#Midnight Siren Blues

[talkativeobserver]

Midnight Siren Blues, Colt 38 ~ A freak experiment through the 99th dimension (2001/2003), a side project by Enrico Ruggeri (Hogwash) and Claudio Colaianni (That's all Folks!). Remixed and remastered version (2022).

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

uh oh the metaphorical doctor in my head is getting mean

[astrcmoni]

ᯓ☆ star’s midnight caller ☆ᯓ

MASTERLIST

☆ series masterpost: I II III

pairing: billie eilish x sex-hotline-operator!fem!reader

genre: fluff, smut(kinda)

synopsis: in the quiet of the night, you answer a call that pulls you into a world of mystery and intrigue. what starts as a simple conversation with a stranger turns into a connection you never expected, leaving you craving more with each ring.

wc: 2.4k

warnings: light cussing here and there

authors note: let me know what you guys think, i really liked writing this and i want to make a part two. also there’s no smut in this part but the concept of the hotline is sexual (idk if that made sense) anyways imma stop rambling byeee ☆

phone call style story — reader is in bold italics, billie is in blue italics.

————

wednesday 12:43 am — incoming call from +1 (980) 598-7201 (charlotte, NC)

“thanks so much, babygirl,” richard says from the other side of the phone, his voice soft, tinged with something like gratitude. “you always know what i need.”

richard is one of your regulars, calling at least twice a week. he likes to imagine that you’re his long-lost girlfriend, reaching out from some parallel universe. you let him ramble, your voice smooth and coaxing, playing into his fantasy like a script you know by heart. a light laugh here, a soft hum there, the occasional breathy moan when it fits the moment.

“anytime, boo,” you reply, fingers already grazing the disconnect button. “take care of yourself, okay?”

the line clicks off, leaving a brief silence that feels heavier than it should. you exhale, stretching your arms above your head as you try to shake off the remnants of his voice. just another call. just another night.

soft light spills through the corners of your room, golden and warm against the pale lavender of your walls. the curtains billow lazily, carried by a breeze that whispers through the cracked window. outside, the city hums—a distant siren wailing, cars rolling down the street below, someone leaning on their horn too long, too loud.

at your desk, you lean forward, catching your reflection in the mirror perched precariously against a stack of books. sticky lip gloss catches the lamplight, glinting like glass. your lashes look decent—lifted enough to remind you of your own femininity. normally, you wouldn’t bother. no one can see you, after all. but it helps, this small ritual. it’s armor in a way, a mask you slip behind before stepping into this role.

“alright,” you mutter, rolling your neck to release the tension settling in your shoulders. “one more call and i’m done.”

the surface beneath your elbows is cluttered—textbooks splayed open, scribbled lab reports fighting for space with overdue bills. it’s not glamorous, but it pays. and it’s enough, for now.

you adjust your headset, letting the padded cups press comfortably against your ears, and clear your throat. the practiced warmth creeps back into your voice as the phone chimes again, flashing another number across the screen.

wednesday 12:49 am — incoming call from +1 (310) 807-3956 (los angeles, california)

“hello, and thank you for calling the pulse network. this is star speaking.” your voice drops an octave, soft and inviting, the words sliding out like honey. “who do i have the pleasure of speaking with tonight?”

there’s a pause on the other end—static filling the silence like a breath held too long. then, a voice cuts through, low, smooth, and distinctly feminine.

“uh…hi?” she sounds hesitant, her voice fraying at the edges like she’s second-guessing herself. “is this…is this a-uh…hotline for…you know?”

your brows knit for a moment before relaxing. most callers know exactly what they want, their voices heavy with intent. but her hesitation feels different. delicate, almost.

“that depends,” you say, leaning forward slightly, your tone light and playful. “what are you looking for, my love?”

she exhales sharply, and you can hear the faint sound of movement—like she’s pacing, the rhythm of her footsteps soft and uneven.

“honestly?” she says after a beat, her voice quieter now. “i don’t even know why i called. jus’ bored, i guess. curious. didn’t think this would even work.”

a smile tugs at your lips, though you bite it back. calls like these are rare, but you don’t mind them. there’s something refreshing about the uncertainty, the lack of pretense.

“well,” you murmur, letting your voice wrap around the words like a velvet ribbon, “we’re here now. go ahead, tell me whatever’s on your mind. no pressure.”

there’s a pause, long enough that you glance at the timer on the screen, wondering if she’s about to hang up. but then she sighs again, the sound softer this time, like she’s giving in.

“is it weird that i’m calling?” she asks, her voice dipping into the quiet like it’s unsure of its place.

“no judgment here, love. everyone has their reasons.” your response is soft, easy, laced with practiced charm. but something about her feels different.

“i don’t even know mine.”

the line falls into silence again, thick and heavy, broken only by the sound of her breathing—steady, almost meditative. it’s the kind of silence that feels like it’s waiting for you to fill it, but instead, you let it linger, listening.

“what’s your name?”

you blink, caught off guard. most callers don’t ask that unless it’s part of the fantasy they’re crafting. most don’t care to know.

“well, what do you want it to be?” you counter, your voice tipping into something playful.

she laughs softly, the sound low and throaty, curling through the line like smoke. “no, that’s not what i asked. i wanna know your name.”

there’s a pause as you weigh her words, the sincerity behind them.

“star,” you say finally, keeping it professional, your tone steady. “you can call me star.”

“what’s your real name?”

her question lands heavier than it should. it’s not forceful, not even intrusive. just curious. like she’s asking for a story rather than a fact.

you hesitate, fingers tracing the edge of your desk absentmindedly. something about her voice makes you want to give in, but you push the temptation aside, slipping easily into deflection.

“you know, most people don’t ask me that,” you murmur. “they usually want to know what i look like, what i’m wearing. things like that.”

“guess i’m not most people, then.”

“come on, you’re telling me you’re not even a little curious?”

she chuckles, warm and low, the kind of laugh that sticks in your chest. “okay, i’ll bite. what are you wearing, star?”

you smirk, leaning back in your chair as the city hums faintly through the open window.

“blue and black pajamas” you reply, your tone light. “lace trim. very cute, if i do say so myself.”

“where’d you get it?”

“some victoria’s secret around my city. they were having a sale.”

“cute.” her voice dips, carrying a hint of a smile. “now, back to my question.”

you roll your eyes, though there’s no edge to it. she’s persistent, you’ll give her that.

“you’re just gonna have to call me star. can’t give you my name. not tonight, sorry sweetheart.”

“no, it’s okay.” she pauses, then repeats it, like she’s trying it on. “well, star.” there’s something deliberate about the way she says it, slow and careful, testing its weight. “i’m billie.”

her name sits soft and sure in the air, settling between you like it belongs.

“you seem like a billie.”

“do i?”

“mhm,” you hum, leaning forward against the desk. “so, billie. what do you want to talk about?”

“hmm.” she draws the sound out thoughtfully, the silence stretching just long enough to make you wonder if she’ll answer. “why do you do this?”

the question hits you in a way you don’t expect, cutting through the usual rhythm of calls. most people don’t ask—don’t even think to ask.

you consider lying, giving her something easy, but the weight of her question lingers, tugging at the edges of your honesty.

“it pays the bills,” you admit finally, your voice soft. “and it’s not as bad as people think. i meet some…very…interesting people.”

“like me?”

the corner of your mouth quirks up, her words pulling at something playful in you.

“you tell me. are you interesting?”

“guess that depends.” she pauses, her voice curling with quiet amusement. “you think i’m interesting so far?”

“so far? i’ll give you a solid maybe.”

her laughter spills through the line, warm and unexpected, and it lingers in your room long after it fades.

“oh really? how long have you been doing this?”

“for about…” you pause, eyes flicking up to the ceiling like the answer might be scrawled there. “for about a little over a year now.”

“damn. that’s a long ass time.”

you chuckle, the sound warm and easy. “it is, isn’t it? i don’t know, i don’t mind it though. all i do is answer the phone. sometimes i do schoolwork, cook—small things like that. not like i necessarily have to be fully present for it, as long as i’m paying attention, you know?”

“you’re in school? just exactly how old are you?”

“wait—before we continue, you’re aware it’s a dollar seventy-five per minute, right?”

“uhh, i wasn’t, but i don’t mind it.”

“ooh, so you’re rich then?”

she laughs, a low, honeyed sound that settles in your chest. “i wouldn’t say that. i’d say i’m… comfortable.”

“only rich people say they’re comfortable. but to answer your question, i’m twenty, in my junior year. babe, you?”

“okay, not bad. i’m twenty-three. though i did think you were much older.”

you snort, rolling your eyes even though she can’t see it. “not bad? we’re practically the same age.”

“mm, i got about three years on you, so… no,” she laughs, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. “what are you majoring in?”

“criminology. mainly forensics and things like that.”

“that’s so fucking cool. so you’re like those people on tv who examine bodies and shit?”

“yeah, but doing it in real life is way different than it looks on tv.” you close your eyes, the memory of your first dissection flashing briefly. “especially lab work. but you get used to it after a while.”

“still, that’s badass. you must be super smart.”

the compliment catches you off guard, heat crawling up your neck. “i guess you could say that,” you mutter, a quiet smile tugging at your lips.

the conversation flows easier after that, like water finding its way downhill. you don’t even realize when you’ve moved to your bed, your headset cast aside as her voice fills your room through the speaker.

she asks you everything—your favorite movies, the hobbies that keep you up at night, the kind of music that makes your soul hum. the questions are simple but intimate, slipping past your usual defenses like she’s known you for years.

and you answer her. honestly, without hesitation. there’s something about her voice, warm and unhurried, that pulls the truth out of you.

you find yourself smiling, more than you have in days, fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair as you lean into the sound of her. it feels oddly intimate—like a late-night call with someone who’s already carved out a space in your life.

“so,” she asks after a lull, her voice soft but curious, “what’s your favorite movie?”

you grin, closing your eyes as you let the answer roll off your tongue. “pulp fiction. it’s a classic, don’t judge me.”

“no judgment. i respect it. but you gotta admit, it’s a little basic.”

“oh, and you’re not basic? let me guess—you’re gonna say something artsy like ‘a clockwork orange’ or whatever.”

“wrong. mine’s ‘the shining.’”

“oh, so you’re a horror girl. noted.”

she laughs, the sound warm and easy, and you realize you don’t want the conversation to end. not yet. not with her voice lingering in your room like this.

“what about you?” you murmur, breaking the soft rhythm of silence that had settled between you.

“hm? what about me?” her voice lilts, curious but guarded.

“what do you do? like for work?”

there’s a pause, long enough that you wonder if she’s going to sidestep the question entirely. but then she exhales, the sound quiet, like she’s carefully letting something go.

“i’m a musician,” she says finally, her words tentative, like they might break if handled too roughly. “or i guess i was… i teach music now.”

her admission catches you off guard, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through the connection. but you don’t press her, sensing that whatever she’s offering is enough for now. instead, you let the conversation drift, carried by the quiet ebb and flow of her voice.

the hours blur like watercolors, the world outside fading until there’s only her.

eventually, her tone softens, the edges of her words rounding with sleep. “it’s getting late. i should let you go,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

you glance at the alarm clock on the wall, the soft red digits blinking 3:35 a.m. back at you. exhaustion tugs at you, but the thought of ending the call feels heavier than it should.

“but…” her hesitation pulls you back to her. “can i call you again? i had a really good time.”

your heart stumbles over itself, a small hitch in your chest. “yeah, of course you can.” your voice dips into something softer, something closer to truth. “i had a good time too.”

“great. goodnight, star.” there’s a smile in her voice, light and unguarded, and it lingers in the air even after she’s gone.

“goodnight, billie.”

the line goes quiet, and for a moment, you sit there, the warmth of her voice still brushing against you like an afterglow.

you slip off your bed, padding into the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. the cool water shocks your skin, but it doesn’t chase away the heat curling low in your stomach.

when you return to your room, the lamp clicks off with a soft snap, plunging the space into shadows broken only by the shifting colors of your tv. you slide under the covers, the faint hum of a late-night rerun filling the silence. the images blur on the screen, but all you can think about is her voice, the way it clung to the edges of the night, soft and sure.

a ding pulls you from your thoughts. your phone glows faintly on the nightstand, and you reach for it, the sudden brightness making you blink.

new transactions — 4:03 a.m.

+1 (254) 783-0184 (dallas, TX) - $26.25

+1 (980) 598-7201 (charlotte, NC) - $43.75

+1 (310) 807-3956 (los angeles, CA) - $315.62

you smile, the corners of your lips twitching up involuntarily. it’s nothing unusual, but tonight it feels different, lighter somehow. you turn the screen off and set the phone back down, a quiet sense of contentment settling over you.

for the first time in a long time, you find yourself looking forward to your next call.

inspired by @whore-era

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy @bilssturns ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content!

[kamaluhkhan]

LONG HOT SUMMER NIGHT

pairing: luke castellan x fem!poseidon!reader word count: 8.4k chapter summary: it's the summer solstice and olympus is throwing a party! thalia notices the tension between you and luke, poseidon gives you some relationship advice and you punch the god of desire in the face. warnings: angst! jealous reader. lots of drinking. complicated relationships. reader dealing with ptsd + survivor's guilt (post-titan war). mention of injuries + blood. creepy guy pushing reader to hook up. ending is a bit steamy but no actual smut. spoilers for the entire pjo (book) series. no betrayal (au where chris was the one who sided w kronos and led the titan army) so slightly ooc luke <3 also reader is in a band called the midnight sirens and is born on the summer solstice! author's note: thank you so much for all the love for part 1!! summer is almost over and this is very much a summer series BUT summer's not over yet !!! hope y'all enjoy this one too and thanks 4 reading 💙

part 1 | series masterlist

♪: long hot summer night by jimi hendrix

mail to: 

Luke Castellan Camp Half-Blood, Half-Blood Hill 3.141 Farm Road Long Island, New York 11954

LUKE! 

I’m sitting in my kitchen right now, watching Percy make us blue blueberry pancakes and hoping he doesn’t burn down my kitchen while doing so. I caved and agreed to take him to Disneyland while he’s here and breakfast was part of the deal, but I think I might regret it later. 

We went surfing yesterday. It was Percy’s first time, but he was (unsurprisingly) amazing at it. I still can’t get over how beautiful the beaches are and the waves — gods, the waves are unreal. You’d seriously love it here. It’s like every day is summer. You have to come visit. PLEASE come visit!!!!

- [your initial]

P.S. The band and I are working on some new music, which means I won’t make it to camp again this summer. I’m sorry ;( Fingers crossed I’ll make it next year. 

P.P.S. hi luke! happy to report that i did not burn down my sister’s kitchen. anyways, can’t wait to kick your ass in sword-fighting this summer. xoxo, percy

THREE YEARS LATER 

the first time you visited olympus, you had been sent on a quest to retrieve zeus’ stolen lightning bolt, bringing luke and charles beckendorf along with you. you had missed the summer solstice deadline, but still tried to reason with the king of the gods when presenting the symbol of power, maybe calling him out once or twice along the way. before zeus could strike you down for your boldness, poseidon stepped in. the war between them was averted in fear of a much larger, looming threat; an ominous introduction for what was to come in the next chapter of your life.

another time, the gods debated whether or not they should kill you, some seeing you as a threat to their future. that was the day you accepted your destiny, not wanting your brother percy or your cousin nico to deal with the weight of the great prophecy. 

your last visit to olympus was on your 18th birthday, after helping to defeat kronos and his army. you made the gods swear to stop neglecting their kids and to allow all demigods, regardless of whether their parent was an olympian or not, to have a home at camp half-blood; to treat their children as children rather than heroes as pawns in their twisted games.

needless to say, it’s quite strange, being back here under very, very different circumstances, where the gods invited camp half-blood’s senior counsellors and staff to join in their summer solstice festivities.

it’s not every day you’ll be invited to a party on olympus; you’re determined to have a good time, to have fun. there’s already an abundance of music, dancing, food, or alcohol, and the night is just getting started.

you’re happy to be there with new and old friends, but you’re ecstatic when you see that thalia grace is there, too. 

“immortality looks good on you, t!” you compliment, raising your voice slightly over the music.

thalia preens, and you bask in her silver glow. 

“bet you wish you took the gods up on their offer, huh,” she teases. then, her eyes widen. “oh - shit! it’s your birthday! happy birthday!” 

thalia tackles you with another hug; even after all these years, she still smells like pine trees. she grabs two goblets of honeyed wine and hands one to you as you catch up. you eagerly gulp the sweet drink, until you’re reaching for another while listening to her stories about adventures she’d been on with the hunters of artemis. 

about halfway through her story about fighting off a manticore during a snow storm, a nymph appears with a platter of the ripest of fruit – sweet plums and fresh figs, tantalising pomegranates, succulent grapes and crisp apples. 

“oh my gods, this is the best apple i’ve had in my entire life!” thalia exclaims after indulging in a taste, herself giddy from a few goblets of wine. “where’s luke? he’s gotta try this — he’s always reminding us to eat more fruit. luke!” 

you hadn’t kept track of luke, at least not on purpose. you assumed he’d been off partying with van or his siblings, and, probably, avoiding you. wherever he was, thalia calls his name twice more and, like a ghost, luke appears. 

“i’m here, t.” luke’s voice is a deep, steady rumble floating above the music. his cheeks are slightly flushed, either from the heat or the drinks. likely both. “what’s up?”

“you need to try this.” thalia shoves the apple in his mouth before luke can respond. 

luke takes a bite, and some juice drips down his chin. you, in a honey-soaked haze, think about running your tongue over to catch it, but he beats you to it, wiping it away with the back of his hand. 

probably for the best.

“holy shit. yeah, it’s good.”

thalia, a sparkle in her eyes, urges you to try it as well. from across the makeshift triangle the three of you had formed, luke tosses the apple your way. you catch it effortlessly, and sink your teeth into it. 

you’ve almost overwhelmed by the burst of flavor. the fruit is just the right amount of tart to balance out the sweetness, and it’s damn near the best crunch you’ve ever experienced.

“good is an understatement,” you say after another bite. a distant memory crosses your mind. “i wonder if these are the same ones we almost got killed by a hellhound for.” 

thalia shakes her head, laughing in disbelief. “all because luke said we needed more vitamin c.”

“i was just looking out for us!” luke guffaws. “how was i supposed to know that persephone owned an apple orchard in connecticut?”

you pat his shoulder, the three of you smiling at the memory. “let’s call it an honest mistake.”

“well if annabeth had been with us by then, i’m sure that she wouldn’t have made that same honest mistake.” 

“okay, but she’s the daughter of athena —”

you let luke and thalia slip back into their playful bickering as if no time has passed. you listen and continue eating that glorious apple, enjoying how the golden glow of your shared past fills whatever distance might have grown between the three of you. 

somewhere down memory lane, luke’s amber eyes flick towards you.

“hey, you’ve got some….” without another word, luke suddenly reaches over to brush away a trail of juice with his thumb before sticking the finger in his mouth to savour the taste. he holds your gaze as he does so, and you feel a familiar kind of heat rush through your body — not from alcohol or summer sun, but from luke. 

it’s such an intimate gesture that you almost forget that you’re at some extravagant party on mount olympus, where gods and half-bloods and a whole bunch of other mythological creatures are celebrating the start of summer by essentially getting drunk together, until thalia clears her throat. 

“okay, well, seems like the two of you might want some alone time.”

luke’s cheeks grow more flushed than before, and his eyes widen as if realizing what he’d done.

“oh, we don’t need —”

“we’re not —”

you and luke both stumble over your words; thalia just smiles knowingly. 

“i’m gonna go flirt with that nymph,” she announces, pointing across the grand marble pavilion.

“i thought — doesn’t artemis sort of frown upon that sort of thing?” you ask.

“she makes exceptions on holidays. besides, i’m her favourite. you guys have fun.” thalia winks at you and walks away.

you glance at luke and, gods, there’s so much history between you. 

the time you jumped into an ocean full of sirens to save luke from drowning? you have a scar running down your forearm where one of them scratched you as you struggled to get luke towards the surface. 

or when you took turns holding up the sky while on a quest to save lady artemis and defeat the titan atlas? it’s evident in the matching streaks of grey that you each have running through your hair. whenever you see your reflection in the mirror, you remember how you couldn’t save your cousin bianca di angelo earlier that day, and how nico has had to grow up without a sister because of a promise you broke.

how about when you, luke, and one of your best friends were sent on a mission to destroy the princess andromeda, the headquarters of kronos’ army? only the two of you survived, and sometimes you can still feel luke squeezing your hand pike he did during charles beckendorf’s burial shroud ceremony while you both cried.

or when luke took a sword between the ribs for you because he, somehow, knew the one spot the curse of achilles left you vulnerable? he can only slouch for so long before the bones there start to ache.

so, yeah. there’s way too much history, and so many tangled threads, and now really isn’t an ideal time to unravel it all. 

“i’m gonna go find my dad,” you blurt out and disappear into the crowd with no real intention of finding your father. 

the once sweet apple now tastes rotten on your tongue; you rid yourself of it in exchange for some more wine. you’re determined to have fun — no pain or heartache or grief. 

you’ve all had enough of that for three lifetimes. 

summer — age 14

“sorry your birthday was ruined.” 

luke exhaled sharply when you pressed a disinfectant-soaked cloth to the wound on his leg.

“hold still,” was all you mumbled in response, brows knitted together as you wrapped the cut in gauze. 

once you were done with his leg, you moved on to luke’s hands, burned by poisonous acid. the four of you had run into a hydra earlier that night. you managed to wound it enough so you could all get away, but not before a few injuries were sustained. 

you were uncharacteristically quiet as you worked. you only met luke’s gaze to warn him before pouring some nectar on his wounds. you let luke hold your hand, tightly, as the liquid dripped through his fingers and down to yours, first right, then left. the pain was instant, seering almost as much as the hydra acid, but it was over quickly. the last thing you did was bandage each hand before getting up. 

“i’m…i’m gonna check on thalia and annabeth. i’ll take first watch.”

luke caught your hand before you got away.

“wait. you’re bleeding.” he pointed to the cut on your brow. you had been so preoccupied in making sure everyone else was safe that you let crimson liquid drip down your face. it probably stung, too, based on your grimace.

luke wiped away the blood with his sleeve, used nectar to disinfect the wound, and dressed it with a fresh bandage, working silently as you did.

“it’s still your birthday,” luke finally said once he was done. “you get some rest; i’ll take first watch.”

you gave him a small, strained smile before checking on the others. 

later that night, you stayed up with luke anyways. 

seemingly out of nowhere, you handed him your portable cassette player. luke stared at it for a moment, unwilling to comprehend just what you were offering and, more importantly, why. 

you and luke had grown accustomed to sharing things: flannels, socks, makeshift beds and scavenged food. but this —

it was your aunt’s. 

you never met your mother, who’d left you as a baby, and of course, poseidon was too busy tending to his underwater kingdom to step in as a parent. your aunt raised you as her own. and then you lost her, too. 

you kept her cassette player buried deep in your bag with some mixtapes she had made and ones you’d stolen throughout the years. when it wasn’t your turn to keep watch, luke would sometimes catch you with headphones on, looking up at the stars. 

luke liked to think he knew you well; all those subtle elements that made you — the crack of your knuckles, the cadence of your voice, the slope of your nose, the dreams of your childhood. engraved in his own personhood. bones and all. 

and, still: he didn’t know you, not entirely. 

you’d only allowed luke to listen with you once, maybe twice. he’d never forget what it was like: knees pressed together and heads just as close to keep the wires from stretching too far; you gushing about the magic of jimi hendrix, recounting memories that echoed through gentle guitar riffs; luke yearning for one more song to play, for another a wistful smile of yours to appear. luke, wishing to linger in your private oasis a beat longer before you pushed him out again and closed the door behind him. 

the one lock luke couldn’t crack: your grief, and how you carried on so buoyantly despite its weight.

well, there you were, presenting the key to luke as an offering. a sacrifice for something luke would never ask of you. 

