny looped his arms under those belonging to Colton, hoisted him to his feet, and embraced him with patted hands into a hug. He had secured their heads together with a palm to crown of his submitters head, and began preaching unheard praises in his ear. Colton responded with knowing nods of appreciation, and the pair were torn apart for the official call from the referee. Not hanging around to partake in the celebration of his defeat, Colton snuck through the opened door of the cage, seeking the escape to his dressing room, away from the shutterbugs in his face, and microphones chasing him. I hoped maybe his eyes would happen to fall my way, wanting to gift him with a smile of support, or even a frown of understanding. But when the pace of his slightly bowed, unmistakably masculine gait increased toward the tunnel, never raising his face from the floor, a heap of strife bloomed in the pits of my stomach.    

 Regretfully I had to stay & witness “almighty” Mendez once again take the belt back into his slimy hands. This reign was beginning to smell stagnant to most of the fan base across the board, and Colton seemed to be the knight with the best chance at snagging the crown right from his head. Much, much to my surprise, Danny’s first post-victory radio interview began with the unexpected praises of one Colton.

“First of all, I want to thank Ritter for giving me what may have been the most challenging match of my life. The pendejo prick can throw a jab, I’ll give him that.”

Despite the uniquely gracious compliment, the guy still rubbed me the wrong way.

The arena emptied quite quickly, and most of the media frenzied their way to the locker room area for the press conference, coveting to be front row. But I was very familiar with how anything “post” event played out. The athletes and/or coaches usually took their painfully precious time for our brains to rot in waiting, then when they did eventually decide to grace us with their usually self-proclaiming marvelous appearance, it would include all of answering maybe two questions, before storming out. So clearly, I was in no hurry and I figured I had a solid half hour to check on Colt beforehand.

Beth, Michael, and Mac stood identically against the cold concrete of the walls, arms folded about their chest. His mom acknowledged me first.

“Liv dear, hey there!” she drew my hands into hers. “How are you? I’m sure as disappointed as we are…”

“It really is a shame. He had it won, too! He has nothing to be ashamed of though, that’s for sure! Even Mendez was kinda singing his praises out there. Guess that’s just how the world of fighting goes sometimes, unfortunately. How is he?”

Beth never released my hands when looking to her sternly quite husband standing to the left of her.

“Kid won’t see anyone, honey. Got Mac here guarding the door like a rabid dog. This is pretty typical for him. ‘Specially after a loss.” Michael seemed accustomed to said behavior from his son. Annoyed, but accustomed nonetheless.

Beth on the other hand, looked as if she was profoundly saddened that her baby boy didn’t need his momma during a time like this. Her lips tucked in, forehead scrunched in concern.

“Maybe I can raise his spirits a bit, hm?” I gently brushed my soft thumbs to the tops of her hands in efforts to comfort her, then released her hold.

Before I could even wrap a finger around the sliver handle of the door he was hiding behind, Mac’s forearm dropped even between my waist level and the door, reflexes like that of a cat on a tin roof.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I can’t let you go in there. Just doin’ as I’m told, you understand.”

Those rules didn’t apply to me, silly Mac. I’m the woman he loves for crying out loud! I’d hate to be you when he finds out you’re keeping me away for him, ya’ poor sap.

“Just tell him I’m here, Mac. Please?”

His eyes grew to resemble large, glossy marbles and he exhaled in annoyance, disappearing into the room. I combed and teased fingers through my hair, and casually reapplied a layer of Chapstick to my now festering lips resulting from the nervous biting throughout the fight. No sooner than the door had latched behind him, Mac had stepped back out into the now hectic hallway.

“I uh… I’m sorry, Miss Liv. Colt doesn’t wanna see anyone right now.”

“Did you specifically tell him it was ME, Mac,” I quizzically pried, laying both hands over my chest.

“Yes ma’am. Mentioned you by name…” He was bashful, almost embarrassed for me, and probably half pissed at his buddy for appointing him the bearer of bad news.

Shame flushed me head to toe. I would’ve buried my head six feet in the sand that very moment, mortified with humiliation. Let me clarify, I could’ve buried Colton himself six feet under the cold dirt first, then my head. My thumb started to flick my pointer finger, a nervous tick engaging.

“Oh darling, don’t take it personally, okay? The boy will be all apologies once he snaps out of this little tantrum he’s throwing. I’m sure if it.” Beth said unintentionally patronizing.

“No, no. Um… it’s totally fine. Yeah, um.. I’ve gotta get to the post conference anyways so… Beth, it’s so, so good to see you both. Maybe we can meet you guys for breakfast or something in the morning before you head home?”

I could feel my throat tightening with the extreme effort I was giving to hold the dam of tears from bursting. I wasn’t even necessarily hurt, it was the fact that he had made me look like an absolute fool, and in front of his parents, nonetheless. Now, I’m sure they saw me as just another spineless, dense airhead hanging on the coattails of their handsome, prized son.

“Good to see you too, girl. You be careful gettin’ home now.” Michael pointed a finger in my face, while patting my shoulder with the other.

The uneven patter of my heels echoed down the hall, denying the invitation to the pity party they were about to throw for me. The pouting baby wouldn’t face me? There would be no escaping me at the conference though. In just mere minutes, he’d be at my journalistic mercy, with a watching crowd. And he may just take his thrashing right then & there. The groveling look of remorse on his face would more than likely be worth the embarrassment.

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935