“this….” luke swallowed the lump in his throat, refusing to look at you. he turned the device over in his bandaged hands, the metal smooth, though well-worn. “you can’t just —”

leave. you can’t just leave. you can’t just —

“hey.” 

your hand over his, forcing him to stop spiralling and look at you. 

right away, luke regretted it. a small sliver of him, however delusional, had hoped that you were joking. 

you weren’t. behind you, there was an empty space where you had previously wedged your sleeping bag. your backpack was already strapped around your shoulders, fully packed. 

“i need to leave, luke. we can’t stay together. it’s too dangerous.”

“you don’t need to —”

“there’s more of us, now,” you interrupted, pulling your hand away to rest on your thigh. “four demigods together isn’t ideal. we’ve been attracting more monsters. more deadly monsters.”

“that would happen, anyways. it always has whether it’s the four of us, the two of us, or….” 

luke stopped his sentence short, not even wanting to give you the idea to go out on your own, even though you’d probably been thinking about leaving for some time. 

you made reckless decisions sometimes, but this didn’t seem to be one of them.

“well, it’s happening more.” your voice was steady, too steady. luke imagined you rehearsing just what to say to counter the inevitable backlash. 

luke shook his head. “i’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“you almost died because of me,” you clipped. you lifted a hand to touch the bruise on luke’s jaw, but let it drop just as quickly. “you know that children of the big three cause more trouble. maybe we managed it when it was the two of us, but now, there’s more to consider. a child of poseidon and a child of zeus, travelling together. it’s like we’re asking to be killed. it’s too dangerous.”

“that’s our life,” luke snapped. “you can’t just run from it.” from us.

you faltered, looking back to where annabeth and thalia were sleeping peacefully. 

oh. he must have said that last part out loud, too. 

“you know i’m right,” is all you said.

luke could only shake his head again. because, fine, you weren’t entirely wrong. it was more dangerous — but it was danger luke hoped you’d all face, together. 

“i’ve made up my mind,” you added, an anchor in the sand.

“don’t leave.” luke’s words came out as a prayer. if he offered something, maybe you’d stay.

you paused to take a shaky breath. “this isn’t goodbye, luke. i swear to poseidon…fuck, i swear to all the gods that this isn’t goodbye.”

luke couldn’t speak. there were tears bubbling in his throat, threatening to spill. 

“so, keep this for me,” you whispered, once again placing your hand on top of luke’s. his fingers gripped your cassette player tightly, like it was the only piece of driftwood leftover from a shipwreck, keeping him from sinking into the cold, dark nothing. “you’ll give it back when we see each other again.”

a promise. 

“fine,” luke conceded, though he wanted to scream at you. he wanted to argue like little kids — petty, loud, meaningless, back and forth until tears streamed down cheeks and throats were raw. 

but, you were leaving, one way or another. luke didn’t want this shared memory to be tainted if it might be your last.

“you have to take this, then. give it back when we see each other again.”

luke removed the chain from around his neck, the one that held the key to his childhood home. he placed it around yours, instead.

he didn’t need the key now, but his mother had given it to him when he was six. before he knew what it meant to be the son of hermes, god of thieves. 

call him sentimental, but luke had kept it. just in case he ever got lost. 

“if you’re ever back in connecticut, you have a home.”

“yeah, okay.” you smiled softly. 

it fell just as quickly. 

“take care of them,” you told him. “of yourself, too. i’ll see you again when it’s safe.”

luke didn’t ask when it would be safe, because the truth is that it might never be.

“because you want your cassette player back?” luke joked, instead trying to lighten the mood, to capture one last moment of brightness.

you laughed softly to not wake the others. 

“yeah. that too.”

you pressed your forehead to his, something you hadn’t done since you were kids. 

“i’ll see you again,” you repeated.

without another word, you got up and jogged away. luke shut his eyes, refusing to see you become nothing but a shadow. 

(you looked back several times, but he couldn’t see through the darkness.)

now

call the gods out on their bullshit (you encourage it), but if they have one thing going for them, it’s that the olympians know how to throw a party. 

the night grows darker, yet somehow becomes more lively. demeter and persephone had supplied a generous amount of fresh, decadent fruit, and dionysus an even more generous amount of wine. apollo starts a karaoke corner and you’re just tipsy enough to agree to sing a duet with him in order to break the ice. apparently, he’s a big midnight sirens fan and had seen your band when you headlined at glastonbury festival. you smile to yourself, imagining your bandmates’ faces if you told them that the god of music had watched you perform.

as you hand the microphone to a giggling dryad, the sound of your name washes over like gentle waves on a shore.

“if it isn’t my sweet, summer child!” your father brings you in for a hug and an ocean breeze engulfs you — salt and sand and sun. 

“hi dad,” you exhale as you pull away. 

you hadn’t seen each other in a while, but poseidon looks the same. he’s dressed in a turquoise hawaiian shirt and birkenstocks with a crown of seashells on his head. there’s a cocktail umbrella in his glass, a slice of pineapple wedged onto the rim. you’re about to ask him how he managed to secure a pina colada and where you might find one, too.

“that was quite the performance!” poseidon takes an eager sip of his drink, green eyes sparkling like sea glass in the sun. “i must tell you: your newest album is all the rage in atlantis. the nereids and merpeople can’t seem to get enough of it and, truthfully, i find myself playing it on repeat as well. you’re quite talented.” 

you try not to let your shock slip through, instead smiling and asking how things are in his underwater kingdom, but you’re….touched at your father’s unexpected praise.

the gods aren’t perfect, and your father is no exception. they’re divine beings who have time to conceive children, but not to raise them. there’s a long history of them abandoning, mistreating, and manipulating their own offspring. of course, being the prophecy child, it became practically impossible for your father to ignore you; you’re sure that being dubbed the saviour of olympus gives him bragging rights with his immortal family. even with their sworn promise to change, it’s impossible not to resent the gods in some ways. 

still, you feel comforted by your father's presence at times — when you catch the perfect wave on your surfboard, for example, or when you sit on your fire escape during a storm after a bad day. it’s been like that pretty much all your life: poseidon there in spirit, not in practice. despite everything, he’s watched over you, and percy, throughout the years.

and here poseidon is now, grinning at you like you’re his pride and joy. 

“enough about aquatic politics.” he pats your shoulder enthusiastically after telling you about the struggles of keeping humans from overfishing. “i came over to wish you a happy birthday. and to give you this.” 

poseidon reaches into the pocket of his shirt and hands you something you’d long thought gone: a leather cord with several clay beads and a silver key.

“i found it off the california coast,” he explains. “i kept meaning to get it to you, but i suppose time has a way of getting away from us, immortal or not.”

a warmth grows in your chest as you run your thumb over your old camp necklace, bright and full. it had fallen off one day when you’d gone surfing, and you assumed it was lost to the ocean. you'd been given a fresh leather cord when you arrived at camp earlier this summer, but it felt empty. hollow.

“thanks, dad.” 

you smile at him as you put on the necklace; it feels like coming home. your father then asks you about your summer so far.

you tell him all about your life as of late, until you catch a glimpse of luke with van on a marble bench at the other end of the pavilion. van is sitting in luke’s lap, and they lean over to whisper something in his ear before kissing his cheek. 

you freeze mid-way through your sentence.

sensing the shift in mood, poseidon frowns. he turns his head to follow your gaze.

“ah.” poseidon turns back to you and clears his throat. “now, i don’t mean to pry, but i saw you earlier with the castellan boy.”

you flush at the fact that your moment with luke was witnessed by your own father. “dad —”

“did you know in ancient greece, throwing someone an apple and having them catch it is considered a marriage proposal?”

“i’m pretty sure that was disproven,” you scoff.

poseidon raises an eyebrow at you, clearly amused. “which one of us was actually there, hm?” and though you roll your eyes, you can’t argue with that. “i just wanted to know if there was a wedding happening in the near future.”

you almost choke on the last remnants of your wine. “dad.”

“i’m kidding. i’m kidding! mr. castellan seems otherwise occupied.” 

“yeah, it does seem that way,” you grumble.

poseidon puts a hand on your shoulder, firm but reassuring. “regardless: if you find someone who would go to tartarus and back with you, someone who would fight alongside you every step of the way, you hold on to them. there’s only so much time you mortals have on this earth.”

you sigh — easier said than done — but your father is trying, so you manage a nod.

“i’ll keep that in mind.”

“now, i better go — ” poseidon looks over your shoulder, where the air behind you starts to feel staticky. “it seems a disagreement is brewing between zeus and hades. they always get into it whenever dionysus makes the wine a bit too strong. brother, put away the lightning bolt —” and he rushes away to prevent another divine conflict from arising.

left to your own devices, you venture over to the food table, finding an array of fresh and dried fruit, breads, cured meat, fresh oysters and, of course, more wine. you grab a goblet and a few dried figs.

“careful, i heard dionysus made the wine extra strong tonight,” someone warns, creeping up beside you. the voice is soft and alluring, and you feel something tug at your heart. 

you do a double take when you turn to them; the person is devilishly handsome, a golden aura paired with a golden smile. 

(you will soon find out that the god flirting with you is the son of ares and aphrodite, the latter of which takes the appearance of whoever the onlooker loves. as it turns out, her son appears in the same way. 

all this to say: it doesn’t mean anything that this god looks like luke castellan to you. 

it doesn’t mean anything at all.)

“i’m eros.”

“hey. i’m —”

“i know who you are, savior of olympus.” eros winks at you. “i just never realized you were so beautiful.”

your cheeks heat up as you take a sip of your drink.

oh, shit. 

okay. the literal god of desire and pleasure is flirting with you. 

you’re flattered, really, and maybe the wine has gotten to your head, but you’re not eager to turn him away.

“well, i’ve definitely heard about you, and the rumors do not do you justice,” you quip, painting on a flirtatious smile.

eros puffs out his chest, clearly pleased. 

over the next few minutes, you decide that eros can hold a decent conversation, asking you the classic first date questions about your likes and dislikes, and he’s cute enough that you wouldn’t mind things going further. 

(he might be a god, but he’s no luke. you push that thought away, and force yourself to flirt with helios. eros. right, eros.)

eros leans in close, pretends to listen to you, lets his gaze drop every so often to the deep v-neck of your shirt.  

“no way! 13 going on 30 is a classic,” you argue. you nudge your shoulder into eros’s playfully, and let the contact between you linger. eros, the inspiration for cupid himself, has angel wings, and you feel them brush softly against your burning skin. 

“it’s totally overrated!” eros exclaims. “also, the childhood friends to lovers trope gives people false hope.”

“it’s not false hope. it’s about the buildup to their happily ever after,” you reason, swallowing some wine to dislodge the lump in your throat.

eros shakes his head. “trust me, baby, it’s all about the instant attraction. that’s where the excitement is.” 

he’s so close now, you can smell the sharp alcohol on his breath. not wine, but something stronger.

“oh? what do you mean by that?” you lean impossibly closer, trailing a finger down his chest.

eros smirks, placing a hand on your thigh. “want me to demonstrate?” 

not even a second after you whisper a yes, eros crashes his lips onto yours, and you will yourself to kiss back. he slides his tongue in your mouth, runs his hands over your body. 

you’re making out with the god of desire and passion, so, objectively, it’s a good first kiss: soft around the edges and firm where it needs to be.

sure — you feel nothing, no real spark, but it’s almost enough to fill the hole in your heart in the shape of a certain son of hermes. 

the son of hermes who has moved on and is in a loving relationship with a perfect emotionally available partner. 

so, it’s fine. 

this, this thing with eros, is fine. 

you’re fine.

eros pulls away first, but keeps a hand on your cheek.

“let's get out of here.” 

he grabs your wrist before you have a chance to answer. you stand up, let him weave you through the crowd towards the stairs of the pavilion. apparently, his room is just through the garden. 

as he tugs you along, he looks back at you, smiling. under the glow of the stars, eros looks just like luke, except it’s becoming harder to ignore that he isn’t luke and that makes you feel all sorts of nauseous. your camp necklace weighs on your chest and, in particular, the silver key that you’d kept for all those years burns through your skin. 

lightheaded, you pull away from eros’ grip just as you reach the top of the stairs and place a hand on the column next to you to steady yourself.

eros turns around sharply. “what is it?”

“i changed my mind, actually. let’s just…keep talking here.”

eros grabs your wrist again, his grip tighter than before. “don’t be a tease.” his tone is ever-so-gentle, but there’s an edge behind his words. 

this time, your voice comes out more assertive. “i just changed my mind. that doesn’t make me a tease.”

“come on, baby, don’t you wanna experience what real passion is? this is a once in a lifetime opportunity that a million girls would kill for. you’d be an idiot to pass it up.” he brags, and you’re this close to breaking this guy’s nose, god or not. 

“i don’t care,” you snap, struggling to break free from his grip. “and i’m not your baby.”

“okay, whatever,” eros rolls his eyes, but quickly plasters on an arrogant grin. “we’ll go somewhere private and i’ll call you whatever you want.”

he manages to drag you down two steps as you strain against his iron grip, now almost cutting off your circulation. your heartbeat quickens and you feel dizzy. finally, you grab onto the railing for leverage and use your strength to rip out of his grip, forcing eros to stop in his tracks.

“what is it now?” he snaps, whipping his head around once more. 

he looks nothing like luke, now.

“just stop, eros.”

“listen,” he starts, speaking to you almost mockingly, like you’re a naive little kid. so much for being the savior of olympus. “trust me, i know what people want, so you don’t have to be shy. i promise to be the best you’ve ever had —”

“eros, is it?” the rest of the party is in full motion, but here’s percy, giving eros one of the most intense death stares you’ve ever seen. percy, your little brother who talks to lonely fish at the aquarium; who, if you cut open, would bleed blue m&m’s; who would never let anyone, god or otherwise, hurt someone he loves. “i’m gonna have to ask you to let go of my sister.”

“mind your own business, kid,” eros hisses. “we’re kinda in the middle of something.” he tries to move you down another step, but you stand your ground.

annabeth, no longer the scared little seven year old you, luke, and thalia found behind a dumpster, is also glaring at liam from the top of the stairs. one of her hands rests firmly on her belt, where she keeps her dagger. 

“i’d back off, if i were you,” she warns. “wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

“just mind your own business,” eros snarls.

“they said leave her alone,” thalia asserts, walking over once she sees what’s happening. “and you don’t wanna mess with us, trust me.” she clenches her hand into a fist.

“who the fuck are you? her bodyguards?” 

“just let her go,” percy orders. “my sister can do a lot better than a minor god with a major god complex.” 

eros growls, baring his teeth at percy. “you impertinent little shit.”

as soon as eros lunges for your brother, you tug one of his wings towards you, hard. he whips around and you take the opportunity to punch him in the face. he doubles over, golden ichor gushing from his nose.

“i’d be careful if i were you, baby,” you seethe. “you wouldn’t want to go up against the demigods who led an army against kronos and won. unless, of course, humiliation is a kink of yours.” you laugh humorlessly at the way eros scowls at your words. “to each their own,” you continue. “but i’m not in the mood to fuck an entitled creep with angel wings to compensate for his tiny dick. you better fucking respect that, and leave us alone while you’re at it.”

eros’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only entitled, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a few blows to their ego. 

call it stupidity or arrogance, but his only response is a punch delivered right back to your face. 

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but percy manages to reach out and catch you before you fall down the stairs. he holds you as thalia and annabeth create a barrier between you and eros. you hear them shouting at eros over the music, but their exact words don’t register.

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is suddenly all fuzzy. percy tries his best, but you slump your body weight into his and he almost topples over.

“i’ve got her.” luke’s calm and measured voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you. “from what i remember, you were too much of a coward to even step foot on the battlefield, so i’d listen to her if you know what’s good for you.” in a haze, you guess that luke is directing his sharp words towards eros, before turning to the others and instructing: “you guys take care of this — find clarisse if you need back up.”

somehow, you find yourself over in a small secluded temple, sitting on a window bench overlooking the clouds as luke sits next to you.

like most of olympus, the building is made of marble with gold accents; this one has roses engraved on the walls, and the space smells like flowery perfume. it’s much quieter than the pavilion, though you can hear laughter and music in the distance. it’s cooler, too, but not by much; even without all the body heat, you're left with sticky summer air, and luke’s breath on yours, sweet with wine and ripe fruit, as he carefully examines your injury.

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the alcohol, or the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while — probably a dangerous mix of all three. 

you know (from trying not to but ultimately not being able to pull your attention away from him after all) that he’s had a few drinks as well; it seems like the two of you ignore each other best when you’re sober.

“thought the curse of achilles would protect you from nosebleeds.”

“guess it doesn’t protect against —” what did percy call eros? “ — minor gods who have major god complexes,” you recite.

luke looks slightly amused. “that’s a shame,” he hums. “would have been nice to get one birthday without being injured.”

a smile creeps onto your face, despite the dull ache from your nose.

“you remembered.”

“of course i remember,” luke almost scoffs like the mere suggestion of forgetting what day you were born is an insult to his very character. he meets your gaze, and you could melt when he offers you that lopsided smile of his, painfully familiar. “happy birthday, aquagirl,” and it’s the softest he’s spoken to you in a while. just like old times.

he remembers. 

somewhere within him, luke holds on to fragments of you.

he wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of his silk white button-down now stained crimson. “how’s your hand?” he asks. 

you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”

“i guess all those years away didn’t change anything. still willing to put a god in their place, huh?”

all those years away. 

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart, and you’re worried that it might burst the comfortable bubble you and luke had drunkenly stumbled into. 

thankfully, luke continues:

“the kids really take after you.”

he says as a joke, mostly, but there’s a sincerity in those deep brown eyes of his, too. something you also hadn’t seen from him in a while. 

the kids, who you’d in some ways raised together when monsters were trying to kill you and the gods didn’t care enough to stop it. 

the family you and luke had built together despite being born into the world of greek tragedies. 

“as if annabeth wasn’t threatening to pull the dagger you gave her, skywalker,” the nickname rolling off your tongue with ease. “besides, they’re not kids anymore.”

“yeah.” he pauses. “neither are we.” 

luke’s fingers trace your camp necklace, brush against your collarbone. the breath hitches in your throat.

here you are again, at the edge of something real and very scary, and you fear luke is going to push the two of you over. 

but he doesn’t. instead, luke suggests, jokingly: “maybe we should start a fight club at camp.” 

you take that as a good sign: like you, he’s hoping to preserve the playfulness between you before everything else seeps in and ruins it. before you’re brought back to the present, where you’re practically ignoring each other.

where you’re fine, but really. 

you snort. “chiron and mr. d would love that.”

“like they’d ever find out!” luke explains. “you know the first rule of fight club —”

“don’t talk about fight club,” you finish together. 

luke laughs, even though it’s not that funny. you laugh, too. 

and that’s the thing that really, truly gets you. 

try as you might to ignore it, some days it’s hard to forget the pain and heartache and grief. 

you still feel like your life is a battlefield; you still see the ghosts of everyone you couldn’t save even though people call you a savior; you still have those scars, inside and out, that seemed healed but ache every once and a while. 

but that isn’t all. 

sometimes it hurts more thinking back to the good times and knowing, deep down, you can never go back.

summer — age 13

“ugh — you think with all their power, the gods could help stop global warming,” you groaned, swatting away a mosquito that tried to land on you. “do you think they have air conditioning on olympus?”

“oh, for sure,” luke quipped. he gave you a lopsided smile, his curls sticking to his forehead, drenched in sweat. 

it was the summer solstice, the longest and the hottest day of the year so far. the two of you had found a perfectly good hideout, but luke insisted that this place would be worth the move. 

he’d been leading you down side streets for what felt like forever. the sun had already set, and you were very close to passing out from the heat, until luke finally stopped at a door behind an alley, with a sign reading CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS. 

luke knelt down to do whatever son-of-hermes lock magic he had to do to get the door open. he flipped a switch, and you winced at the sudden overwhelming brightness. 

the destination was different than the hideouts you usually sprung for: those small, hole-in-the-wall type places. instead, this space was big and bright, filled with arcade games and fun posters and neon colours. the type of place a kid might have a party or where a group of normal teenagers might spend their friday night. 

“what…what is this?”

“you thought i forgot, didn’t you?” luke smirked at you. he sat down on the colourful carpet, taking out some snacks, a small plastic bag with coins, a wrapped box, and a plastic blue crown, and gestured for you to join.

you did, in fact, think that luke had forgotten your birthday. 

birthdays were bittersweet for children of gods, who were constantly reminded that any year could be their last, their youth cut short by monsters or prophecies or a fatal flaw. all the two of you usually did on either birthday was split any sweet treat you could get your hands on. 

it wasn’t a big deal, really, to skip that tradition of yours. there were much more urgent things to worry about, like finding food and water and shelter, and not being devoured by monsters. 

you did think it was strange that luke hadn’t so much as said happy birthday to you all day, but you knew that he loved you.

(like a friend loves a friend. nothing else, no matter how much your stomach fluttered at the thought of him.) 

“i wanted to surprise you,” luke explained once you claimed your spot next to him. he reached over to place the crown on your head. “i found this place a few days ago during a food run. it reminds me of where we had your —”

“eighth birthday party, yeah.” you smiled at the memory of running around and feeding quarters to every machine and trying every game, of your classmates singing happy birthday to you off-key before you all stuffed your faces with sickly sweet confetti cake. 

truthfully, you never thought about having another celebration like that again.

but, it was five years from that faded childhood memory, and luke was presenting you with something you didn’t even realize you had needed: the chance to be a kid again.

“so,” luke got up, a wide smile on his face. he held the plastic bag in one hand, extending the other to you. “which do you wanna play first?”

you started with space invaders, then moved on to dragon’s lair and pac-man. you took a break before street fighter ii so that luke could ceremoniously light a candle and present a cupcake that had been tossed around in his bag (but you were still very, very grateful for), along with fresh batteries for your portable cassette player. he had made you a mixtape too, though you couldn’t figure out how. 

your last stop was a photobooth. you vowed to keep those pictures — a collection of you and luke together, smiling bright and colourful, goofing off and laughing — for the rest of your life.

now

those moments from past summers are like popsicles melting in the sun: tangible for a limited time before leaving you with a sickly sweet mess of what once was. 

you think about what happened earlier, how percy, annabeth, and thalia stepped in to protect you, still the brave kids you had once known so well. how luke is here with you now, taking care of you so tenderly even after you’ve silently agreed to give each other the cold shoulder. 

maybe luke is right. maybe all those years away didn’t change anything. 

except — once you leave this temple and the alcohol leaves your system, it won’t be the same. 

none of you are kids anymore, if you ever even were. 

“why’d you go for eros, anyway?” luke asks, breaking you away from your thoughts. he removes his sleeve from your nose since the bleeding seems to have finally stopped.

“you really wanna know?”

“yeah. most gods are assholes. and you’re…” luke places a hand close to your leg, pinky finger brushing your thigh. “you.”

“i went for eros because….well, honestly, i don’t think i cared who it was, as long as they made me forget you,” you admit, because what did you have to lose. you probably have a broken nose, you definitely have blood on your shirt, and your time with luke is running out. 

luke’s eyes darken. his fingers start to play with the hem of your shorts. 

“did it work?” his voice is a whisper, but he’s close enough that he’s crystal clear.

“no.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on luke’s — messy and urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. he cradles your face in his hands, and you move to straddle his waist. you taste wine on his tongue, and maybe a hint of sweet pears, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the alcohol or adrenaline, but dizzy from him. luke’s gaze is heavy on yours as he traces your top lip with his thumb.

“luke,” you whimper, itching to kiss him again. 

“you’re still bleeding.”

luke wipes away the blood with his thumb. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s an echo of footsteps on the marble floor. a flower nymph, there to leave an offering and let you know that, while aphrodite encourages acts of love, she prefers it doesn’t happen in her place of worship. 

you realize that aphrodite also might not look so fondly at you kissing someone else in her place of worship after publicly rebuking her own son.

luke untangles himself from you, and you know that he’s been jolted back to reality, too. 

and, just like that, another moment has melted away.

your father was right. time has a way of slipping away for us, immortal or not.

summer — age 18

“hey, you awake?”  

“yeah,” you replied softly. sleep hadn’t been easy, in the days and weeks and months leading up to that final battle with kronos and his army. 

and once it was all over? 

you rested your head on luke’s shoulder, sword discarded at your feet and armour half-removed, as argus, the hundred-eyed security guard of olympus, drove a school bus with a dozen or so demigods back to camp.

“why’d you turn down their offer?” luke whispered.

oh.

"why...why do you ask?"

"i don't know." luke paused. "just curious, i guess."

you closed your eyes and replayed that moment on olympus when you refused the gift of immortality. the look of shock written on the gods’ faces. and on luke’s.

“i don’t care about living forever,” you told him bluntly.

forever seemed too long, especially for someone who was prophesied to die at 18.

you tilted your head up to meet luke’s gaze, and his messy curls brushed against your forehead. evidence of the battle was clear on his face: caked-on dirt and blossoming bruises and dried blood. 

behind him, outside the bus window, the world was flying by. a child who had fallen off their bike being comforted by a friend. two people sharing an mp3 player and a pair of earbuds. an elderly couple walking their dog.

“you once told me that this was our life,” you continued, gesturing towards the weapons and battle-worn kids, some quiet, others crying, many injured. “what if it didn’t have to be?” 

luke furrowed his brow. “do you mean….are you talking about leaving?”

you shrugged. running from monsters for your entire childhood then being the child of the great prophecy was a lot.

a break might be nice.

there was so much about the world, the one you’d fought and bled to protect, that you wanted to experience. 

maybe something closer to a normal life.

“would you ever leave camp?” you wondered, not really answering luke's question. 

“no,” luke replied instantly. his fingers started fiddling with the beads on his necklace. “i can’t just walk away, not after everything.”

“yeah, i get that.” and you did; you really, truly, did. the guilt of wanting to leave camp curled in your stomach like a venomous snake. you took a shaky breath. “let’s talk about this later, yeah? i’m tired, and we have the rest of — ”

the rest of the summer slipped away in the blink of an eye. gone, before you even had a real chance to say goodbye.

you closed your eyes and held on to luke, as if gripping his arm would anchor you to something you weren't ready to let go of, but in some ways needed to move on from.

it was no use, though. 

by the end of august, you’d be gone too. 

now 

you learned early on that the curse of achilles doesn’t protect you from hangovers.

you wake up the morning after the celebration on olympus with a deep, throbbing pain lodged in your temple and an uncomfortable swirling in your gut. parties and late nights at bars are common on tour, which means migraines are, too, so you have a routine to make sure you’re not out of commission for too long.

except this time, the aspirin and blue gatorade and dry toast don’t work. the sting in your brain and uneasiness in your stomach doesn’t go away, even after a few days. you haven’t been able to sleep, either.

desperate for a cure, you consult lou ellen, head counsellor of the hecate cabin, who you’d unexpectedly grown close to in the past few weeks. she mixes something for you, while asking if there’s something that’s been weighing on you.

you couldn't keep it in anymore; you tell her about the summer solstice and luke.  

later, with nothing but your thoughts and percy’s snoring occupying your time post-curfew, you grab your phone and flip it open, deciding to finally reach out to luke, when you get a text from him.

luke is already on the beach when you arrive, looking out onto the water. 

“hey,” you greet as you sit next to him on the sand, but not too close. “i was actually about to text you —”

“did you tell anyone that we kissed?” he interrupts. you can’t quite read his expression as he waits for you to answer.

“no, i didn’t,” you lie. “would it matter if i did?”

“well, i mean, word travels fast around camp, and i don’t want van finding out. it’s not like it meant anything.”

the throbbing in your brain becomes a sharper sting, the uneasiness in your stomach a tidal wave of nausea.

“it didn’t?” you hate how fragile your voice sounds, compared to luke’s stoic demeanor.

luke shrugs. “i mean, we were both drunk and the thing with eros happened…we just got caught up in the heat of the moment.” 

“you’re saying there’s nothing between us, then? nothing?” the word tastes bitter in your mouth.

luke turns away before he answers. “no. nothing.”

“then what about last summer?” you demand. you force yourself to keep it together, your tone firmer than before. “i guess that didn’t mean anything, either.”

“y/n…” he sighs. “i don’t know what you want me to say. we’re barely even friends anymore. you come back here, after all this time, after so much shit happened, and expect us all to drop everything to fit you back into our lives. but, you don't. whatever you came here for, it's not here for you. there's nothing to go back to. we moved on. i moved on, and i can’t deal with you —" 

“got it,” you snap, already turning to walk away. “loud and fucking clear, luke.” 

it’s not like it meant anything. we’re barely even friends anymore.

you replay luke’s words as you crawl into bed, holding back tears so as to not disturb percy. finally, you swallow a generous amount of whatever concoction lou ellen had brewed up for you.

drifting off into your own sleep, you decide that you don’t love luke anymore. not as a friend, not as a.....

nope. 

according to luke, there's not even anything to go back to.

nothing.

nothing.

[fortunxa]

Blue hair, blue eyes, blue lights

Jinx x fem!reader / modern AU

summary: The chances of a blue-haired girl being chased by the cops and hopping in my car, simply yelling “Drive!” are low, but never zero.

author’s note: It’s my first time publishing a Jinx one-shot of mine, I hope you enjoy! This is a relatively new blog, so if anyone wants to become mutuals I’m definitely open to the idea! :)

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Fourteen days.

A mere two weeks stand between me and move-in day for my freshman year of college. In other words, summer break is slowly coming to an end, and I’ve done fuck all to make it memorable.

I can feel life passing me by as I watch like a bystander. Usually, the clock is my enemy—a constant reminder of my youth running out, and, shit, I’m too young to feel that way. This time, it serves as a way to free me from the shackles of the evening shift as a front desk worker at our local gym.

The clock strikes midnight, and, like a modern-day Cinderella, I jump up from my seat and make a beeline for the exit, hurriedly clocking out. I simultaneously greet and say goodbye to the night shift going in, already halfway through the small yet relatively empty parking lot. The smell of sweaty ‘gym bros’ is long forgotten as the breeze engulfs me, my dirty sneakers thudding on the concrete. The rust on my beat-up jeep shines in the moonlight as I approach—so seductive, I snicker to myself. I toss my duffel bag in the trunk, hop behind the wheel, and start the engine. I take this moment to commence my connect-phone-to-car-or-die-trying mission and thank the universe for its successful outcome. I browse a bit through the plethora of playlists before settling on the usual one, the sound of Arctic Monkeys filling the space as I leave the parking lot.

I don’t want to go home—not yet, at least—so I settle for a late-night drive. The cookie-cutter, upper-class houses pass me by as I mindlessly cruise through the clean streets—a stark contrast to my neighborhood, where you either learn to stick up for yourself or go home crying to your mama. A place where there is more sewage sludge than trees. A place where I grew up and one I learned to love.

In the midst of it all, I don’t notice the particularly nasty bump on the road that makes my song abruptly cut off. I take a right, pulling over in an alley with an annoyed groan as I resort to phase two, also known as connect-phone-back-to-car-before-I-impulsively-crash, of my initial mission. As I fiddle with the settings, showing my inner cheek no mercy as my teeth dig into their feast, a hissing and spritzing sound comes through my open window.

I think I’m imagining things at first, that post-shift fatigue surely getting the best of me, but I spot the source of the sound rather quickly: a figure, hidden almost out of sight between the fancy houses, switching between various colors of spray paint as she defaces the picture-perfect facade with her graffiti. The sheer speed of her actions makes it look like she’s juggling.

How do I know it’s a girl? Well, although she is wearing a hat to shield her face from any surveillance cameras, a neck warmer up to her nose, and a black, oversized tracksuit already covered in pink paint splotches, her disguise was blown the moment she decided to leave her blue, ankle-length, twin braids out. I twist my neck and reach over the dashboard to try and get a better look at her work. I can barely make out the shape of a green monkey’s face before moving on to the next element. ‘Get ji-’

My reading is interrupted by the sound of sirens piercing the air and blue lights illuminating the area. Instinctively, I turn my headlights off and duck, watching the girl as she hastily packs the cans into her backpack. I swear I can see her eyes twinkle with excitement as she takes one last glance at her—presumably—finished artwork and takes off running through the gardens. Her faint giggle reaches my ears, and a bewildered smile graces my features. I wanted fun, and now it’s right in front of me. I definitely couldn’t get a clearer sign than this.

I observe as one of the cops chases after her as the other drives away, seemingly trying to cut her off. Lightbulb moment. I put the car into gear and waste no time following them from the comfort of the dark alleys, reaching the mysterious girl first through the shortcuts. I catch her contemplating her next move and, without hesitation, quickly flash my high beams at her twice. This seems to grab her attention, and I signal for her to get in with a simple nod, tapping the car door as confirmation.

To my surprise, she actually runs over and hops in the backseat, her back lying flat as she takes a swift peek through the window, and holy shit, I didn’t think that she actually would.

“Drive!” she yells through her panting, and I do. I feel my heart beating wildly against my ribcage as the blue lights appear once again in my rearview mirror. Don’t fuck this up, I think before taking a sharp left. I hear her elated squeals as I visualize the district’s roads and plan the perfect getaway.

Right.

Right, once again.

Left.

Straight down the street.

Sharp right.

I can hear the sirens getting closer as I speed through the familiar routes. It doesn’t matter that I know this area like the back of my hand; the cops probably do, too. There is only one thing left to try, and, albeit risky, it should work. They hadn’t spotted my car yet, and we were quickly approaching a busy intersection—the perfect distraction.

The tires squeak as I harshly pull into an empty driveway, turning the engine off in hopes of blending in.

“What the hell are you doing?!” the blue-haired girl grumbles with brooding eyes. I don’t reply. Instead, I shush her as I grab her waist and roll her off the seat, pushing her into the legroom before ducking underneath the steering wheel. We fall silent, holding our breaths in as the police car passes us by. I watch as they get lost in the dense traffic, a sigh of relief escaping me as I throw my head back. I climb into my seat again and take a peek at the tagger in the back, confusion crossing my features as I watch her stuff her face with candy. My candy. “Hefty stash you got back there.” Her mouth twists at the sour taste of a Warhead she picked. She seems completely unfazed by this whole situation.

I notice that she had discarded her hat and neck warmer and take the opportunity to get a better look at her: blue eyes matching her hair, light freckles splattered across her straight nose and rosy cheeks, pouty lips, her dark and expressive brows… She truly is breathtaking. I feel a blush creep up my face as she climbs over the console, wiggling her way into the passenger seat. She takes her hoodie off, revealing her black tank top, and fuck me, she has tattoos.

She faces me with a curious look herself, seemingly analyzing me too. Her gaze is difficult to decipher as her eyes trail over my figure, and I stiffen. She shoots me a knowing smile before throwing her hands around my neck and placing a kiss on my cheek. “You’re a lifesaver, toots,” she muses into my ear. The pleasant smell of paint and bubble gum hits my nose making me lick my lips. “Name’s Jinx, by the way. Stands for Jinx,” she cackles to herself, drawing her lower lip between her teeth awaiting my introduction.

I blink a couple of times, realizing how silent I’ve been throughout this whole ordeal. I can get awkward, sure, but I’m not timid, so I muster up the courage and consciously relax, trying to project a nonchalant attitude. “I’m Y/N.” I shoot her a smile of my own.

“Y/N. Hmm…” Jinx gives an approving hum as she repeats after me, my name rolling off her tongue like honey. “What made you help little ol’ me?” New observation: she’s a teaser.

“I need some excitement in my life,” I answer truthfully and she perks up with a spark in her eyes.

“Toots, you’ve just made friends with the perfect candidate to help you with that.” Her giddy attitude returns as she beams at me.

“We’re friends, huh?” I tease at her choice of words, my eyebrows raised in a cocky manner.

“Sure we are! I feel like running from the cops together is the perfect bonding experience, don’t ya?” She gives me a once-over before her mouth curves into a smirk. “Unless you want to be more than friends. That could work, too.” She winks. Her straightforwardness should make me turn crimson, but instead, it makes my confidence grow. I give a low chuckle as I shake my head in disbelief.

“Tell you what,” I begin, starting the engine and trying to connect my phone back to the car for the third time already, “let me get you home safely, and we’ll see what tomorrow brings to our friendship. Deal?” I extend my hand toward her, and she ponders my proposition. I can practically see the cogs turning in her head, her facial expressions jumping from sour to doubtful, as if she were battling her thoughts before settling on a satisfied grin.

Her soft hand reaches mine in a princess handshake, and I try not to look at her manicured nails for too long. “Deal.” The blue-haired girl snatches the phone out of my hands, adding her number to my contact list and sending a quick text to herself. Just when I think she’s giving it back, she picks a song, and I hear Arabella playing through the speakers. How fitting.

As I leave the stranger’s driveway, I sense her shuffling in the passenger seat, throwing her legs out the window. She puts her head on my lap freely, toying with the colorful charms on my keychain. In the spur of the moment, I gingerly brush her bangs behind her ear, revealing her side profile. Her gaze catches mine, and I see her eyes soften before I turn mine on the road again.

Jinx tells me her address, and I realize how close to me she lives—the perfect circumstances. I feel her lightly bobbing her head to the music as her left cheek strokes my thigh, her fingers tracing mine as they sit on the gear stick. Her demeanor feels different from the badass tagger who willingly hopped in a stranger’s car. She looks peaceful and content now.

My shoulders slump in disappointment as I park outside her house. She clicks her tongue and lazily lifts her head from the comfort of my lap. She looks around the empty streets of her neighborhood and hums, her curious eyes now shifting to mine. As we take each other in, I can’t help but gravitate toward her—her presence feels almost intoxicating, and I don’t want to part ways just yet. To my surprise, she copies my actions. She’s so close I can feel her minty breath mingle with mine. Instinctively, my gaze drops to her lips as she tentatively licks them. I let out a faint sigh, and she slowly closes the distance. I can hear my heartbeat as I wait for our lips to meet.

But they never do. “I don’t kiss on a first date,” she murmurs in my ear, and my face flushes. Jinx pulls away as she flashes me a toothy grin, and before I can even react, she’s already skipping to her front door, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. Wha-? When did she grab her stuff? I stare in disbelief as she turns around, her braids flailing behind her. “Let’s see what tomorrow brings,” she teases and blows me a kiss before disappearing into the dark hallway of her home.

Fourteen days.

Give me two weeks to make her mine.

╰┈➤ sequel – ‘Fourteen days’

[espresso1patronum]

Nine Lives, One Knight

(batman!gojo x catwoman!reader)

synopsis: By day, Gojo Satoru is Gotham’s golden boy—billionaire, genius, untouchable. By night, he’s the Bat, a relentless force in the city’s shadows. You? You’re Catwoman—master thief, chaos incarnate, always one step ahead. You’ve spent years dancing around each other, neither willing to truly win. But when a new faction, the Black Veil, sets its sights on Gotham’s most powerful players—including you and the Bat—you’re forced into an uneasy alliance. Tension crackles, lines blur, and the game you’ve always played turns deadly. Because this time, it’s not just about the city. This time, it’s about each other.

cw: batman au, mutual pining, slow burn, sort of enemies to lovers, angst, violence, blood, injury mention, gun violence, kinda gory? kinda forbidden love? Toji, geto, shoko and nanami cameo lmao

word count: 10.1k

author's note: this had been in my drafts for a very long time and after the poll results, I thought i'd finish this. it's not much, but I enjoyed writing this jjk x dc crossover.

Gotham was never silent.

Not even at midnight.

Not even when the rain came down in thick, suffocating sheets, drenching the city in shadows. Somewhere below, sirens wailed. Tires screeched. A single gunshot cracked through the air, distant but unmistakable.

To some, the noise was chaos. To you?

It was home.

You move across the rooftop with practiced ease, the weight of the Black Veil’s encrypted drive tucked safely into the pocket of your suit. The heist had been too easy. A little slip past the lasers, a quick crack of the safe, and just like that—you were out.

Something worth a small fortune in your hands. Or rather—something that could destroy half of Gotham’s elite if it ended up in the wrong hands.

(Or the right ones, depending on who you asked.)

A clean escape. A successful job. You should be gone by now.

And yet—

A shiver runs down your spine. Not from the cold. Not from the rain. From something else.

Something you can’t see, but feel.

You land soundlessly on another rooftop, pausing only for a second to scan the city below. Nothing. No movement. Just the familiar neon glow of Gotham’s underbelly.

Still—your fingers twitch. Instinct coils in your gut, whispering a warning you don’t want to acknowledge.

Too easy.

Too—

“Going somewhere, kitten?”

The voice comes from behind you, smooth as silk, dark as thunder.

You don’t startle. You don’t turn. Instead, you let a slow, knowing smirk curl at your lips before you finally glance back.

There he is.

Perched on the edge of the rooftop like he belongs in the night, the rain dripping off the edges of his cowl, his cape shifting slightly in the wind. Batman.

Or rather—Gojo Satoru.

You should’ve known he’d show up. Maybe you did. Maybe you ignored it.

"Bold of you," you murmur, fingers flexing, ready to bolt. "Sneaking up on a cat in the dark."

His head tilts, and though the mask hides half his face, you can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Please," he drawls. "You knew I was here before you even touched the ground."

He's right. You did. But you don’t let him win that easily.

"Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, Bat?" You shift your weight, rolling your shoulders, keeping it casual. "Or do you just like following me around?"

He steps closer. Slow. Deliberate. The way a storm rolls in—inevitable.

"You stole something," he says.

You sigh, dramatically. "I steal a lot of things. You’ll have to be more specific."

"You know what I’m talking about."

He’s close enough now that you can see the flicker of blue beneath his mask. The kind of dangerous blue that makes your pulse stutter for half a second before you shut it down.

"Give it to me," he says, voice quieter this time.

You shake your head, clicking your tongue. "Oh, Bat. You always ask so nicely."

Before he can move, you bolt.

And that’s when the rooftop explodes.

A deafening boom shatters the night, the blast wave knocking you clean off your feet. You don’t have time to think, don’t have time to react—your body moves on instinct, twisting midair, boots scraping against the slick rooftop as you skid dangerously close to the edge.

Shit.

The explosion wasn’t meant for him. It was meant for you.

You barely have time to register the shift in the air before an arm wraps around your waist—strong, unyielding, and familiar—yanking you backward just as the ledge beneath your feet crumbles.

You don’t fall.

Because he doesn’t let you.

When the smoke clears, you’re half-sprawled against him, one of his arms still locked around your waist, his other hand braced against the rooftop. Your breaths come hard and fast, heart pounding against your ribs, adrenaline flooding your veins.

"Well," you huff, dazed but not broken. "Didn’t think you cared, Bat."

His grip tightens—just for a second. Just long enough for you to feel it.

"I don’t," he says flatly. But his jaw clenches. "Stay down."

You snort, pushing off of him as you roll onto your feet. "You and I both know that’s not happening."

He doesn’t argue. Because you’re right. Because whoever just tried to kill you isn’t done.

And they’re not alone.

From the rooftop across the alley, figures emerge from the shadows. Armed. Precise. Waiting.

Batman’s shoulders go rigid. His voice is low. Dangerous.

"They knew you’d be here."

You exhale sharply, adjusting your gloves. "Looks like we’re on the same side tonight, Bat."

The rain slicks the rooftop, turning it into a death trap. But you’ve fought in worse.

Across the alley, four figures move into position. Their weapons gleam under the glow of a distant streetlight—guns, knives, and something that looks an awful lot like a taser baton.

Cute.

Satoru tenses beside you, assessing. Calculating. His voice is low, barely audible over the rain. "Stay behind me."

You scoff, rolling your shoulders. "Not happening."

He doesn’t waste time arguing. Because you’re both outnumbered, because the enemy is moving—because there’s no time to fight each other when you’re about to fight them.

And then—they strike.

One gunshot. Two. You react on instinct, dropping low, twisting away, boots skidding against the rooftop. Batman’s cape flares as he moves—one sharp flick of his wrist, and a batarang slices through the dark, knocking a pistol clean from one of their hands.

Fast and efficient. Classic him.

You? You have your own way of doing things.

The second attacker lunges at you with a knife. You sidestep, grab their wrist, twist—the blade clatters to the ground. Before they can react, your elbow smashes into their ribs, sending them stumbling backward with a wheeze.

"Really?" you taunt, dodging another strike. "You came all this way just to embarrass yourselves?"

Batman doesn’t look at you, but you swear you can feel his exasperation.

"Focus."

You grin. "I am focused."

And then you flip over one of the attackers, landing smoothly behind them before slamming them headfirst into a ventilation unit.

Batman exhales sharply. "Could’ve just knocked them out."

"They’ll wake up." You dodge another strike. "Eventually."

More gunfire. Batman twists mid-air, cape flowing like liquid shadow as he dodges the bullets. In the same motion, he grabs your wrist—yanking you forward, pulling you out of the line of fire just as another shot rings out.

You’re so close you can hear his heartbeat.

For half a second, the world shrinks. The rain, the chaos, the rooftop beneath your feet, it all disappears.

It’s just you and him. Breathing the same air.

Then—"Move."

And just like that, the moment is gone.

You both explode into motion, flawless in sync. A kick to the ribs. A punch to the jaw. A perfect sweep of your leg sends another attacker sprawling.

It’s fast. Clean. Too easy.

When the last enemy collapses, groaning, you barely break a sweat.

You exhale, shaking out your arms. "Well," you say, breathless. "That was fun."

Satoru glares at you. "This wasn’t a game."

"Could’ve fooled me." You step over one of the unconscious bodies, crouching slightly to pat them down. No ID. No insignia. No obvious ties to the Black Veil.

But then— your fingers brush against something cold. Metal.

Your stomach drops.

A small device is clipped to one of their belts. Black, sleek, with a blinking red light.

Shit.

Your head snaps up. Satoru sees it the same moment you do, his voice is sharp. "Bomb." A soft beep. A single second.

And then— the rooftop blows apart beneath your feet.

Pain.

It drags you back to consciousness, slow and disorienting, like surfacing from deep water. Your body aches, the sharp sting of a fresh wound cutting through the dull throb of bruises.

The last thing you remember—the rooftop. The explosion.

And then—falling.

Your eyes snap open. You’re not on the street. You’re not dead.

Instead, you’re somewhere dimly lit, the soft hum of an old heater filling the silence. A safehouse.

Your head tilts slightly. The room is small—just a battered couch, an old desk, and a half-broken lamp casting flickering shadows against the walls.

And across from you— standing near the door, arms crossed, still in full suit— is Batman.

Gojo.

Watching you.

You shift, trying to sit up, but a sharp pull at your side stops you. That’s when you realize— your suit is torn and your stomach is bandaged, and you sure as hell didn’t do it yourself.

A slow smirk tugs at your lips. "Didn’t take you for the hands-on type, Bat."

His jaw ticks. "You were bleeding."

"Aww," you tease, voice still hoarse. "You do care."

He steps closer. The soft glow of the lamp catches the edge of his mask, illuminating the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint tension in his shoulders.

"You almost died." His voice is quiet now, lacking its usual smugness. Too honest.

You tilt your head, studying him. Something about the way he’s looking at you feels... different.

Like he hated seeing you like that. Like it unnerved him.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The air is thick, heavy, charged with something unspoken.

Then—he exhales, stepping back, breaking the moment.

"You need rest," he mutters.

You shift again, testing the pain, biting back a wince. "I need answers."

"You need to not die."

"You didn’t answer my question."

His hands tighten into fists at his sides. He doesn’t look at you, but his voice is sharp, precise. Avoiding something.

"The bomb was a trap. Someone wanted you dead."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, I figured that part out, Bat."

He ignores the sarcasm. "Who else knew you’d be at that vault?"

"Just me."

His gaze flickers to you, sharp and assessing. Like he doesn’t believe you.

You sigh, leaning back against the couch. "Look, I don’t have a name yet. Just whispers about a buyer wanting the drive. But if they’re willing to go that far to kill me for it—"

"—then you’re already in too deep."

There’s something grim in his tone that makes your stomach twist. You study him carefully. His cowl hides most of his face, but you’ve seen him fight, seen him move.

Gojo Satoru is always too confident. Too smug. Like he knows he’s the strongest, the fastest, the smartest in the room.

But right now? Right now, he looks... frustrated.

Not at you. He is frustrated for you and the realization is dangerous.

You push it down and swallow it whole. "Relax, Bat," you say, forcing a smirk. "I still got, what, six lives left?"

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t take the bait. But then your breath catches as he kneels infront of you but you don't move.

You should. You should say something—anything—but you don’t. Because his hands are on you again, pressing carefully against your bandaged side, checking his work.

He’s too close. His touch warm, solid, and careful.

And for the first time, he looks at you—not as an opponent. Not as a thief. But as something else entirely.

The silence stretches and you wish it hadn't because your heart is pounding in a way it isn't supposed to.

And then— he shifts.

You feel it before it happens. The slow lean forward. The weight of his stare. The way your own pulse betrays you, beating too fast, too hard, in the space between you.

Almost—

But then, the moment shatters.

The old radio in the corner crackles to life, static hissing before a voice cuts through. "Breaking news—an attack on Gotham’s financial district just moments ago—"

You blink as he pulls back and you just clear your throat, wanting to push all the wierd thoughts that were clouding your mind right now.

Satoru's expression hardens, as he stands, straightens his suit and steps away. "You stay here," he says, all business again.

You smirk, ignoring the sharp ache in your ribs. "Come on, Bat. You know that’s not happening."

He exhales, long-suffering. "You’re injured."

"And yet I still fight better than half your enemies."

He pauses and stares at you as though you'd said something wrong. Then, finally—a reluctant smirk. "Try to keep up, kitten."

Satoru hadn’t always been like this in the past when you met him. He was obnoxious, full of himself, always eager to show off his strength and speed in front of you. But today—this time—he felt different. For the first time, he seemed genuinely serious. And maybe, just maybe, there was a flicker of vulnerability in the way he spoke, in the way Gotham’s Batman spoke.

You told yourself it had nothing to do with you. But no matter how hard you tried to push the thought away, you couldn’t help but wonder—what if it did?

Sneaking into Gotham’s financial district isn’t hard. But sneaking in with Batman?

Now that’s a challenge.

You slip through the shadows like you were born for this—because you were. Satoru moves beside you, silent, precise, and still annoyingly smug. You glance at him. "Not bad, Bat."

He doesn’t look at you. "Not trying to impress you, kitten."

Liar.

The building looms ahead, dark and empty except for the guards patrolling the perimeter. "Twelve," you murmur, already counting. "Four on the roof, two at the entrance, six inside."

He hums. "I’ll take the roof. You take the inside."

You grin. "Awfully trusting, Bat."

"If you get caught, I’m not saving you."

You both know that’s a lie.

Getting in is easy. Getting to the main office where the stolen drive is hidden? Even easier. You’re already at the vault, fingers working over the lock, when— you hear footsteps.

Shit.

You whirl around, but it’s too late—one of the guards spots you. The alarm blares.

"Dammit," you hiss, already moving, flipping over the desk as more guards storm in. You could take them. You should take them. It's really easy for you actually.

But before you even get the chance— a blur of black crashes through the skylight. Batman lands hard, cape billowing, taking down two guards before his boots even hit the floor.

You blink. "Show-off."

"You’re welcome," he mutters, throwing a punch.

It’s a blur of fists, kicks, and electricity. You move too well together, too in sync. It’s not just skill—it’s instinct. Every time you dodge, he’s already covering your blind spot. Every time he moves, you’re already reading his next step.

It’s flawless. It’s deadly. It’s perfect but— a bit too much. At some point, you end up back-to-back. Panting, bruised and your adrenaline spiking.

His voice is low, breathless. "You good?"

You swallow hard because you shouldn’t be this affected. You shouldn't be affected by anything he says or he does because you don't care, right?

"Always."

And then— a hand grips your wrist. It was a guard you didn’t see. You twist your hand, ready to counter, but before you can, Batman moves first.

Fast. Too fast.

His hand grips the front of your suit—yanking you forward, spinning you behind him as he slams the attacker into the wall with enough force to shake the room.

With a loud thud, the guy drops instantly and you hear nothing but the silence that is lingering in the air. The only sound is your breath and his, his hand still gripping your suit, still holding you.

You look up at him and find him already watching you. He’s too close for your liking. Or is he?

His jaw is tight, his chest rising and falling in steady yet controlled breaths, and his grip on you remains firm. Your pulse slams against your ribs. There’s something in the air—something that shifts, pulling both of you in. You feel it. And so does he.

You hate this. Or at least, you tell yourself you do. But the truth is, you can’t stop it. It’s happening, inevitable and inescapable. This isn’t just a fight anymore. This is something else entirely. And this time, no one interrupts. No radio crackling to life, no explosions in the distance, no convenient excuse to look away.

It’s just you. Him. And a choice.

Before you can even pull yourself back, before your mind can fully grasp the situation, Satoru makes the decision for you. He yanks you forward, his lips crashing onto yours, his mask half-pulled up—just like yours. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you in closer.

And despite everything, despite all the reasons you shouldn’t—you kiss him back.

Your back slams against cold metal, the impact sending a shiver down your spine—not that you can focus on it. Not when he’s leaning in, fingers curling into your suit, pulling, pressing, taking.

You don’t even realize you’re kissing him back until it’s too late. Until your hands are in his hair, gripping, tugging, dragging him closer. Until his weight is the only thing keeping you upright.

The vault. The alarms. The entire damn mission—forgotten. Because all you can think about is—

This is dangerous. This is a mistake. This is—

“Fuck,” you breathe against his lips.

And then— he pulls back, barely.

His breath is ragged, his gloved hand still firm on your jaw, his eyes burning with something wild, like he can’t believe he just did that or like he can’t believe he wants to do it again.

The silence between you crackles like a live wire.

Then he swallows. “We can’t—”

You shove him off. Hard.

Your body still hums from his touch, your lips still tingling, your pulse betraying you. But you don’t let any of it show. Instead, you smirk, sharp as a blade.

“Didn’t know the Bat had such bad impulse control.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you see it—the exact moment he chooses denial. The way his walls snap back into place like steel reinforcements.

His mask comes down. His voice turns cold. “Let’s move.”

And just like that, it’s over.

Except it isn’t.

Because now, the line between you is blurred beyond recognition. Because now, you know what he tastes like. Because now, everything has changed.

And there’s no undoing it.

Gotham’s elite love to party.

It’s how they distract themselves from the fact that their city is rotting beneath them.

Big money, expensive champagne, and a ballroom filled with people who don’t care about anything but themselves.

It’s your kind of scene.

A place where no one notices a missing diamond necklace. Where a stolen keycard goes unreported. Where masks are more than just accessories.

And yet— tonight, you’re not here to steal. Tonight, you're here for him.

It had been a few days since that night—since everything that happened between you and Satoru. Or Batman.

Now, another party was being thrown by Gotham’s elite, and of course, Batman had been invited. And, of course, you had to see him again.

It felt awkward.

Because no matter how much you wanted to ignore it, that kiss had meant something. To both of you. And you didn’t want it to.

You wanted to talk to him like nothing had happened. Like nothing ever would happen again. Right?

You wanted to tell him it was just the adrenaline, just the chaos of that night, nothing more. That’s all it was. That’s all it could ever be.

Gojo Satoru feels you before he sees you.

A shift in the air. A prickle at the back of his neck.

And then— you walk in, dressed to kill.

Silk. Black. Dangerous. A slit running high up your thigh, the soft glint of diamonds resting against your collarbone.

And when your gaze meets his across the ballroom— his throat goes dry.

Because he hasn’t seen you since the kiss. Because you’re smiling like it never happened. Because the second you do— you turn away, and walk straight into another man’s arms.

You feel his stare before you even see him. It lingers on your skin, heavy and unrelenting, like a touch without contact. But you don’t look. Not yet.

Instead, you let the man beside you—some rich idiot with more money than sense—pull you closer, his hand brushing over your waist, his breath warm as he leans in.

"You look exquisite tonight," he murmurs, voice smooth, practiced.

You hum, barely interested. "I know." And still, you feel him.

Watching. Brooding. Jealous. Exactly as you wanted.

So when you finally turn—when your gaze finally locks onto his across the crowded ballroom—you make sure to smirk.

And just like that, he’s gone.

But you know better. He didn’t leave. Not really.

So when you step outside onto the balcony, the cool Gotham night air brushing against your skin, you’re not surprised to find him already there. He stands by the railing, his posture deceptively relaxed, fingers curled around a glass of untouched champagne.

His mask is gone, but his walls? Higher than ever.

You exhale slowly as you step closer, watching him carefully. "Didn’t take you for the jealous type, Bat."

He doesn’t look at you when he answers. "I’m not."

You tilt your head, amusement flickering in your eyes. "Could’ve fooled me."

Silence settles between you, thick with unspoken words and something else, something heavier. The tension coils between you like a wire pulled too tight, waiting to snap.

And then, you break it.

"You’ve been avoiding me," you say, your voice quieter now.

His jaw tightens, but his expression doesn’t shift. "You’ve been avoiding me."

"Maybe," you admit. A small smirk tugs at your lips as you step even closer. "Or maybe I was just waiting for you to make the first move."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "That’s not how this works, kitten."

"Then how does it work?" Your voice is softer now, your gaze steady. "Because last I checked, you kissed me."

His breath hitches, barely audible.

For a moment, he doesn’t move.

And then— you’re against the railing, his hand is on your waist, his grip firm, fingers pressing against the silk of your dress as if anchoring himself in place. His breath is warm against your skin, his voice low and edged with something dangerous.

"It was a mistake," he murmurs, though there’s no conviction behind the words.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly. "Then why are you still thinking about it?"

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. Because you already know.

And when his grip tightens on your waist, when his breath ghosts over your lips, you can see it—the exact moment he realizes he’s already lost.

You could kiss him right now. It would be easy. He’s already too close. His body is practically caging you in, his presence overwhelming. His fingers press into your waist like he doesn’t want to let go, like he’s memorizing the feeling of you beneath his touch. His breath is warm against your lips, his eyes dark and unreadable.

And you know he wants it. Because he hasn’t moved away. Because his grip keeps tightening, like he’s fighting himself but losing the battle.

Because when you whisper, "What are you so afraid of, Bat?" his lips part—like he’s about to answer.

Like he’s about to give in. Like this is finally it.

And then— "We’ve got a problem." The comm in his ear crackles to life, shattering the moment.

Just like that, his entire body stiffens. The warmth disappears, replaced by something cold, something distant. You watch it happen—the exact second he shuts down. The moment he remembers who he is. Who you are. What this is.

His hand falls away. His walls slam back up.

When he speaks again, his voice is devoid of whatever had been lingering between you just seconds ago. "I have to go."

You don’t let it show—the disappointment, the frustration curling inside your chest, the ache you don’t want to name. Instead, you force a smirk, tilting your head slightly.

"Duty calls, huh?"

His expression remains unreadable. "Always."

And with that— he’s gone.

But there's always a problem. You should've known this was a setup. You should have left the party the second he walked away.

You should have ignored the champagne, the meaningless conversations, and the empty laughter echoing through the ballroom. You should have disappeared into the night before anyone had the chance to notice.

But you didn’t. And now, you are paying for it.

The moment you step out the back entrance and into the dimly lit alleyway, something slams into you with brutal force. The impact knocks the air from your lungs, sending you stumbling. Before you can react, a sharp sting pierces the side of your neck.

Your vision blurs instantly as your body feels heavy and unsteady. The world tilts beneath you as you struggle to stay upright, but your limbs refuse to cooperate.

Through the haze, a voice reaches your ears, low and amused. "Nighty night, kitty."

Darkness swallows you whole.

"Say that again."

His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

Shoko hesitates over the comms. "She’s missing. No one’s seen her since the party. Word on the street is—"

She doesn’t get the chance to finish. He is already moving. His mind is no longer in the conversation. His focus sharpens, narrowing in on a single, undeniable truth.

Someone took you. And that changes everything.

This isn’t part of the game you and he have played for years. This isn’t the usual chase through Gotham’s streets, the endless dance of pursuit and escape. This isn’t teasing smirks and near-missed captures.

This is something else, something darker.

Someone dared to take you, and that is a very, very big problem.

Because you are his to chase. Because no one else gets to touch you. Because if they have hurt you— he will burn this entire fucking city to the ground.

Pain is the first thing you register. The feeling's not new at all though.

A dull, throbbing ache pulses behind your eyes, heavy and unrelenting. A sharp sting burns at your wrists where the rope digs into your skin. Cold metal presses against your ankles, the bite of steel cuffs locking you in place.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself as the haze begins to clear. You’re tied to a chair.

The air is thick with the scent of damp concrete, musty and stale, like an old basement that hasn't seen fresh air in years. A single lightbulb flickers overhead, its dim glow casting long, shifting shadows against the cracked walls.

You take a slow breath and assess your surroundings.

You’re underground. Maybe an abandoned warehouse. Maybe a storage facility. Wherever you are, it's hidden, tucked away from prying eyes.

And whoever took you here—they know what they’re doing.

You flex your fingers, testing the restraints, but before you can shift too much, a voice cuts through the silence.

"Ah, you’re awake."

The words are smooth, laced with amusement, as if this entire situation is nothing more than an entertaining inconvenience to him.

Your eyes snap toward the source of the voice, adjusting to the dim light, and when you finally see him, irritation flares in your chest.

Fushiguro Toji.

You let out a slow breath, biting back a groan. "You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me."

Toji smirks, leaning back in his chair like he has all the time in the world. "Surprised, kitty?"

"Annoyed," you correct, rolling your shoulders against the ropes. "Didn’t think I was worth your time."

He chuckles, dark amusement dancing in his green eyes. "Oh, you weren’t. But then I heard about your little… situation with Gotham’s Bat."

The words are casual, but your stomach twists.

You don’t react. You don’t tense. You don’t let the flicker of unease show on your face. Instead, you arch a brow and smirk. "Didn’t know he had fans."

"I wouldn’t call myself a fan," Toji muses, tilting his head. "But I do love a good weakness. And you, sweetheart?" He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You’re his."

Your heart skips just for a second.

But you keep your expression neutral because he’s wrong.

Right?

Right.

Right.

…Right?

Gojo finds the first guy in ten minutes.

The second in five.

By the time he gets to the third, his knuckles are already bloodied, bruises forming across his fingers from the force of his hits.

The man stumbles back, pressing himself against the brick wall, his breath coming out in short, panicked gasps. "I-I don’t know where they took her, I swear—"

Gojo’s expression is unreadable beneath his blindfold, but his voice is ice. "Where."

It isn’t a question. It’s a demand.

The man chokes, scrambling for words. "P-please, man, I just heard they took her underground—"

That’s all Gojo needs.

His fingers loosen, and the man collapses to the ground, coughing and gasping for air. But Gojo doesn’t wait. He’s already gone. Because he’s close. Because they took you from him. Because they think they can keep you.

And they’re about to learn just how wrong they are.

You won’t let him see you sweat.

Not when the ropes burn against your wrists, cutting into your skin with every twitch of your fingers. Not when your head pounds from whatever the hell they drugged you with, the fog in your brain refusing to lift. Not even when Fushiguro Toji leans in, eyes dark with amusement, the sharp glint of his knife catching the dim, flickering light.

He’s enjoying this.

Enjoying the way your muscles tense when the blade spins between his fingers. Enjoying the way your gaze flickers toward the door, toward the single exposed bulb swaying overhead.

Enjoying the way you’re waiting for something.

Or rather, someone.

"What’s wrong, kitty?" he murmurs, the cold edge of steel pressing against your cheek. "Thought your Bat would’ve come for you by now?"

Your lips curl into a smirk, masking the way your stomach coils with unease. "What, jealous?"

Toji chuckles, low and amused, before his fingers curl beneath your chin, tilting your face up. His grip is firm—not cruel, but controlling. A predator playing with his food.

"Nah," he muses. "Just curious how long it’s gonna take him to break."

Your stomach tightens because if there’s one thing you know about Gojo Satoru, it’s this— he doesn’t break.

He shatters. And when he does— he takes everything down with him.

Gojo hears your heartbeat before he sees you. He has some sirt of a bat instinct, you see.

Faint. Steady. Alive.

That’s the only thing keeping him from ripping this place apart.

But the moment he steps inside—the moment his eyes land on you, tied to that fucking chair, with Toji crouched in front of you like a wolf toying with its prey—something inside him snaps.

"Step away from her." His voice is quiet and deadly. The kind of voice that promises violence.

Toji doesn’t even turn around. Instead, he grins, spinning his knife between his fingers. "Took you long enough, Bat."

Gojo doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink. "This is your only warning."

Toji finally turns, his sharp green eyes glinting with something dangerous. "Or what?"

Gojo tilts his head, slow and deliberate.

Then—he smiles. "Or I’ll show you why Gotham is afraid of the dark."

You’ve seen him fight before. You’ve seen the way he moves—quick, calculated, precise.

But this? This is different. This isn’t the controlled Bat, this isn’t the patient hunter.

This is Gojo Satoru with nothing left to hold back. And it’s terrifying. Because he’s not just fighting Toji.

He’s dismantling him.

A fist meets flesh with a sickening, brutal crack. Toji throws a punch—Gojo catches his wrist mid-air, twisting hard enough that the snap of bone echoes through the empty warehouse.

Toji grits his teeth, lunges—Gojo moves faster, dodging with ease before slamming him into the concrete so hard the ground cracks beneath them. There’s no banter. No smirk. No teasing.

There’s just rage.

And the worst part? Gojo is enjoying it. Because this isn’t just about you anymore. This is everything.

This is Gotham. The corruption. The powerlessness.

This is every ounce of anger he’s swallowed down for years, unleashed on the one bastard stupid enough to give him an excuse and if you don’t stop him now— he won’t stop at all.

"Satoru." Your voice barely reaches him over the pounding in his ears.

But the second you say his name—his real name— he freezes.

Fist still curled in Toji’s bloodied collar. Breath coming in slow, heavy exhales. Shoulders rising and falling with barely contained fury.

And then, slowly—he turns. His eyes meet yours, and for the briefest moment, they flicker—from Gotham’s Bat to the man underneath. That’s all you need.

"Let him go."

Gojo stares at you, unmoving, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second.

Then, with a sharp breath—he lets Toji’s unconscious body drop to the ground. The tension in his frame lingers, coiled tight, but his steps are steady as he moves toward you. The anger is still there. The darkness. The weight of everything he just did.

But his hands are gentle when they find the ropes binding your wrists.

"Let’s get you out of here."

The silence is suffocating.

You should be grateful though. The moment he cut you loose, he got you out—carried you through Gotham’s backstreets, made sure you weren’t followed. Now, you’re in a hidden safehouse—one of his, no doubt—sitting on an old couch, trying to ignore the dull ache in your wrists.

And him? He’s in the bathroom. Avoiding you.

You hear the water running, the steady drip of blood swirling down the sink. You should leave, you should run. But you don’t. Because you’re not done with him yet.

But for him it keeps replaying in his head. The way you said it.

'"Satoru."'

Not Batman. Not Bats. Not some teasing, smug nickname meant to piss him off. Just his name.

Like you knew exactly what it meant to use it. Like you knew it would break him.

His knuckles sting as he washes off the blood. He should have killed Toji. He should have— no.

No, he shouldn’t have let you get this close. He grips the edge of the sink, eyes burning into his reflection. He can’t want this. He can’t want you.

But then—a creak of the floorboard, a shift in the air. He doesn’t need to turn around to know you’re standing in the doorway. And when you speak— he already knows he’s fucked.

"Let me see your hands."

He doesn’t move, neither does he look at you. But he also doesn’t stop you when you step forward and reach for his hand. The bruises are already blooming, dark and angry across his knuckles.

You should say something sharp—something to piss him off, make him smirk, drag him back into whatever stupid game you’ve been playing for years. But for once, you don’t want to play.

"You could’ve killed him," your voice is quiet.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. "I should have."

"That’s not who you are," you say as you caress the back of his hand.

That makes him snap.

His head jerks up, eyes flashing. "You don’t know who I am."

But you don’t let go.

You squeeze his hand—challenging. "Then tell me."

He doesn't say anything for a while and you feel frustrated.

And then, softer—barely a breath. "You don’t want to know."

The silence between you stretches, thick and heavy, coiling around your throat like a noose.

His hand is still in yours, bruised and warm, fingers twitching like he’s fighting the urge to pull away.

Or worse—hold on tighter.

You don’t let go. Neither does he. And for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe— maybe this isn’t something you have to fight. Maybe this doesn’t have to be another battle, another game of pushing and pulling until one of you finally lets go.

Maybe— but then his grip tightens, and his voice, when he finally speaks, is hoarse. "You should leave."

The words hit harder than any punch.

Your breath catches, but you don’t let it show. You force yourself to smile, to tilt your head like this is nothing, like you aren’t standing on the edge of something that could shatter you completely.

"So that’s it?" you murmur, fingers tracing absent patterns along his wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath your touch. "I almost die, you almost lose your mind, and now you’re just gonna pretend none of it happened?"

His jaw clenches, eyes flashing, but he doesn’t pull away. "It can’t happen."

You scoff. "Can’t, or won’t?"

He exhales sharply, the muscle in his jaw twitching again. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Make this something it isn’t."

Anger flickers hot in your chest, and this time, it’s you who tightens your grip. "And what exactly is this, Satoru?"

He doesn’t answer and that’s the worst part. Because you can take a fight. You can take sharp words and heated arguments, can take anger and fire and frustration.

But this? This silence? This refusal to even acknowledge what’s between you? This is what fucking hurts.

You shake your head, laughing bitterly as you finally drop his hand. "You know, for someone who always acts like he’s got all the answers, you really are a fucking coward."

Then you turn. And this time, you walk away first.

He lets you walk away, though he shouldn’t.

He knows he shouldn’t. But he does.

Because if he stops you—if he says anything else, if he gives in even an inch— he won’t be able to stop himself at all.

He won’t be able to stop himself from pulling you back, from letting himself want this, want you, from letting himself believe that there could ever be a world where this doesn't end in disaster.

So he lets you go. He stays in that goddamn bathroom, gripping the counter so hard his knuckles turn white, staring at his own reflection like it’ll give him an answer he doesn’t already fucking know.

Because he knows.

He knows that no matter how many times he tells himself to stay away, no matter how many times he buries it— it’s still there.

It’s been there for years. And now? Now it’s unraveling, slipping through his fingers like smoke, impossible to ignore, impossible to deny. Because the moment you walked away? He felt it.

The weight in his chest, the tightening in his throat, the overwhelming urge to chase after you, to take it back, to do something—

And fuck.

Fuck.

He slams his fist into the mirror before he can stop himself, glass shattering beneath his skin, pain blooming sharp and hot across his knuckles. He doesn’t even feel it. Because all he can think about—all he can fucking think about— is you. And that’s when he knows. This is it. This is the breaking point.

Because the second something happens—the second something puts you in danger again, the second someone so much as looks at you the wrong way— he won’t be able to stop himself.

And this time? He won’t fucking try.

You shouldn’t care. You tell yourself you don’t.

You tell yourself it’s better this way.

You tell yourself you should be used to it by now—used to the push and pull, used to the way he always leaves first, used to the way you always let him.

But this time? This time, it feels different.

This time, it feels like something inside you has been cracked open, exposed, left bleeding in the space between you. This time, you were the one who walked away—and it still fucking hurts.

Because the truth is— you wanted him to stop you. You wanted him to prove you wrong. But he didn’t.

And that? That fucking stings.

You exhale, pressing your fingers to your temples, eyes fluttering shut as you try to push it down, try to shove it deep, deep, deep beneath the surface where it can’t touch you anymore.

But the second you open your eyes, the second you see your reflection in the grimy window of your apartment—

You know. You know this isn’t over, because no matter how hard you try to run from it— it always brings you back to him.

You were lost in your thoughts, more like consumed by them that you forgot. You're Catwoman. You're in the freaking city of Gotham. You should've known. It happens fast. Too fast.

One second, you’re walking down the empty streets of Gotham, the cool night air biting at your skin, the weight of earlier still sitting heavy in your chest—

And the next? You’re surrounded.

Shadows slip out from the alleys, footsteps closing in, voices murmuring in low, amused tones. "Look what we have here…"

"Thought you were untouchable, sweetheart?"

Shit.

You recognize them instantly—Falcone’s men. Which means this isn’t a random attack. This is a message, a warning. A consequence for getting too close to Gotham’s Bat.

You bite back a curse, hands twitching at your sides, muscles tensing as you count the men, assess the distance, calculate your odds.

Four—maybe five. Armed? Most likely. A fight you could win? …Not without consequences.

But what other choice do you have? Because you already know— no one is coming to save you. Not this time.

Satoru feels it before he hears it.

It’s instinct.

A sharp, sudden shift in his chest, a gut-wrenching pull like something inside him is being ripped apart. Then— the comm buzzes.

"We got a situation." Nanami’s voice is clipped, urgent. "Falcone’s men. Five of them. Near Harbor Street."

And before he can even think—before he can stop himself—he’s already moving. Because he knows.

He fucking knows.

You don’t go down easy. They think they’ve already won. They think this will be easy.

They think you’re just a pretty little thief, just a girl who got in too deep, just another lesson to be taught. And that’s their first mistake. Because you don’t go down easy.

You move before they do—a sharp kick, a twist, a knife pulled from your belt and pressed to the throat of the closest man before he can even blink.

"Try it," you hiss, voice laced with venom.

He hesitates, and in that second, you know—you have an opening.

But then— a gun cocks.

And a voice—low, amused, familiar—cuts through the night like a blade. "Tsk. Always making things difficult, aren’t you, kitten?"

Your blood runs cold because you know that voice.

Suguru Geto.

And that? That changes everything.

You’ve honestly been in worse situations. But not many.

Not ones that make your stomach twist quite like this, not ones that make your pulse hammer against your ribs in something too sharp, too visceral, too close to fear. Because this isn’t just anyone. This isn’t some low-level thug. This isn’t even some mob boss looking to put you in your place. This is Suguru Geto.

And he doesn’t waste his time on small threats. No, when he moves, when he speaks, when he smiles—it means something.

"You’ve been causing quite the stir lately," he muses, stepping closer, his hands tucked casually in his coat pockets. "Getting on the Bat’s good side, stepping on all the wrong toes—really, kitten, I expected better from you."

You force your grip to stay steady, the knife still pressed against the throat of the man you caught off guard.

"Flattered, really," you say, keeping your voice light, like your pulse isn’t hammering, like your fingers aren’t itching to grab your grapple and run. "Didn’t think I’d be important enough to warrant a visit from the great Suguru Geto himself."

He chuckles—low, smooth, condescending. "Oh, you’re important," he says. "Just not in the way you think."

Your jaw tightens. "Yeah? Then why are you here?"

He tilts his head, watching you like you’re a puzzle he’s already figured out. "Because," he hums, "you have something that belongs to me."

The USB.

Shit.

Your grip on the knife falters for half a second—half a second too long. Because before you can react, before you can process, before you can even think— The man you were holding twists, shoving you off, the cold barrel of a gun pressing against your ribs before you can recover.

And just like that— you’re out of options.

Satoru's close.

Close enough that he can hear the words, close enough that he can hear your fucking pulse spike.

And that? That’s what does it. Because it’s one thing to be reckless. It’s one thing to be stubborn, to push him away, to insist that you don’t need him, that you can handle yourself.

But this? This is different because Geto doesn’t make idle threats.

And the second Gojo hears the sharp intake of your breath, the second he hears the shift of movement, the second he realizes exactly what’s happening— he moves. Fast. Too fast for them to react.

Because one second, Geto is smirking, enjoying his little game— and the next? He’s eating pavement.

Satoru doesn't hold back. He could, he should. But he doesn’t.

Because the second he sees that gun against your ribs, the second he sees the way your shoulders tense, the way your eyes flicker with something you never let anyone see— it’s over.

The first punch sends Geto flying. The second cracks something, leaves him coughing up blood.

The third? That one’s personal.

Because Gojo has been patient. He’s let things slide, let lines blur, let the underworld think he’s just another player in the game. But this? This is different. This is you. And that? That changes everything.

You've seen his fight countless times, but not like this. Not like he’s tearing through them without a second thought, not like he’s this close to losing control, not like the only thing keeping him from going too far is the fact that you’re standing right there.

It should scare you.

It should make you rethink everything, should remind you why you’ve always kept your distance, why you’ve always told yourself you couldn’t afford to get caught up in whatever the hell is between you. But it doesn’t. Because all you can think, as you watch him break Geto’s men like they’re nothing— is that he came. That you didn’t even call for him, and he still fucking came.

And when it’s over, when the dust settles and Geto is left bloody and laughing on the pavement, when Gojo finally turns to you, breath ragged, knuckles split, eyes burning— you don’t run. You don’t even flinch.

Because you know what this means. What it’s always meant. And maybe—maybe this time, neither of you will walk away first.

You really think you should stop this. You should. You should shove him away, should tell him this doesn’t change anything, should remind yourself why this is a bad idea, why this has always been a bad idea.

But when his fingers curl around your wrist, when he tugs you closer, when his breath ghosts over your lips— you don’t move. You don’t speak. You don’t even breathe. Because this isn’t like before.

This isn’t a game, isn’t a moment either of you will walk away from, isn’t something that can be brushed aside when the night is over. This is the point of no return.

And when he finally, finally closes the distance— you let him.

Because maybe—just maybe—you were never meant to run from him in the first place. It was always going to be you, always.

From the moment you first slipped past his defenses, from the moment you first met his gaze across the rooftops of Gotham, from the moment you first left him standing there with nothing but your name on his tongue and your laughter ringing in his ears— it was always going to be you.

And now? Now, with you in his arms, with your fingers tangled in his hair, with your taste on his lips, he knows there’s no going back. He doesn’t want to.

Because if Gotham is his curse, if the mask is his burden, if the weight of this city is something he’ll never escape— then you? You're the only thing that’s ever made it worth it. And for once, just once—he’s taking what he wants.

You find yourself on the rooftop with him, where it all began.

The city glows beneath you. The skyline stretches out, endless and alive, neon lights flickering, sirens wailing in the distance, the hum of Gotham’s heartbeat steady and unyielding.

It’s always been like this. Always moving. Always demanding. Always taking. And you? You’ve always been running.

But tonight? Tonight, you stand still. Because Gojo is in front of you, mask off, white hair ruffled by the wind, the cut on his lip still fresh from the fight, his eyes— those damn blue eyes—locked onto yours like he’s trying to memorize you, like he already knows what’s coming.

"So this is it, huh?" he says, voice low, rough.

You swallow hard, forcing a smirk. "Come on, Bat. You knew it wouldn’t last."

His jaw clenches. "Doesn’t mean I have to like it."

You step closer, tilting your head. "You’ll live."

He exhales sharply, like he’s about to say something—something real, something that might make you stay— but you can’t let him.

So you reach up, fingers barely brushing his jaw, a ghost of a touch, a silent goodbye.

"Goodbye, Batman," you whisper, voice softer than you mean it to be. "Gotham needs you."

For a second, just a second—you think that’s it. That he’ll let you go. That he’ll watch you disappear into the night like you always do.

But then— his hand catches yours. Tightly. Desperately. And when he speaks, when his voice finally breaks— it nearly stops you in your tracks.

"Why don’t you stay, Cat?" he murmurs, raw, unguarded, everything. "I need you."

Your breath catches as your heart lurches. Because that—that’s the one thing you weren’t ready for. But you force a smirk, even as your chest aches.

"That’s your problem, Bat." You squeeze his hand once, just once—before slipping free. "You’re not supposed to." You pause and for once give him a big genuine smile. "See ya later batman."

And with that— you step back and you turn, as you disappear into the night, like you always do.

Because Gotham needs him. And maybe he was never meant to need you.

@do-morochaa @madamechrissy @katthekat1234 (hope y'all like it😭💗)

[thebettybook]

The hunter who reached for the star

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Characters: OPLA (One Piece Live Action) Roronoa Zoro x Straw-Hat-Crew-Member!gn!reader. This fic is written in Zoro’s point of view

Summary: Reader gets an idea to draw portraits of the Straw Hat crew. While the other crew members make the portrait sessions fun and chaotic, Zoro takes it as a chance to spend more time with Reader

Warnings: Mild cursing from Zoro. Sanji cheekily references the “draw me like one of your French girls” line from Titanic for laughs. Other than that, all fluff

Strawbetty’s notes: Y’all were so sweet with my OPLA Zoro crush headcanons post so here’s a oneshot as my thanks :)🫶

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Zoro sat at the far right end of the tiny dining table in the Going Merry’s kitchen. Despite being surrounded by his fellow Straw Hats, Zoro had his eyes closed and his arms loosely crossed in front of his torso.

Like at most mealtimes, the other crew members were far too engaged in their lively chatter and harmless bickering to notice that Zoro was trying to sleep.

Instead of dozing off, Zoro could only think about the conversation he had with you last night—how the two of you, both unable to fall asleep, gazed up at the stars.

Every word, every sensation, replayed in his mind—from the midnight waves that lulled the ship to the way his name softly rolled off your tongue like a siren’s song—

“Zoro.”

He heard you call his name at the table, pulling him from his recollections. His thin, dark eyelashes fluttered, but he didn’t crack his eyes open. He was too tired to do so.

“Zoroooo!” Luffy stretched his neck from his seat at the head of the table to the end of the table where Zoro sat. The captain didn't hesitate to place his mouth right next to Zoro's left ear. “WAKE UP!”

Zoro’s eyebrows furrowed just a bit as Luffy’s voice pierced his ears. The stoic swordsman opened his eyes, his brown orbs glittering with annoyance. “I’m awake.”

Luffy cackled before snapping his head back in place and turning his attention back to his breakfast of potato bacon soup with a loaf of bread.

“Good morning, Zoro,” your smile, albeit sheepish, eased Zoro’s fatigue a bit. “We were talking about how it would be nice to have official portraits of ourselves, so I offered to draw everyone’s portraits after we all finish eating.”

“I’ll practice my poses!” Usopp chimed in, comically pursing his lips and sucking in his cheekbones to appear like a model. “You know what I always say, if I didn’t join this crew, I would’ve been a model by now.”

“Sure you would’ve,” Zoro couldn’t help but respond with his usual sarcasm, earning him an offended look amped up for dramatics from Usopp.

“Would you like to have your portrait drawn, too, Zoro?” You leaned forward with your elbows resting on the table, giving him a hopeful smile.

Even though Zoro didn’t really care for having his portrait done, and even though he would usually say “no” at any given chance to anyone concerning anything, there was no way Zoro could say “no” to you.

Plus, you drawing his portrait would mean the two of you would get to spend more quality time together. No way would Zoro pass up that chance.

“Mm,” Zoro answered, his voice rumbling an octave lower due to his drowsiness. “I’ll go last.”

Despite Zoro’s nonchalant attitude, his heartbeat quickened when he saw your smile widen.

— — — — —

The setting you chose was a blue-and-white-striped seating area between two rectangular ivory windows in the main room that provided the area with ample lighting from the sun outside.

Zoro watched you pull up a chair a few feet away in front of the seating area for you to sit on while you would draw your portraits. As you placed your drawing papers and pencils on the pool table next to you, Zoro made his way to the far corner of the room to rest on a cushioned bench underneath a circular window.

With one leg propped up, Zoro shifted to get comfortable on the bench and rested his left arm across his torso.

Finally. Zoro shut his eyes, but his ears couldn't shut out the voices of everyone around him.

The first person you drew was Luffy, who would ask you a fleet of questions like “What do you think we’re gonna see at the next island?” or “Wanna know about the craziest dream I had last night?”.

As much as Zoro was (endearingly) used to Luffy’s enthusiasm by now, Zoro contemplated leaving to get some peace and quiet in his own room. He was about to open his eyes and do so before he heard your laugh.

“Luffy! Stop changing your face!” You giggled at how Luffy stretched his mouth out a mile wide.

“What? I’m trying to give you the biggest smile I can!” Luffy’s words jumbled together with his mouth still wide open, only making you laugh more.

That melodic laugh of yours was one Zoro could listen to all day and night no matter how tired he was. He continued to sit on the bench, but his eyes were now open and fixed on you and the rest of the crew around you.

The next person you drew was Usopp, who kept twisting and turning his face and body in hopes of looking like a supermodel.

“Just relax, Usopp,” you chuckled, putting your pencil down.

“I can’t relax,” Usopp threw his head back dramatically. “I’m Usopp, Supermodel of the Seven Seas. Make sure to get both of my good sides.”

Pfft. Zoro let out an amused huff under his breath at the same time you rolled your eyes at Usopp, who simply shot you a cheesy grin.

After Usopp was Sanji, who took off his pink chef’s apron from making brunch to don his usual black suit blazer over a striped blue dress shirt and black pants.

The first thing Sanji did was lay sideways on the couch with his body facing towards you. He propped an elbow up and rested the side of his head on his palm.

“Draw me like one of your French girls,” the cheeky chef winked at you, snickering at his own playfulness that betrayed his flirty facade.

“If you say that again, I’m throwing you overboard with nothing to save you but a door to float on,” you threatened, but you couldn’t help but cackle.

Your portrait session with Sanji couldn’t end soon enough. Zoro felt his usual mild annoyance towards the cook grow as he watched you and Sanji exchange popular references like they were your and Sanji’s inside jokes.

Luckily for Zoro, in a matter of minutes, you finished Sanji’s portrait and began drawing Nami. The Straw Hat’s navigator sat straight with perfect posture, and donned a sincere smile that softened her usual serious expression.

While Luffy, Usopp, and Sanji already had their portraits done, they stayed to hang out. The three of them pulled up chairs to the pool table, each taking one of your extra drawing papers and pencils to draw something of their own.

Luffy and Usopp’s eyes were fixed on their papers. Zoro guessed with a small smile that Luffy was probably drawing something food-related while Usopp was probably drawing himself.

Sanji, on the other hand, had his gaze fixed on Nami. Sanji was skilled and swift with his pencil strokes as he was with a chef’s knife, and anyone who looked at him at that moment would see a smile of genuine admiration on his face as he studied Nami.

Zoro turned his attention from the others back to you. He noted the way your gaze would shift between your paper and Nami as you sketched her.

He also noticed the slight pout your lips formed when you were completely in your element, focused on capturing the subject onto your paper.

The six of you fell into comfortable silence, and Zoro chose not to make any large movements as he basked in the warmth of the afternoon sun that glimmered into the room through the windows.

It was a rare moment like this where the entire crew was together in one room, not laughing or bickering or talking, but simply enjoying each other’s presence.

— — — — —

Zoro didn’t hesitate to get off the bench and make his way over to you once you handed Nami her portrait. He rotated one of his arms, trying to get out any kinks from his shoulder blades.

Unfortunately for Zoro, Sanji was the first to notice him.

“Looks like someone didn’t get enough beauty sleep in time for his portrait,” Sanji teased, earning a mild glare from Zoro.

The rest of the crew chortled in good nature, and before Zoro could respond with a biting comeback, you blurted out, “Zoro always looks good, though.”

Zoro barely had time to register what you just said, even when you covered your mouth with your hand in embarrassment.

Sanji, Usopp, and Nami quickly displayed all-knowing smirks on their faces, while Luffy piped up, “Sanji, I’m hungry and I wanna eat a snack.”

Zoro subtly sucked in the inside of his right cheek to stop himself from smiling at your statement right then and there. If he smiled, he’d never hear the end of it from the others.

“Ok, everyone who’s had their portraits done, out,” you turned your back to the crew, fumbling with your pencils and papers on the pool table. “And yes, go eat snacks or something.”

“Ok!” Nami, Usopp, Sanji, and Luffy all saluted you at the same time. The first three shared a mischievous look before all four of them skedaddled out of the room.

Once they all left, Zoro’s lips eased into the smallest of soft smiles as he made his way to stand next to you.

Zoro couldn’t decide between saying “Hey” or “What’s up?” to sound cool now that the two of you were alone, so he bent down slightly, peering at the portraits you drew of Luffy, Usopp, and Sanji that they had forgotten to take with them.

Zoro didn’t know much about art, nor did he have much of an eye for it, but even he could tell you were good at it. His eyes followed the charcoal lines of the three crew members’ features—Luffy’s scar, Usopp’s dimples, and Sanji’s stubble—and how perfectly you captured them on paper.

“Nice,” Zoro murmured. His eyes moved up from the portraits to you, only to find your eyes already on him.

“Thanks,” you gave him a grateful smile, fiddling with the pencil between your fingers.

“Where do you want me to be?” Zoro straightened up, but his eyes never left yours.

“You can sit right there between the windows,” you broke his gaze and pointed to the spot.

Zoro nodded, going over to the seating area between the two windows. He removed his three swords from the leather strap at his hips to sit down.

Instead of placing his swords to the side or on the floor, Zoro wrapped his right arm around his swords, his bicep flexing as he did so.

In his natural sitting position, Zoro sat up straight, his posture perfect from years of training as a swordsman. However, he wanted to appear casual, so he rested his left leg over his right and put his left hand in his pant pocket.

“Can you draw my swords, too?” Zoro’s eyes flicked back to yours.

“Yeah, of course,” you smiled, plopping down onto your chair with a blank piece of paper and your pencil ready.

Zoro then noticed the charcoal pencil smudges that caked your fingertips. He realized that throughout all the portrait sessions, you never once took a break.

He cleared his throat. “You should take a break.”

“What for?” Your eyebrows lifted in confusion.

“Just noticed you haven’t taken a break since you began drawing us,” Zoro stated. His tone came out flat but the way his eyes softened at you conveyed his care. “Go drink some water, or wash your hands, or something.”

Zoro didn’t realize that he probably sounded more blunt than he meant to, but your eyes only flew down to your hands.

“I’m good, but thank you for thinking of me,” you cracked a huge smile. “Actually, wanna hear a fun fact about me?”

Zoro nodded. He found himself curious that you didn’t wipe away or wash off the pencil smudges on your hands yet.

“I like keeping pencil smudges on my fingers until I’m done with a drawing or an art project,” you gently rubbed one of your fingertips, but the charcoal smudges remained. “It’s like marks that show I put my best effort into what I drew.”

“I get it,” Zoro glanced down at his left palm, which had hardened over the years from calluses he gained from swordsman training. “That’s how I feel about my calluses.”

He couldn’t contain a chuckle when you leaned forward in your seat, your eyes widening with intrigue as he held out his left palm to you.

The skin of his palm was rough, battered with Zoro’s badges of honor that were his calluses. He never really looked at his calluses much, but the way you marveled at them like the stars you marveled at last night made Zoro’s chest puff up a bit with pride.

“Very cool,” you grinned, leaning back in your seat. “Are you ready to get your portrait drawn, Roronoa Zoro with the cool hand calluses?”

An easy laugh escaped Zoro’s lips as he sat up a bit and repositioned his hands to his former pose. “Yep.”

You turned your focus to your paper and pencil, and your head tilted downwards a bit as you brought your pencil down to the paper.

Before you could begin your sketching, Zoro racked his brain for anything witty or funny to say, not wanting to waste the opportunity of having this alone time with you.

“Don’t get my bad side,” Zoro joked, but his words accidentally came out as serious with the stoic expression he kept for his portrait pose.

“You don’t even have a bad side,” you murmured without hesitation, your eyes still fixed on the paper as you began drawing him.

Zoro’s lips broke into the widest grin he had on all day. He turned his head to the right in an effort to hide his flustered expression, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from turning upwards and his eyebrows from lifting.

“Shit,” Zoro mumbled as low as he could, but his growing smile and movements utterly betrayed him.

“Ack, Zoro! Don’t move!” You grumbled at him.

Zoro hid his face in his right shoulder. Both of his shoulders shook as he let out a hearty laugh.

“I’ll never get your portrait done at this rate,” you huffed.

“Good,” Zoro replied with nonchalant defiance. He turned his face back towards you, peeking at you from underneath his eyelashes as you turned your gaze back to your paper.

Zoro’s eyes first saw how the sunlight hit your face, how the gold flecks of light saturated your irises and illuminated every imperfection on your face he thought was perfect.

If Zoro could draw half as well as you could, he wouldn’t hesitate to draw you right then and there.

He wasn’t the artist, but here he was, studying you—taking in every upward quirk of your lips, every back-and-forth of your gaze from your paper to him, every movement you made—and trying his best to capture them all with the sharp pencil that was his memory.

It was only the two of you in the room, and you were only a few feet away in front of him, but Zoro couldn’t help but feel that you were so far away from him.

With the comfortable silence between you two, Zoro’s mind filled with the conversation he had with you last night.

— — — — —

“That’s Orion’s Belt,” you had pointed up to a constellation made of three stars last night. “Those three bright stars.”

Zoro turned his eyes up to follow your finger. “Who’s Orion?”

“Supposedly a demigod huntsman who passed and was placed up in the stars,” you hummed. “Wait, you’re kinda like Orion! With being a former pirate HUNTER and having THREE swords.”

Zoro brought his gaze back down from the stars to you.

“That’s a reach,” he scoffed. Zoro took a leisurely step back, the wooden floorboard of the Going Merry creaking a bit under the weight of his boots.

A crooked smirk glimmered on his face as he reached his hand up to the direction of Orion to humor you. “Literally.”

You chuckled, playfully nudging his shoulder. “Really? I thought there wasn’t anything Roronoa Zoro couldn’t do. Even reach for the stars.”

He wasn’t one to care for fluffy words or compliments, but your comment—and the way you spoke with such faith and confidence in him—sparked meteor showers in Zoro’s heart.

Zoro tried to avoid touching the back of his ears, which grew as hot as the stars. He shifted his body to rest his palms against the polished wooden railing of the Going Merry.

“Why do people like looking at things that are far away?” His eyebrows furrowed up at the stars in an attempt to change the subject.

“I think it’s because since the stars are so far away, all anyone can do is look at them and try to draw them,” you gazed up at the sky. “To capture that moment of seeing something that feels so far away from you but is so beautiful that you can’t help but want it near you.”

— — — — —

Zoro remembered not really understanding your words last night about people’s fascination with stars.

He didn’t get why people would yearn for something they couldn’t have.

Now, watching you as you drew him in daylight, Zoro understood what you meant.

You were physically near him a lot, bright and warm like a star he found himself wanting to get closer to, only to be reminded of the possibility that seemed as wide as a light-year that you might not feel the same.

He was lucky and he wasn’t. He could admire you up close but he had to keep his romantic feelings for you at bay.

Wait, scratch that.

Zoro was never one to believe in luck.

At his core, he was one to never back down from a challenge—to fight for what he wanted.

He didn’t know how you felt about him other than you regarded him as a close friend like he did with you, so there was a possibility he could get rejected.

Thus, Zoro’s pride from not wanting to get hurt prevented him from outright asking you right then and there if you liked him, too.

For now, Zoro would fight his pride with every chance he could get to spend more time with you—to build up his courage to confess his feelings to you someday.

To reach for the star.

And if that meant moving and messing up during this portrait session to lengthen his time with you, he’d do it again and again.

Zoro bided his time before he decided to part his lips.

“Beautiful,” he mumbled.

“What is?” You inquired, not stopping your hand with the pencil.

“A star,” Zoro didn’t hesitate to answer, knowing his reply was so bizarre it would get your attention.

And it did, as your eyebrows scrunched together and your head flew to the sides to look for a star outside the windows or one that miraculously appeared near you and Zoro somehow.

“Which one? And where?”

A genuine chuckle escaped from his lips, turning your eyes back to his. He hoped his next words would anchor your attention on him.

“The one right in front of me.”

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Important

🍓 I don’t own any of the characters I mention or write about; they belong to their original and respective creators.

🍓 All content on this blog is created by me, @thebettybook (excluding posts I reblog that aren’t my own posts and unless I state otherwise). Do not modify, claim, repost, or translate my work onto this platform and any other platform.

🍓 Reblogs are appreciated :). Like my work? Support me on Ko-fi :D

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[magicpaint]

TWST Indie Perfume Recs

While browsing, I've noticed a lot of fragrances reminding me of TWST characters. All characters have five fragrances, while each dorm is given one general fragrance. 22 named students of NRC, Ramshackle, the staff, RSA, Book 7 characters, and event characters have been included.

Fragrance notes are taken from their respective websites.

Heartslabyul —

Alice (Crow & Pebble) — Bakewell tarts and black tea, white roses painted red, a distant whiff of black pepper and orange marmalade.

Riddle Rosehearts

High Tea (Possets) — A very true to tea blend. Infused with lemon, sugar, milk, and that indescribable scent of the best starched linens.

Rosewater Lemonade (Hexennacht) — Tart, sweet lemonade infused with fresh, heady rose petals.

Dormouse (Wild Hybrid) — Tea-soaked fur, caramel cakes with a thin smear of butter, toast crumbs and pink pepper

Last Breath (Deep Midnight) — A sweet goodbye as an organ pipes a haunting hymn. Main notes of red roses, lily of the valley, and white tea waft in as the lid closes…

Jabberwocky (Pierrot Perfumery) — An interesting blend of labdanum resin, charred oak, amber musk, and blood.

Ace Trappola

Cherry Fizzy (Death & Floral) — Classic dark cherry soda with small hints of cocoa beans and strong carbonation

The Red Hare (Stone & Wit) — Fresh ginger, fig preserves, cherry, almonds, suede

Black Cherry Bomb (Death & Floral) — Melted black cherry popsicle juice, ginger ale cream soda, salty and hot summer skin, honeydew, golden caramelized amber

Sucker Punch (Sugar & Spite) — Red, shiny lollies, lemon hard candies, and fluffy pink cotton candy

Knave of Hearts (BPAL) — Crushed roses and blackcurrant tarts.

Deuce Spade

0 The Fool (Wild Hybrid) — The dust of a road travelled, davana, tea rose, sunflower, honey myrtle, pink pepper, rhododendron leaf, angel's trumpet, orange and crystalline musk.

Misspent Youth (Death & Floral) — Iced cold root beer, the glowing hum of a 7-11 parking lot, peppered vanilla, blood orange & ginger candy, fuzzy grey amber

White Rabbit (Siren Song Elixirs) — White musk, Coconut, Narcissus flower, Lime verbena, Amber, Double Vanilla

Clowning Around (Luvmilk) — Fresh, buttered, caramel popcorn, salty peanuts, tufts of blue cotton candy, and taffy apples.

Storm Chaser (Fyrinnae) — Misty, salty onshore winds, wet sand and soil, storm surge, broken branches, and gasoline.

Trey Clover

Violet Pound Cake (CocoaPink) — Fresh baked pound cake squares sprinkled with wild candied violet petals then softly dusted with confectioners’ sugar.

Flourite (Hexennacht) — lavender, chamomile, lemon balm, spearmint, a faint wafting of violets.

Coco Violette (Deep Midnight) — Reminiscent of old fashioned violet candies and sweet childhood memories. Old fashioned violet, milk chocolate, and a hint of creamy vanilla.

Dead of Night (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of lavender, white pepper, dryer sheets, detergent, warm cotton, and vanilla musk.

Lab Partner (Nui Cobalt) — Unripe mandarin, chilly grey cashmere, green peppercorn, flushed skin, and toasted oats.

Cater Diamond

Raining Diamonds (Nui Cobalt) — A glistening air of wonder and enchantment. Chilled white grapefruit, ambrette seed, stellar musk, forget-me-not blossom, sheer vanilla, and honeyed almond.

Tell It to the Moon (Sugar & Spite) — Precious woods, cashmere vanilla, resin, spice, and a swirl of bright mandarin.

The Aquarius (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of pear, ginger, nutmeg, salty popcorn, tart lime, sugared citrus, sea salt, lotus, calendula, and cedarwood.

Festival Nights (Luvmilk) — Melon kakigori, dango drizzled with mizuame, wataame, and fireworks in the distance.

Everything Is More Beautiful Because We Are Doomed (Death & Floral) — Rich gourmet vanilla blended with benzoin and black woodsmoke

Savanaclaw —

Dantalion (Fantome) — Creamy chai tea, obscuring mists, sandalwood, a plaster mask, clarifying ginger, carnations, dandelions, & a melted beeswax candle.

Leona Kingscholar

Afterglow (Alkemia) — A softly glowing veil of golden musk, Madagascar vanilla beans, woodsmoked black amber, chai tea, spiced rum, and incense woods.

Lion (BPAL) — The dry, glorious warmth of the Savannah. A golden, spiced amber, proud, regal and ferocious.

Untamable (Imaginary Authors) — Leather Saddle, Tonka Resin, Saguaro Blossom, Texas Yellowstar, Cumin, Tumbleweed, Paso Fino

Badlands (Solstice Scents) — Dry woods, worn leather, dusty fossils, sandalwood, palo santo, hot resins, juniper wood, ponderosa pine cone, parched grasses and desert plants, oud, spices.

Villain Origin Story (Nui Cobalt) — Jaded by the world’s ills, a heart is ignited not by hope, but by fury. Sinister patchouli, spiced mulberry wine, smoldering musk, deep mahogany, and a sliver of peach skin.

Jack Howl

White Fir (Pineward) — orange, ginger, white fir, clove, anise, pine, musk, vetiver, oakmoss.

Turquoise (Hexennacht) — Wild blueberry, white amber, prickly pear, apricot, artemisia, green tea, honey sage, ghost flower, lemon verbena, lavender, lemon balm, cactus flower, dry grass.

Bitter Cold (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of freezing air, cedarwood, balsam fir, pine needles, and a delicate touch of mint.

Werewolf (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of patchouli, black spruce, juniper, amyris resin, rosemary, clove, and clary sage.

The Cactus Where Your Heart Once Was (Death & Floral) — Prickly pear cactus accord and orange flower absolute

Ruggie Bucchi

First Dandelion (Alkemia) — A bright meadow of sunny dandelion flowers, green dandelion leaves, and warm dirt.

Laundromat (Hexennacht) — Laundry soap, fabric softener, ozone, and coin-op washing machines.

Maplemallow Doughnut (Hexennacht) — Fresh doughnuts, topped with sticky maple frosting, and tooth-achingly sweet marshmallow fluff.

Laundry Day (Cirrus Parfum) — Clean white laundry musk, lavender, vanilla, earl grey tea, and New Caledonia sandalwood

Blood and Donuts (Deep Midnight) — Dark Egyptian amber and gaharu wood, well blended and served with creamy vanilla, cinnamon spice, rich chocolate, and a splash of turkish coffee. It's.... to die for.

Octavinelle —

Black Pearl (Wild Hybrid) — The scent of deep sea life and vanilla

Azul Ashengrotto

Voice of the Sea (Alkemia) — An olfactory musing from the underside of a wooden dock—salinaceous seabreezes, sun bleached driftwood, crushed seashells, a twist of Meyers lemon peel, barnacles, mineralistic sand, and seasoaked timbers.

Breakwater (Wylde Ivy) — Mist soaked and sun scorched basalt, bergamot, dried black tea leaves, and white sandalwood

Small Comforts (Stone & Wit) — Black tea, tamarind, clove, anise, cinnamon, white musks

Poison Pen (Death & Floral) — Black musk, mahogany wood, balsam accord, old paper, ink, red sandalwood, ylang, lapsang souchong, and a tiny touch of cinnamon bark

With the Fishes and the Dead (Death & Floral) — Black squid ink and mile long oceans. Black ambergris, black labdanum absolute, salty ocean water, and black pits of stretched out emptiness.

Jade Leech

Koschei the Deathless (Fantome) — Forest mushrooms, turmeric, myrrh, treemoss, dry bones, sea kelp, dark patchouli, creamy ylang.

Ghost Whale (Crow & Pebble) — Stormy sea air, clary sage, black pepper, jasmine green tea, ambergris, cedar and agarwood.

FROGS! (Death & Floral) — Grounding and warm woods, Virginia cedar, cold-pressed yuzu, overgrown moss, forest mushrooms, wet humid frog skin

Leviathan (Hexennacht) — ambergris accord, soil, ozone, marine accord, seaweed accord, mitti attar, geosmin, matsutake mushroom, algae.

The Lighthouse (Mythpunk Olfactive) — The cozy aftermath of a seaside storm - maritime pine, ozone, heather, bloodmoss, rocky wet sand, black tea, wet wool drying by the fire

Floyd Leech

Scenic Route (Hexennacht) — California sagebrush, narrow-leaf eucalyptus, purple sage, pink peppercorn, driftwood, ocean air, orange blossom, sandalwood, cypress, palo santo, patchouli.

Why Would You Make This!? (Stone & Wit) — Lime, bergamot, Sichuan pepper, paprika, apples, raisins, salt, watermelon

OYSTER! (Poesie) — Grey musk, ocean brine, bitter cucumber, a twist of lemon, elemi resin, and angelica

Siren (Wild Hybrid) — Salty ocean water, barnacle covered rocks, wet ship wood, beeswax, sailor's pipe tobacco and spiced rum and the tang of blood to be spilt.

1991 (Sunsphere Scents) — Saltwater, grapefruit, an old boardwalk

Scarabia —

Eternal Sunshine (Hexennacht) — Coconut water, pineapple, apricot, papaya, banana, sunscreen, pool water, sandalwood, seaweed accord, sea salt, driftwood, mysore accord, sun-warmed sand, pool toys, choya nakh.

Kalim Al-Asim

Eight Minutes of Light and Heat Left When the Sun Dies (Death & Floral) — Pulpy coconut water and sweet Thai tea, blended with soft orange blossoms and a scorching desert thunderstorm looming in the distance.

Tempest (Siren Song Elixirs) — Dragon fruit, Lychee, Dahlia, Black Vanilla, Creamy Vanilla

Awakening Desert (Alkemia) — Rainstorm across desert. Cracked earth drinks deeply, softening into moist clay. Desert springs refill and replenish. An elemental scent of awakening... dry warm earth, parched grasses, dried wood, and mineralistic clay drenched in rainwater.

Beautiful, But Annihilating (Sorce) — Fresh coconut, jasmine sambac, tonka bean, salty skin

Cardigan (Death & Floral) — Bergamot and spiced cardamom blended with Egyptian musk superior and sandalwood

Jamil Viper

Serpentine (Sorce) — Ripe figs, fig leaf, cardamom, caramelized honey, vanilla, Peru balsam, Cedar, Iso E Super

Moonstone (Hexennacht) — argent ambre, night-blooming jasmine, evening air accord, lunar musk.

Whisper Your Bitter Things (Poesie) — Pressed coffee beans, dried clove bud, cassia bark, jasmine and neroli blossoms, and roasted vanilla pods

The Snake (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of black narcissus, night blooming jasmine, honey, toffee, and black musk.

Violent Moon (Sugar & Spite) — Candied clove, incense, elemi, palo santo, raspberry leaf, sanguine musk, litchi, moss, sandalwood and patchouli.

Pomefiore —

Champagne Supernova (Black Hearted Tart) — Fizzy pink champagne is elevated with frozen mangoes and a sweet red berry accord. Freesia petals, baby powder, and cashmere musk add a flirty feel.

Vil Schoenheit

Smells Like Teen Slayer (Pierrot Perfumery) — A blend of stone fruits, sandalwood, amber, and white florals.

Thigh Highs (Luvmilk) — Juicy mango, creamy papaya blossom, a touch of resin coated vanilla, hints of jasmine and violet on a woody, earthy base.

Fluffy Pink Murder Robe (Fable & Canon) — Delicate blushed florals, Madagascar vanilla, soft fuzzy peach skin, and a spilled glass of champagne.

Proud Queen (CocoaPink) — She rules all that is strange and dangerous, poisonous and beautiful. Foxgloves, opium poppies, bitter nightshade, green roses of hellebore, oleander's apricot notes, and innocent orange blossom, with a breath of raspberries, white chocolate, marshmallow, and warm white musk.

Evil (BPAL) — Smouldering opium tar, tobacco absolute, green tea, black plum, kush, ambergris accord, ambrette seed, and costus root.

Epel Felmier

Bad Apple (Redwood Alchemy) — Apple, Leather, White Musk & Civet

Blue Jay Orchards (Birch & Besom) — Apple cider donuts, gently smoked honey, orchard soil, cedar, ripe gourds

Riverside Hayride (Solstice Scents) — Moist Dirt, White Carnations, Fallen Leaves, Bare Branches, Hay & a Hint of Pressed Apples

November (CocoaPink) — The unmistakable scent in the air the moment winter arrives. Pale snowflakes, bitter, cold air, dry vanilla, snow dusted trees, agar-wood, baked apple pie and smokey swirls of crackling tobacco.

Bite the Apple (Black Hearted Tart) — Honeycrisp red apples are plunged into a cauldron of creamy caramel and rolled in pieces of toffee and crushed walnut.

Rook Hunt

Crossbow of Vengeance (Fyrinnae) — Dried tobacco, freshly crushed black pepper, and the almost undetectable sweet scent of your poison-dipped bolts.

Balcony Tryst (Fyrinnae) — Tangerine blossoms! Sweet tangerines mixed with the heavier scent of their flowers, grounded by a bit of ginger lily, soft leather, and benzoin.

Ranger (BPAL) — Untamed wilderness: buckskin accord with Terebinth pine, Russian birch, black ironwood, elder bark, hay, armoise, juniper, patchouli, galangal root, Spanish moss, and cabreuva.

Hunter's Moon (Pulp Fragrance) — An Ode to Diana, lunar goddes of the Hunt: Moonflower, tonka bean, honeyed amber, sandalwood, tolu balsam, oud, and rich golden spice.

The Hunter's Kiss (Andromeda's Curse) — Key Notes: Leather, Dark Forest, Incense

Ignihyde —

Starship Mechanic (Fyrinnae) — Working among the generators and weapons control areas all day ensures the scents of titanium, steel tools, engine oil, and fuel stick to their skin and hair for hours. Even after a scented shower, mixing with the lingering fragrances of bergamot, woods, and patchouli, their line of work is fairly obvious when you get close. But you don't mind at all.

Idia Shroud

Please Rewind (Amorphous) — Highlights include VHS tape cases, hot popcorn, and the ozonic, static-like aroma of a hot VHS tape fresh from the VCR.

Artificer (BPAL) — Gleaming metal, gear oil, sparking wires, shattered glass, and a blue flicker of arcane power.

Shroud (Sugar & Spite) — Obsidian violet, geranium, coconut milk, amyris, saffron, cedar, and vetiver

In The Styx (Birch & Besom) — Cool mineral water, metallic silver, dry woods, aquatic atmospherics

The Black Gate (Pierrot Perfumery) — A truly evil blend of wormwood, labdanum, nag champa and blackened metal.

Ortho Shroud

Aerobraking (Fyrinnae) — The combination of warm machine oil, cold titanium, and the slightly stale scent of re-circulated oxygen.

Electric Feel (Death & Floral) — A blend of different electricity accords; hot wires, neon signs, tv static fuzz, the electricity that rumbles inside a thunderstorm.

Deus Ex Machina (Alkemia) — An olfactory portrait of industrial decay and the fallen gods of age of disruption, innovation, and technological revolution… fire hardened steel, rusted iron, motor oil, wet cement, burnt copper wires, and grey amber

Abduction (The Eyes Are Always There) — metallic and ozone top notes transition into a heart and base comprised of a subtle blending of rich spice, wood, organic and earthy components.

Eldritch (Red River Apothecary) — Inky black musk, cosmic horror, patent leather and a smattering of dark energy

Diasomnia —

Gargoyle (Nui Cobalt) — Rain-drenched lavender, cathedral incense, beeswax candles, and ancient stone.

Malleus Draconia

Green Eyes, Black Hair (The Strange South) — Oud, marshmallow, freesia, and vanilla.

Beastly (CocoaPink) — Ancient castle stones, the brooding airs of a dark forest, a threat of winter; a fougere fit for a prince, the musk and leather of a beast; a library filled with rare books; and a single red rose.

Insomnia (Sugar & Spite) — Oud, Black Pepper, beeswax, dragon's blood, light and dark patchouli, benzoin resin

Lost Temple (Nui Cobalt) — A nexus of mystery and hidden power. Damp moss, a humid tangle of mandevilla vines, freshly cut palo santo, rain-drenched stone, and the memory of sacred fires.

Thunder In Your Ear (The Strange South) — Dragon's blood, red musk, sleet, mandarin, and vanilla.

Silver

Aurora (Alkemia) — A luminescent skin-but-better aurora of soft cashmeran, orris root, cardamon infused coconut milk, white amber, white musk, white violet, white ginger, lotus flower, and a touch of honeyed cream.

Gentle Tormentor (CocoaPink) — You are that wild-eyed faery's child, beautiful and merciless. A bed of vanillas, tonka and white musk, laced with delicate lemon and bergamot.

Doe Eyed and Dreaming (Sugar & Spite) — Assam au lait, dry vanilla pods, burned brown sugar, oak wood, tonka, ambrette and the tiniest hint of firewood

Fey Touched (Nui Cobalt) — A glistening aura of elemental power to enhance all spellcraft. Sunflower petals, honeyed almond, yuzu, sacred benzoin, and prismatic mist from woodland stream dappled in sunlight.

Inside a Nightmare (Death & Floral) — The olfactory profile of a constantly changing nightmare. Freezing cold water, asphalt, sea salt, lavender & chamomile. very soft leather car interior. Which turn was wrong, and where did we end up?

Sebek Zigvolt

Magic Compass (Nui Cobalt) — An enchantment to navigate you through the fog and keep you on the right path. Shining brass, benzoin, angelica flower, quatre épices, sandalwood, golden patchouli, and a touch of ripe passion fruit.

Vert et Noir (DSH) — A bright, citric-green eau fraiche vetiver fragrance with vegetal notes and ozone to bring the unexpected.

Sorcerer (BPAL) — A golden, sparking surge of raw, wild magic: waves of amber, frankincense, red cacao, blood orange, and lavender touched by demonic incense and dragon’s blood.

Lightning (BPAL) — Lightning slashing the midnight skies over the endless reaches of the ocean. The electric tang of ozone, marine notes, and a drop of sharp rain.

16 The Tower (Wild Hybrid) — Lightning and stone

Lilia Vanrouge

Frickin' Bats (Hexennacht) — Vanilla ice cream, black licorice whips, candy corn, root beer, kettle corn.

90s Goth (Amorphous) — Aroma palette is a spooky, spicy, dark floral musk with hints of leather and spice. Highlights include clove cigarette smoke, jet black lipstick, worn leather, fog machine, and white violet musk.

Bats in the Belfry (Pierrot Perfumery) — A sweet, musty blend. Notes of vintage lace, dried flowers and dusty photos.

You'll Never Grow Old (CocoaPink) — A vintage amusement park on a summer night boardwalk where the coolest vampires hang out. The irresistible mingling of cotton candy, waffle cones, caramel popcorn, and candy apple is stalked by the tang of an oncoming storm, sea salt, freshly-dug dirt, and a primal, seductive musk.

Moondust Will Cover You (Sugar & Spite) — Lush green foliage, tiny, still-green wildflowers bathed in moonlight, and a sweet breeze that smells of love and sorrow.

Ramshackle —

Parlour (Fantome) — A darkly polished mahogany rapping table, spirit boards, sweet rosewood chests, burning incense, and a hint of vetiver.

Grim

Purr (Hexennacht) — kitten fur accord, yarn (wool absolute), milky kitten breath, tonka bean absolute, musk.

Le Chat Noir (Hexennacht) — chimney smoke, freshly fallen snow, and the cool, dry, musky scent of a cat just in from a long winter stroll.

Vampire Cat (Nui Cobalt) — Playfully alluring. Top notes of tart cherry and pomegranate, a warm heart of rooibos, torch ginger, and hibiscus, and a base of red cedarwood and dragon’s blood resin.

Making Biscuits (Deep Midnight) — The most ubiquitous of cat practices, biscuits are about sharing. Main notes of: bread, sugar, fire, pumpkin, cardamom

Kitten and the Falling Leaves (Alkemia) — An olfactory portrait of crisp dry leaves and warm musky kitten fur.

NRC Staff —

Dire Crowley

The Night-Raven (BPAL) — Indigo musk, wild plum, rose geranium, benzoin, night-blooming jasmine, and patchouli.

Prismatic Crow (Crow & Pebble) — Soft woods, dark forest fruits, dry pine needles, juniper branches and a wisp of smoke.

A Fine Gentleman (The Strange South) — Blackberry, licorice, wood shavings, bay rum, and clove.

Ravenous (Siren Song Elixirs) — Frost, Snow, Ozone, Birch, Cypress, Fir Needles, Oakmoss, Sandalwood, Black Salt, Black Pepper, Charcoal, Sweet Milk, Blue Musk, Vetiver, Nag Champa, Mahogany, Narcissus blooms

Villain (BPAL) — A classic Victorian men’s cologne: a lavender fougere, with hints of lilac, lime, and citrus musk.

Divus Crewel

Hand Me My Leather (Hexennacht) — premium leather/suede accord, vanilla, benzoin, tolu balsam, Peru balsam, olibanum, amber, black pepper, cedar, sandalwood, tonka, musk.

My Curse (Stone & Wit) — Red wine, hyssop, cashmere, suede, musk

The Devil's Bentley (Pierrot Perfumery) — Coal, brimstone, car exhaust, black musk and 1970's amber cologne.

Wardrobe (Solstice Scents) — Creamy woods blend with cashmere, fur, velvet and a touch of dry woody spice.

Hexes 4 My Exes (Birch & Besom) — Leather, Earl Grey tea, vintage powder, crushed violets, cauldron smoke

Mozus Trein

1891 (Alkemia) — A delightful anachronism of French lavender buds, mandarin peel, lime leaves, bergamot, bay leaves, coriander, clove, nutmeg, ginger flower, pink pepper, elegant white carnations, heirloom tree rose, opium tar accord, and woody amber resin nestled in an embrace of precious oriental incense woods.

Beloved (Stone & Wit) — Apricot brandy, sandalwood, cedar

Vintage (Hexennacht) — Golden amber, Medjool dates, vanilla, amber attar, citrus, resins, Mysore sandalwood, opoponax.

Lucifer (Hexennacht) — White sage, blue musk, cedar, blackberry, black tea, bergamot, apple.

The Blues Are All the Same (Death & Floral) — Smooth vanilla cognac, aged barrel wood, and sticky honey.

Ashton Vargas

The Heartbreaking Simplicity of Ordinary Things (Death & Floral) — Freshly opened tennis balls, cool crisp meteor shower nights, warm and sweet cardamom

Black Mass (Hexennacht) — essentially, "MOON-mallow ": smoked vanilla, frankincense, Peru balsam, labdanum, amber, vetiver, atlas cedarwood, patchouli, night musk, and scorched marshmallows.

Greymist (Pineward) — noble fir, scotch pine, expressed citron, blond tobacco, botanical musk, vetiver.

Lothario (Wild Hybrid) — Night blooming flowers with a touch of campfire smoke and leather.

The Wolf Only Needs Luck to Find You Once (Death & Floral) — Crisp forest night air, lunar musk, large drifting Oakwood trees, the musky scent of a trailing shadow.

Sam

Spellbound (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of cinnamon, bourbon, tonka bean, salted caramel, sandalwood, and vanilla.

Cafe (The Strange South) — Chicory coffee, hot beignets, and pralines.

Memento Mori (Siren Song Elixirs) — Lily, Tuberose, Forget-Me-Nots, Rain, Amber, Incense

Parlor Trick (Solstice Scents) — Ivory lace, white wax, aged paper, glossy white smoke, teak, black tea, blonde woods, delicate spice, bone musk, Manor and a faint trace of rose

Imp (Haus of Gloi) — Peculiar passion fruit mingling with sun cured apricots, perfectly pink grapefruit juice and innocent whispers of wet mimosa blooms.

Royal Sword Academy —

Ambrose the 63rd

The Mentor (Nui Cobalt) — A venerable wizard, mysterious but kind, with faded robes and shining eyes. Ancient sandalwood, well-worn linen, olive leaf, oakmoss, Earl Grey tea, and sacred temple incense. Wear for guidance in times of confusion, and for spiritual support in times of discouragement.

Wizard's Tome (Pierrot Perfumery) — An herby blend of sage, lavender, with notes of parchment and wet stone.

Wizard's Library (Birch & Besom) — Antique books, a smooth cup of hazelnut coffee, cedar desks, sandalwood, sweet tobacco

Nocturne #10 (Siren Song Elixirs) — Mahogany, Amber, Dried leaves, Vanillin, Fireplace Smoke, Coffee, Shea butter, Wood embers, Marshmallow

As Above So Below (Sugar & Spite) — Delicate, ephemeral lilacs, sweet swirls of cream, and mahogany wood

Chenya

Cereal Marshmallows (Hexennacht) — Cronchy, sugary, delicious. Also terrible for you, but OH WELL.

Pouty Kitten (Luvmilk) — Old fashioned cream soda, piles of sugared strawberries, a bowl of whipped cream, freshly cut grass on a warm summer day.

Cheshire Cat (BPAL) — Grapefruit, red currant, dark musk, Roman chamomile, delphinium, and lavender.

Lavender Sugar Cookie (Fable & Canon) — Soft, sweet lavender and rich vanilla folded into buttery sugar cookies.

Lofty Castle (Luvmilk) — Candied lavender, fresh honey, puffs of cotton candy, and raw sugar.

Neige Leblanche

Sit For a Spell (Sorce) — Salted cantaloupe, a light drizzle of wild rosemary honey, fresh spring air, ambrette seed, and winding honeysuckle vines

Lost in the Wood (Crow & Pebble) — A thicket of mossy silver birch, bluebell flowers and violet leaves crushed underfoot, with apple blossoms and elderflower blooming overhead.

Meadowmoss (Pineward) — Oakmoss, alpine sandwort, wild grass, green wheat, orange blossom, fir balsam, tomato leaf, azure bluet, mountain wildflowers.

Angelic (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of sparkling yuzu soda, white tea leaves, mint, apple blossom, white sage, cedarwood, and angelic musk.

Good (BPAL) — Shimmering celestial musk with vanilla, white honey, acacia, and sugar cane.

Book 7 Characters —

Baul Zigvolt

The Faerie Knight (Wild Hybrid) — Tuberose, aged leather, helichrysum, cassie absolute, apricot, ethereal musk and tangled greenery.

Chevalier Vert (Olympic Orchids) — Citrus, rhubarb, tomato leaf, armoise, violet leaf, violet, orris, and peony, Sichuan pepper, and soft woods.

Luna (Laurel & June) — Crystal white amber, night blooming jasmine and lotus flowers; heather, fig blossoms, cool night rain

Stratus (Osmofolia) — Broken stems, ambergris, bitter galbanum, silvery osmanthus, wet stones, damp soil, glimpses of cherry blossom buds, and never-ending fog.

After the Night's Shade (Mythpunk Olfactive) — Earl grey (bergamot, black tea), 'blue' Spanish lavender, golden amber, osmanthus, rosewood, sandalwood, tonka bean, vetiver (Bourbon), aged patchouli, opoponax 216, pure oakmoss, and pine tree moss

Dawn Knight

Forest Prince (Luvmilk) — A woodsy clean scented blend of cedarwood, moss, hyacinth, sandalwood, and subtle musk.

Paladin (BPAL) — Immaculate white musk, sweet frankincense, bourbon vanilla, white leather, and shining armor.

Iron & Oak (Redwood Alchemy) — Oakmoss, Cashmere Wood, Iron, Lily of the Valley, Spice

Lost Epitaph (Mythpunk Olfactive) — Briar rose, narcissus, creeping ivy, crumbling headstones, cemetery rain

Apparition (Hexennacht) — Spectral amber, alabaster vanilla, bone-white woods.

Maleanor Draconia

Dragon Princess (Crow & Pebble) — Ocean waves, gifts of pink peony, waterlily blooms and ripe tangerines, underpinned by deep red amber and dragonsblood incense.

What's Inside a Girl (Sugar & Spite) — Smoldering embers, honey, clove, and wildflowers

Draconic Resilience (Nui Cobalt) — A stalwart spell for strength and reinforcement. Glowing embers of cedarwood, oudh, and mahogany, supple leather, copaiba balsam, vermillion musk, and heat.

Love is Lost (Sugar & Spite) — Dark plum, black vanilla, nag champa, indian sandalwood, cashmere, red patchouli, and smoky embers

She Was the Storm (Death & Floral) — Black hemlock, driftwood, hay absolute, dreamy sandalwood, spiced oudh, dried fruits, dead leaves

Event Characters —

Dylla Spade

Tulips and Chimneys (Alkemia) — An urban springtime of rainy aldehydes, wet asphalt, industrial steam engines, farmer's market bouquets of fresh tulips, Toulouse violets, mint pastels, and a warm touch of clove viburnum.

Odette (Haus of Gloi) — Clean sun dried linens, tuberose, ginger lily and white musk.

Meadow Nymph (Morari) — Wildflower Accord, Green Apple, Dew-Laden Grass, Lemon Peel

Night of Folly (The Strange South) — Exhaust, floral musk, and a Zulu coconut.

Street Racer (Cirrus Parfum) — Cherry bubblegum, leather car interior, newly laid rubber, hot tarmac, a tinge of anxiety

Eliza (The Ghost Bride)

Dance With Me (Possets) — Refreshing and refined at once. A superb coumarin-laced lavender combines with fizzy pink grapefruit, and it all rests on a bed of white musk.

Scenes From a Marriage (The Strange South) — A single violet rose, apple, champa flower, ylang-ylang, chipped paint, and dusty old picture frames.

Midnight Wedding (Sorce) — Bergamot, oud, patchouli, sandalwood, tonka bean, Ambroxan

Dead & Lovely (Pierrot Perfumery) — A flowery blend of jasmine, wisteria, lilies, corpse flower, and casket silk.

Forever As Now (Sugar & Spite) — Lavender, Tonka, French vanilla, sandalwood, Egyptian musk

Eric Venue

Private Eye (Solstice Scents) — Natural Blend of Cocoa, Myrrh, Pink Pepper, Black Pepper, Tonka, Buddha Wood, Tobacco, Coffee, Guiacwood & More

Invocation (Sugar & Spite) — Spiced brandy, toasted praline, pistachio and walnut, oak, mahogany, palm Santo and patchouli

World Famous For 15 Minutes (Death & Floral) — Sweet tobacco and vanilla, blended with a hint of violet and gin

Black Iris (Alkemia) — Royal purple iris and Queen Elizabeth orris root pillowed in a soft nimbostratus raincloud.

Sassy (Hexennacht) — glossy magazine pages infused with a wafting fusion of 90's scent strip samples. IYKYK.

Fellow Honest

Carnival of Illustrious Hearts (Alkemia) — A glitteringly gourmet gala of French sugarcreams, candied orange blossoms, raspberry cotton candy, rosewater torte filling, and Bourbon vanilla amber.

Mischief Master (Crow & Pebble) — A heart of carnation, orange blossom and rock rose atop a base of oakmoss and musk, topped with a burst of fresh, sweet orange and aromatic saffron.

Shadow Touched (Nui Cobalt) — A dusky philtre for stealth and sleight of hand. Black vanilla, unsweetened chai, antique myrrh, Omani musk, rich pipe tobacco, agarwood, and unrefined cashmere.

Lament of the Midway (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of spilled cherry slush, bubblegum, black licorice, hay, dead grass, motor oil, cement and corn husks.

Widowmaker (Siren Song Elixirs) — Mirabelle plums, dark ripe fruit, black vanilla, gunpowder, black suede, hint of cotton candy

Gidel

Bubble Pop (Death & Floral) — Bright pink bubble gum, spiced apricots, lemon rind and bitter orange peel, red berries + bergamot.

Star Circus (Luvmilk) — Rich, creamy vanilla and blueberry.

Night Carnival (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of funnel cakes, whipped cream, and a dusting of sugar sprinkles.

A Whiff of Wafflecone (Imaginary Authors) — Fragrance Notes: Vanilla, Salted Caramel, Saigon Cinnamon, Heavy Cream, Sandalwood, Orgeat, Scoop Shop

Boardwalk Sideshow (Birch & Besom) — Salty sea air, bright orchids, mint limeade, white musk, jasmine

Kifaji

Archipelago (Haus of Gloi) — Golden fruits from across the seas. Toasted coconut, kola nuts, tamarind and jackfruit - all warmed with a light dusting of brown sugar.

Helios (Osmofolia) — Honey, heliotrope, chamomile, lemon, mango, and white amber.

Alibi (Cirrus Parfum) — passionfruit, orange blossom, guava, strawberry yuzu lemonade, and a dash of coconut cream over a rosewood base.

Sun Gold (Laurel & June) — White amber, banana milk and honey

Sent From Heaven (Laurel & June) — Hibiscus blooms, rice flower, shea, faint bit of smoke, white amber

Marja Felmier

Villa Diodati (Poesie) — Pungent wild rosemary, fresh balsam pine, crystal clear lakewater, dry, and dark vanilla

Snowshoe Hare (Nui Cobalt) — Nutmeg and tonka bean nuzzle up against fluffy marshmallow, cottonflower, white suede, clove bud, cashmere, and a trace of carrot seed.

Winter's Lament (Deep Midnight) — Crackling Firewood, Cassis, Apple, Spruce, Balsam, Citrus, Dark Tea, Pinecones, and Sugar Crystals

Grandma's Best Friend (Deep Midnight) — Iris, Sandalwood, Heliotrope, Musk, Apple, Citron, Jasmine, Cedar

Orchard Brew (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of candied apples, mulling spices, caramel apple cider, and dark amber.

Najma Viper

Cipher (Stone & Wit) — Lime, jasmine, spices, oud (black agar) accord, raspberry

Good Omen (Sugar & Spite) — Jasmine, pineapple, green apple, tart grapefruit, musk and sandalwood

Titania (Poesie) — Blonde woods, sparkling bergamot, orange creamsicle, magnolia, and stargazer lily

Pink Lipstick (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of orange cream pops, sugar, vanilla bean, heliotrope, oats, pink velvet, whipped tonka, gilded amber, and fluffy pink musk.

Sitting On the Edge of a Cloud (Sorce) — Mandarin orange, pink grapefruit, cotton candy, coconut water, amyris wood, sandalwood, palo santo, ambrette, tonka bean

Rollo Flamme

C'est Noel (Sorce) — Coffee, freshly baked cinnamon bread, roasted chestnuts, blown out candles, lingering church incense, and softly falling snow

En Repos (Sugar & Spite) — A mélange of melancholy, indeed. Beeswax candles, church incense, pale musk, amber resin and funeral flowers.

A Midnight Dreary (Wylde Ivy) — Notes of scattered coffee grounds, cedar smoke, rum, well aged leather, black vanilla, singed tonka, dripping wax, with a touch of spiced amber and fireplace embers.

Cathedral (BPAL) — Venerable and solemn: the scent of incense smoke wafting through an ancient church. A true ecclesiatical blend of pure resins.

Dance of Death (BPAL) — Dry, bone-white orris, black musk, serpentine patchouli and our murkiest myrrh.

Skully J. Graves

Not Dead, But Arisen (Fantome) — Freshly turned grave soil and spring greenery lie beneath uplifting orange and crisp yuzu.

Cemetery Tour (The Strange South) — Osmanthus, crumbling stone, brick dust, moss, and graveyard dirt.

Lacrimosa (Sugar & Spite) — Blonde woods, heliotrope, a bouquet of dried, dusty flowers tied with tattered velvet ribbon, bone-white birch, guaiac wood, tears, and a pinch of graveyard dirt

Cemetery Soirée (Nui Cobalt) — A celebration of life in the presence of Death. Mossy stone walls, lanterns aglow, steam from a cauldron of hot spiced cider, funeral flowers catching rain from crimson leaves above.

Merry Halloween (CocoaPink) — The Pumpkin King comes to Christmas Town! A festive clash of holidays. Sweet pumpkin, salted caramel apples, candy corn, and night woodsmoke meets snowy mounds of vanilla ice-cream; wild pinyon pine, black spruce needles, cranberries and candied orange peel.

Website Links —

Alkemia

Amorphous

Andromeda's Curse

Birch & Besom

Black Hearted Tart

BPAL

Cirrus Parfum

CocoaPink

Crow & Pebble

Death & Floral

Deconstructing Eden

Deep Midnight

DSH

Fable & Canon

Fantome

Fyrinnae

Haus of Gloi

Hexennacht

Imaginary Authors

Laurel & June

Lovesick Witchery

Luvmilk

Morari

Mythpunk Olfactive

Nui Cobalt

Olympic Orchids

Osmofolia

Pierrot Perfumery

Pineward

Poesie

Possets

Pulp Fragrance

Red River Apothecary

Redwood Alchemy

Siren Song Elixirs

Solstice Scents

Sorce

Stone & Wit

Sugar & Spite

Sunsphere Scents

The Eyes Are Always There

The Strange South

Wild Hybrid

Wylde Ivy

[downbadf0rficppl]

you're on your own kid

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You had a rough childhood, what with an absent father and a piece of shit mother. When a family dinner goes wrong, how do you stop your brain from spiraling? How do you convince yourself you're not alone? A certain blue-eyed, metal-armed avenger, of course.

Word Count: 3.3K

Warnings: Eating Disorders/Weight Related Talk, Blood, Injury, Kinda Self Harm, Child Abuse [PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THESE TOPICS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!!!]

You squirmed in your seat, fidgeting with your sleeves. It was awkward being at home after so long. You hadn't been home for four years almost - and it had probably been even longer since you'd sat at this table. Your mother sat across the table from you - her gaze heavy on your head. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, your brother had joked.

He was sitting next to you, his knee gently brushing against yours. A placating movement. He was trying to keep the peace - enjoying the first meal that you had had as a family in a long while. You don't know what it was that made you seek them out. Maybe if you had waited a week, you would have thought about the facts, rather than the feelings. Maybe if you had waited a week, you wouldn't be sitting here with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

You sat in silence, playing with the food on your plate. Your mother was of the almond variety, weighing out plates before passing them around the table. You didn't have much to talk about. Things hadn't ended well the last time the two of you spoke.

Your brother chimed in with the odd question - 'How's your gardening coming along, mom?' or 'How's the new job, sis? What's it like working for the Avengers?'. You'd humour him until your mother's disapproving stares became too much and then you'd shut up. He'd give you a sad sort of pitying smile, before returning to his food.

Dinner was long - even it was less than the traditional three courses. Your brother packed up some extra food, and took it home - he only lived about a half mile away so it made sense for him to go home. You made to go with him but your mother insisted you stay with her. "I made up your room, just the way you like it."

You doubted it. But you smiled anyway and hugged your brother tightly. He whispered that 'you would be fine' and 'it's only one night' and maybe for a second you believed him. As soon as he left, you headed to bed, claiming that 'The trip was long, ma, I'm super tired.'

The look on her face screamed that she didn't believe you. But she waved you good night and headed to the kitchen to find her favourite bottle of scotch.

You opened the door to your childhood bedroom to find it almost the same. The pink walls and bedcovers were suffocating, the blinds drawn shut to create this overwhelming feeling of being trapped. You were. Trapped.

You took your jumper off, laid it over your vanity chair, and jumped onto the bed. It was comfortable, but lying there staring at the ceiling brought back all the horrible memories you tried to suppress. Diet pills and weighing scales, small plates and vomiting, screaming and crying, sirens and hospital bills. Tears streamed down your face as curled up onto your side.

It was almost midnight when you heard your mother walk up the stairs. You knew she was drunk - her steps were loud and out of sync, and the bottle in her hand frequently tapped the banister as she tried to stabilise herself on it. You half expected her to keep walking, cross the landing, and fall dead asleep on her bed.

Instead, your door creaked open and you came face to face with her. Her glassy eyes were rimmed with red - she'd been crying too. Her eyes raked over you and suddenly you wished you'd never come back at all.

"Such a shame," she whispered, "You could have been so much more."

"Ma?"

"You were always... the best. The prettiest. The skinniest. You could have been incredible. Instead, you are... nobody."

Her words cut deep but you tried to ignore them. You were somebody. You worked for the Avengers, you were a top-level agent for SHIELD. You helped save the world.

"I tried my best. To help you. But you were ungrateful," Your mother stalked closer, her sadness giving way to anger, "conceited, convinced that you could be anything more than what I made you. But you were wrong. I created you. Without me, THERE IS NO YOU." She launched the bottle at your head and it shattered at the wall behind you.

She kept screaming, but you tuned her out, slipping off the bed and grabbing your jumper and keys. You ran past her, shoving her hard as she tried to grab you and ran out to your car. She watched you go screaming abuse after you, telling you to 'never step foot inside her house again.' You weren't planning to.

You drove like a madman back to upstate - traffic was pretty light considering the ungodly hour. You parked haphazardly - Tony would probably murder you for it in the morning but you couldn't find it within yourself to care. You trudged upstairs, footfalls far too heavy for someone is literally a superspy, but this was your home. You weren't running from anyone in here.

You were so stuck in your own head that you didn't realise that Bucky was sitting in the living room, watching as you walked into the kitchen. He'd heard your footsteps and he was worried. You never walked that heavily.

"Everything ok, doll?"

You looked up at him, not registering a word he said. He stood up and walked over to you, fingers reaching up to stroke your face.

"You good?" He whispered, his forehead almost touching yours.

You pulled away from his touch, even though your body was screaming for you to collapse into his open arms. "Yeah, Buck, fine. See you in the morning for training." You stepped past him, heading for the stairs.

"Yeah, doll. See you in the morning."

The morning came around far quicker than you'd hoped. You had barely slept, tossing and turning all night, your mother's words ringing through your head.

Eventually, you realised it was a futile effort. You might as well get up and be productive. You found yourself in the gym just as the sun came up, face to face with a heavy bag. You clenched your wrapped fists before shaking the sleep out of your system.

Your hits were precise, measured, calculated. If there was one thing no one could fault you for, it was your skills. You were an impeccable agent. If only your mum could see that. You took your rage out on the heavy bag, pouring every ounce of resent in your body into your punches. Sweat beaded on your forehead, the exertion making your breaths heavier and your knuckles sting. You kept punching, time slipping away from you.

You heard the door to the gym open, and someone was talking. Their voice was muted, almost as if your head was underwater. Between the punches and your tiredness, nothing registered in your foggy mind. From the distance you could hear footsteps, getting louder almost as if they were walking towards you.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when a hand brushed against your shoulder. You spun around ready to cuss out whichever stupid rookie decided to bother you so early in the morning. You were surprised to see familiar eyes boring into yours.

"I called your name, you know," Bucky said, his hands moving to rest on your waist, "twice. I even dropped my bag next to yours to get your attention."

"Sorry, I was thinking."

"I can tell," Bucky's thumbs drew circles on your waist, absentmindedly, "Where's that pretty mind been at lately?"

"What do you want, Barnes?"

"I'm worried. About you. You haven't been yourself lately. What's going on?"

"Nothing." You sighed, removing yourself from his grasp, "Missions, reports, meetings. It's tiring."

"Maybe you take a holiday? Try and relax a bit?" You could hear the genuine concern in his voice but you still rolled your eyes.

"Maybe you mind your own fucking business, Barnes? Don't you have other shit to be doing apart from hovering over me?" You grabbed your stuff, refusing to make eye contact with him, and walked out.

"I'm still seeing you for training right?" You hear him call after you, but you keep walking. You let out a shaky breath as soon as you got into the elevator.

He didn't see you for training. Or after.

You'd skipped training in favour of going on a run with Steve and then you had to file a few mission reports. You'd holed yourself up in your office, manila files piling up on the corner of your desk your fingers brushing over the keys with seasoned speed. Bucky had wanted to stop by but given your odd behaviour in the morning, he'd decided against it.

You were glad. You hated that Bucky could see right through you, even when you tried your best to hide it. Especially because you were irrevocably in love with him.

You'd been in love with him ever since you'd started working at the compound. Bucky was one of the few people to notice you and your efficiency. You became one of his preferred mission partners, a fact of which you were very proud. You quickly became one of his favourite people, period, and Bucky even went so far as to blow off Steve to spend time with you.

It hurt you to keep him at arm's length but you knew it was for the best. You remembered what your father told you the night before he left. You're on your own kid. You always have been.

You were given a mission assignment in the evening, with strict instructions of 'wheels up at 0600.' The early pickup time wasn't strange and you were itching to get out of the compound. You packed your bag up, leaving it by the door, and headed to bed.

Another restless night of sleep was the last thing you needed, but you were up and at the hangar waiting for Captain Rogers by 0600. He smiled when he saw you and handed you a coffee. You smiled. Your first real smile since you visited your parents.

"Good luck out there." A voice calls from behind you. You freeze. Bucky jogs towards you both, his eyes betraying his tiredness. Steve's face breaks into a grin at the sight of his old friend. Steve throws his arms around Bucky.

"Don't do anything stupid until I get back," Steve says, his joking tone making Bucky laugh.

"How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."

You want to smile at the sight of the two of them together but you held yourself back. You walked towards the quinjet, ready to get this show on the road when you hear Bucky clearing his voice behind you.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Onto the quinjet?"

"Not without a hug, you're not." You sigh but trudge down the steps to give him a half-arsed side hug. He pulls you in tight, and whispers into your hair, "When you get back, we're gonna talk. Okay?"

You don't respond, brushing him off and climbing into the jet. Steve follows you in, dropping his bag next to yours, before turning back to wave at Bucky.

"Don't worry, Buck, I'll take good care of your girl."

His girl. That sounded nice. You shook the thought away before elbowing Steve in the sight. Jokingly of course, but he still doubled over for effect. Bucky burst into laughter.

That was the last thing you saw as the door went up.

The mission was hard. Not terrible - no one died, which was a win in your book - but it wasn't fun. Multiple shootouts, car chases, and three hours of hiding in a dumpster later, you were ready to nap for a week. But, alas, Fury had set a debrief at 8 the next morning, which meant that you had - you checked the clock on your microwave - 6 hours at best.

You dropped your bag on the sofa and headed into the bathroom. You unzipped your utility vest, dropping it on the floor. You needed to disinfect it - god knows what had stained that vest. You pulled up your compression shirt, wincing as the flecks of red came into view. You quickly stripped it off, dropping it in the washing basket, before whipping back around. You caught your own reflection in the mirror and tilted your head, taking in your reflection of your body. Your mother's words played back in your head. Maybe your mother had a point.

You quickly shook your head, dispelling those horrible thoughts from your mind. But still, you continued to stare at your body, scrutinising every feature. I mean, sure you weren't as skinny as you used to be, but that's because you had muscle now, right? And the hamburger you had for lunch was a treat - you know for completing the mission? The super important mission that you were on because you are important and you are somebody and you have value and you are someone without your mum. Don't you? And it's ok that you can't see your ribs because actually you have abs now and that's way more attractive. Right? And.. and... and....

SMASH.

Broken glass was shattered all around you, fragments piercing your skin. Your mirror now had a fist-shaped hole in the middle, from where your sadness had quickly bled into anger.

You cradled your bloodied fist in your hand, sinking to the ground as sobs racked through your body. Glass dug into your knees as they hit the floor and you curled your hands into your chest. Hurtful 'what ifs' swirled through your head, stealing your breath and making it almost impossible to breathe.

Pounding on your door broke you out of your thoughts. You tried to regain your bearings. It was 2 am. You were in your apartment, the apartment that was miles away from the compound, that you lived in alone. Who the hell would be at your door right now?

You were silent, breath bated as you waited for the stranger to go away. They banged on the door again.

"Doll, I swear to god, if you don't let me in, I'm going to break your fucking door down."

You knew that voice anywhere. The knowledge that you weren't alone, that he was here for you, that Bucky wouldn't make you suffer alone brought new tears to your eyes. Fresh sobs burst from your chest as you tried to move. Glass shards were stabbing into your legs, and one of your hands was bleeding profusely. Bucky, your safety net, was so close and yet so far.

"Doll? Doll, I can hear you. Doll, please, please let me in." You could hear the panic in his voice as he struggled with his conscience. You tried to move but the pain was excruciating. A pained scream erupted from your lips.

A loud bang came from your front door, followed by heavy and fast footsteps.

"Where are you, doll? Come on, just come and talk to me." He said, sweeping through your living room. You whimpered from the bathroom, his enhanced hearing focussing on even the smallest of sounds.

He quickly found his way into the bathroom, his eyes raking over your hunched figure, before flitting to the broken mirror and the shards of glass on the ground.

"Oh doll," he whispered, bending down to scoop you up from the floor. He cradled you gently as he carried you from the bathroom into your bedroom. "What happened, doll? Talk to me."

You looked up at him, trying to figure out where to start. You blanked. You couldn't find a good place to start the story that would cause you the least pain. Your mouth opened and closed a few times with no sound coming out. Bucky rested his hand against yours, trying to reassure you to take your time, but the sound of your wince drew his attention to your hands.

"Doll, your hands." He grabbed your hands gently, peering at your knuckles. They were mauled, glass sticking out of torn-up skin, "What did you do?" He stood up, walking into your kitchen to grab the first aid kit he knew was under the sink. Watching him walk around like he owned the place made some small part of your heart happy - it was almost as if your dreams, your darkest-held fantasies, were coming true.

Bucky kneeled in front of you, placing the first aid kit beside him. He brushed all the glass shards off your legs - luckily none of them had been embedded into your skin. He cleaned any small scratches before turning to your knuckles. The sight of your knuckles made him wince and you started to pull them away. Bucky leveled you with a look that said, let me take care of you. You let him. He sterilised a pair of tweezers and got to work pulling the shards of glass out of your knuckles. You sat in silence for a while, Bucky diligently working on your knuckles, and you watching the swiftness with which he worked.

"Why did you punch the mirror, doll?" Bucky asked after a while.

"I was angry," you whispered, your voice deathly quiet. Now that the rage was gone, all you had left was embarrassment.

"And why were you angry?" Bucky coaxed, his eyes pleading for some answers. He pulled out the last shard of glass before swiping an alcohol wipe over your knuckles and bandaging them up. He packed up all the items back into the first aid box and went to put it away and wash his hands.

You were still sat on the bed contemplating your answer when he got back. He knelt in front of you again, before he rested his hands on your face, "Why were you angry doll?"

"I didn't like it." You whispered, pulling your body away from him.

"What didn't you like?" Bucky's eyes stared into yours and you suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. You tried to remove yourself from his all-seeing, mind-reading gaze, but he didn't let you. He pulled you into his lap, and you hid your face in his neck. His beard tickled your forehead as you nestled into him, trying to seek out the comfort you so desperately needed but didn't know how to ask for.

"Me." You said, your head turned away from him as you stared at your hands.

"What?"

"I didn't like me." Your voice started to shake as you tried to find the right words to tell him the truth, the whole honest godforsaken truth, but you couldn't.

Bucky seemed to read your mind, "It's ok, take your time. We don't have to talk about this today. We can come back to it later, when you're feeling up for it, okay?" You nodded, burrowing further into him, "You wanna sleep?"

You nodded again, and Bucky shifted, wrapping his arms around you so he could gently place you down on the bed. He removed his arms from underneath you and tucked you into bed, gently kissing your forehead as you turned to leave. You whined.

"Pleasedon'tgoBuck-" You mumbled, sleep quickly pulling you under. He smiled, perching himself on the end of the bed.

"You sure you want me to say, sweetheart? Not sure you'll ever get rid of me if I stay?"

"I promise. Never want you to go." You said, clinging to his arm and pulling him back into bed.

You slipped into an easy slumber as Bucky shuffled around in your room. Maybe you didn't have to be on your own anymore.

fin.

buy me a coffee

[naffeclipse]

A Little Pod

Beluga!Reader x Orca!Eclipse (ft. baby sirens Sun and Moon)

Commission Info

Here's Orca!Eclipse being a dad and a flirty mate thanks to a commission from the lovely @crazedauthor! She allowed me to choose the Y/N for this comm and I was delighted to do Belgua!Reader. We've not seen one with Eclipse and baby sirens Sun and Moon, and I had to remedy that!

———

You flick your tail slowly along the waters boarding a coastal ice sheet. The sky is deliciously clear and the sun is warm and bright, glinting across the snowy ice with a dazzling slant. Floating on your back, you drift with the weight of two siren young cuddled in your arms. Your tail is round, smooth, and white with small fins which slightly curl at the tips—so unlike the strong and striking patterns of your adoptive children.

Softly, you gaze down at the little ones. Nestled in the crook of your right arm, almost too big to properly contain, is Sun. His big eyes blink, gazing up at you with wonderful curiosity. You smile back. He shares a blue eye on the white side of his crescent marked face with his brother, but the other is yellow, burning like sunshine early in the morning. He nuzzles softly against your shoulder. His beautiful array of head fins drip in gold and flare out to white-gold tips like the gleam of light refracting off of an icy surface.

His tail is a squirming, restless thing that wiggles against your side, splashing the sea over your middle. Unlike you, he possesses sharp, strong flukes even so young. His dorsal fin is small for now but arches tall compared to his tiny body, tipped in brilliant yellow and gold, the beautiful colors following similarity along the end of his fins. His markings are unique among orca sirens: white and creamy yellow. He squeaks endlessly.

“Yes, I know, little one,” you answer, voice soft and attentive. “You have so much to say and I don’t understand any of it yet. But one day I will, and you can tell me everything all over again.”

His wide maw splits into a grin, revealing his nubby baby teeth. A high-pitch chirp of delight unleashes from Sun and you giggle with him. Bowing your head, you press your lips to his sleek, sheeny forehead.

A quiet whine arises from the crook of your other arm. You lift your head with a soft gasp. 

“Oh, oh, oh, my darling! I won’t forget about you, no, never,” you trill, answering your other adoptive child. 

Moon grumpily gnashes his teeth. The poor thing is tired, displeased with the swim in the middle of the day while his tummy lies empty. He shares his brother’s markings save for a black and white color pattern  which carves a half moon onto his face. His right eye cast in the blackness is a deep, pulsing red. His wide gaze stares up at you while he slowly blinks. His brow furrows with irritability. Mewling, he hides his face against your collarbone. 

Gently shushing him, you promise him a meal when their adoptive father returns. You lift a hand to gently stroke down the sleek appendage which dangles off the back of Moon’s head. His face is not crowned in brilliant gold fins nor deep burning reds, but small, silver fins. A soft, sleepy cerulean begins at his crown and melts into a deep blue. At the very end, a small fin in the shape of a star dangles. His fins and flukes carry the same colors, and together, your twins remind you of the rising morning sun over a midnight deep ocean. 

Your children, though not by your blood, are beautiful. Your heart bobs within your chest at the loss of their parents—by no uncertain terms, a tragedy. Eclipse found them, all alone. Regardless, you comfort yourself with the knowledge that they are safe and well fed, the thick blubber of their baby fat keeps them warm. You hold them safely.

It’s strange to think you were so frightened when Eclipse first brought you the twins. Of course, you didn’t understand then how much they needed you both.

Moon settles under your fingertips, his eyes growing heavy, drooping while you pet him softly. A great yawn splits his mouth, exposing his pearly white and round teeth. He is a grouchy thing when he doesn’t have his food or naps. 

“There, darling. It’ll be alright. Your father will be here shortly and then your belly will be filled and you can sleep all you like.”

Sun continues chirping and occasionally whistles not unlike you. Orca sirens, from what little you have gathered from Eclipse, don’t carry the same brillant pitches and whistles that you do. You admit you are glad you can entice your mate with lullabies he has never heard before, and in turn, he serenades you with deep, moving vocals that heat your heart into ice melt and stir your middle into a bubbling mess.

A soft splash echoes beside you. Your heart leaps in your throat when large hands fit around your waist, squeezing softly. Mindful of the little ones you hold, a soft flick of a tongue touches the shell of your ear, and your face floods with a heat that would combat an Arctic blizzard in the middle of a polar night.

“Happy day, my love.” He purrs the words against the nap of your neck. A sleek, large tail cradles your own, easily dwarfing you as he pulls you onto his chest, and together, your family floats like an iceberg. “How are the little ones?”

You struggle to find your voice, swallowing down the bubbles filling you up at his touch.

“Hungry.” You turn your cheek to find something drifting lifelessly along the surface just behind your mate. Teeth marks cut into the red and transparent flesh. A soft, mushy food that is easy for the little ones to chew and swallow despite being so young. You feared they would die without a mother’s milk but they thrive despite the odds. 

Sun immediately squeaks and squeals, calling for Eclipse’s attention with a heart endearing excitement that tugs on your core. Moon’s eyes fly open. He stares up at his father, owlishly gazing with a fixation that speaks to how glad he is to see Eclipse once more.

“Let me feed them.” He rumbles pleasantly against your back. “You’ve been doing wonderful caring for them so much. I will feed you too.”

Your cheeks bleed a pinkness.

“No, no! There’s no need,” you spout, embarrassed at such a thought and yet, you soften at such an offer. “They need to eat first.”

“They will, my lovely lullaby,” he growls softly as one hand releases your hip. “I will take care of you, no matter how sweetly you resist.”

You squirm slightly, as if to escape, but he holds you firmly against him. A soft splash echoes as Eclipse snatches the dead squid in his claws. Lifting it to his mouth, you feel a slight trail of a squishy tentacle against your shoulder before Eclipse snaps his teeth. 

He gingerly lifts a chunk of squid from his mouth, dangling it above Sun’s restless cries for food. You chuckle as he scrambles against you, his tail slapping the deep blue surface while he squeaks for a bite. Gingerly, Eclipse sets the meat into Sun’s grabby hands and frantically, the siren young begins gnawing on the soft flesh. His baby teeth make quick work of the meal. 

Moon whines a sad, pitiful sound. His large eyes threaten to dissolve into tears at his brother receiving the first taste. You coo gently.

“Your father is getting yours ready. It’s alright,” you softly sing until Moon’s bottom lip stops trembling. 

Eclipse delivers a fresh piece of squid gently to his adoptive child. Moon takes it in his chubby fists and begins chomping at it with vigor, his sadness quickly dissolving like snow upon the sea.

“Hungry little minnows, aren’t they?” Eclipse chortles. Gingerly, he swims you all along, a floating island of black, white, and red. He gently strokes Sun’s and Moon’s backs while they eat. “Chew slowly, little ones. The food is not leaping out of your mouths, I made certain of that.”

Of course he did. You fill with the memory of when he first saw you. Eclipse began your courtship with a prized offering of a squid and an insistence that you were already his mate. He frightened you. His teeth are shark-like and his size dominates your own, but he proved himself worthy of your songs when he held you close under the northern lights.

Quietly, you catch his jaws moving once more. Good. He needs energy to keep hunting food for the little ones, their appetite ceaseless and their needs great. You enjoy holding them. It’s difficult to part from their sides even when Eclipse insists you need a break to stretch your tail and move without the twins in your arms.

A black bone claw strokes your cheek. You grow still at the tender tracing, as if Eclipse intends to memorize the shape of your face with his touch alone.

“There has never been a more beautiful caregiver,” he whispers into your ear. 

You inhale softly.

“Eclipse,” you murmur, half in protest, half in a melting mess. 

“Truly, you never cease to amaze me,” he continues mercilessly. You feel your pale tail begin to shift into red, your entire body a blushing, betraying shade. Your mate rasps softly against your cheek, “When I first beheld you, I thought you were a living sculpture of snow, and my heart was captured. Then, you sang and enthralled me, mind and body. Now, you sweetly tend to our children. I knew it the moment I first touched you.”

He nuzzles softly into the crook of your neck. You mewl a tiny sound, resisting the urge to wiggle under the electrifying touch for fear of disturbing Sun and Moon in their meal.

“You are perfect,” he pulses.

“You are going to upset Sun and Moon,” you caution but it sounds weak and breathy even to your own ears. “Are you trying to court me once more? I’m already your mate.”

He chortles a dangerously low sound. His teeth graze the shell of your ear and you shudder. 

“Can’t I still seduce you, my lovely lullaby?” He rests his chin on your shoulder, gazing down at the two orca siren young that have become yours. “We have two children, but why not more? We can make our own pod.”

You balk, and the tips of your ears burn. Yet the thought deliciously stirs within you.

“One baby at a time, Eclipse,” you whisper, then smile, “Two, in this instance.”

“Very well.” He sounds far from sated with such a proposition, but to your relief, his attention shifts. He lifts a small piece of squid. A perfect bite for your mouth. “Eat. I won’t have you growing weak with hunger while you protect our children.”

You don’t resist as he softly presses the tender squid to your mouth. Parting your lips and taking it with your teeth, you begin chewing, savoring the succulent flesh. Your children swipe their tongues over their maws and look up, furling their messy fingers for more. Tiny squeals echo.

“I should feed you by hand more often,” he rumbles around a bite before he tears that apart, too, and splits it evenly between Sun and Moon. The little ones snatch the offerings with glee. A few slick smears of their meal paint their face but you’ll wait until they’ve filled their little bellies before cleaning them off. “You’re so precious when you let me take care of you.”

You almost choke on the squid in your mouth. It’s a wonderful thing Sun and Moon don’t understand the wicked words falling from their father’s lips, and yet, you can’t help but warm underneath his praises. Swallowing, you find your voice.

“Perhaps I should feed you next time,” you offer softly. “I can hunt too, and you need time with Sun and Moon. You can teach them best how to be orca sirens. I cannot.”

It’s not so sad that you didn’t give them your soft, white tail or small, round fins. They are perfect, Eclipse is entirely right in this regard as he proclaimed it so when you first agreed to raise them as your own. But your habits are so different. Perhaps, you might teach them the songs of beluga sirens. That would be enough.

“I would gladly accept such an offer.” His deep rasp slips into you and swirls around your heart. He presses sweetly against your cheek. “I will gladly have your undivided attention.”

Sun and Moon whine. Sun wiggles against you, scrabbling for his father while you laugh. Moon yawns, showing off the pinkness within his gaping mouth before he slips deep into the cradle of your arms, nestling greedily onto your chest. He lays his head softly over your heart.

“Oh, I’m afraid you have dangerous rivals in that regard,” you singsong.

Eclipse grunts, mockingly annoyed but his eyes glow softly with tenderness as he allows you to slip off of him. He takes Sun into his hands. Gently, he fits the tiny orca siren against his chest. Eclipse opens his other arm and draws you close, holding his entire family within his embrace as Moon gives a sleepy sigh.

“I’ll find some time for us tonight once we find a place on the ice safe enough for them to rest.” His grin flashes dangerously. Your heart races with the burning heat of his twin star eyes as he says, “Then I am entirely yours.”

[girlrotterr]

Milk Of The Siren pt.2

captain!abby x siren!reader a/n: literally soo late with this! But it's here now!! ( ˊᵕˋ )♡ ⇢ part one 𓈒ㅤׂ 𓇼

The first light of dawn filtered through the cave entrance, casting a soft, golden glow across the lagoon. The water, once a mysterious shade of midnight blue, now shimmered with pink and orange hues, reflecting the rising sun's vibrant colors. 

You emerged from the depths of the lagoon, your iridescent scales catching the early morning light, creating a mesmerizing display of colors that danced across the cave. The air was cool and fresh, filled with the scent of salt and seaweed, and the gentle sound of waves lapping against the shore.

"I've returned with—AH!" you exclaimed, just in time to see a thick piece of wood hurtling toward you. Instinctively, you dove back into the water, the sudden motion creating ripples. Causing nearby sea creatures to scatter, their glowing forms disappearing into the shadows.

Beneath the water, you grumbled to yourself, peering up through the distorted surface at Abby. The underwater view warped her figure, her movements slow and dreamlike as she wiped her forehead with her forearm.

"My apologies!" Abby called out, her voice muffled and distorted by the water. "I'm still learning to use..." She glanced down at the makeshift tool you had crafted for her—a blend of driftwood and seaweed bound together to serve as a hammer. "Well, this."

You peeked above the water, your eyes glinting with annoyance. It had been months since Abby had begun constructing the boat, and progress had been slower than expected. The small boat, meant to be her ticket out of the lagoon, still lay incomplete, its frame sturdy but still lacking. 

Abby was kneeling by the boat, tinkering with a piece of rope that she had looped awkwardly around one of the driftwood supports. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her fingers fumbling with the knots. Peeking above the surface, you observed her silently.

"You treat it as if it were a toy," you murmured to yourself, your voice carrying through the water in a soft echo. The tools and materials you had previously gathered were scattered around her.

Abby then stood up, her movements casual as she reached for her shirt. She pulled it up to her face, wiping away her sweat. From the glow in the cave, you couldn't help but notice the intricate details of her body—the defined lines of her abs, the toned muscles that flexed beneath her skin. 

The cave's cool air kissed Abby’s flushed cheeks, Her hair, tousled from the sea breeze, framed her face like a halo, with strands of wet hair clinging to her temples and neck.

You felt a pang of curiosity, a flicker of fascination. But you resisted, diving your gaze back into the water where the distorted view might calm the intensity of your thoughts.

"I will have to depart soon," you said, your voice creating bubbles through the water. 

Abby looked down at you, her shirt still clutched in her hand. Her gaze met yours, eyes wide with concern. She held the fabric tightly, the remnants of sweat dripping from its edges.

"Why?" Abby's voice was soft, almost lost in the gentle sounds of the cave. The question lingered in the air, laden with the weight of impending separation.

You sighed, the sound bubbling through the water as you peeked above the surface, your eyes never leaving hers. "The materials I have supplied for you will occupy you for the time being," you continued, your tone firm.

Abby nodded slowly, her gaze shifting to the assortment of gathered seaweed, branches, and shells laid out neatly beside her

"My absence will soon be noticed by the other sirens," you admitted, " It has been months."

Abby nodded slowly, her mind processing your words. The sudden realization that time had slipped made her eyes soften with understanding. “I understand.”

You inclined your head in agreement, the movement fluid and natural as you regarded her. You studied her expression with keen eyes, noting the subtle shift in her demeanor.

"I’ll return by the next full moon," you continued. The sunlight filtering through the cave entrance created a soft, shimmering glow around you. "I will continue to supply you with materials. You must have everything you need to complete the boat."

Abby looked up at you, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. “Of course,” she said, her tone light and teasing. “You must ensure my leave.”

You grumbled under your breath, a mix of irritation and amusement flickering across your eyes. “You mock me.”

Abby's eyes locked onto yours with a sudden, piercing intensity, causing you to flinch involuntarily. Her azure eyes, a striking shade of blue, held a depth that seemed to mirror the very waters you roam, stirring a knot in your stomach—an unfamiliar sensation.

“I only tease.” she said, her voice softening into a gentle, soothing tone. The warmth of her words contrasted with the mischievous glint in her eyes, leaving you at a loss for words.

“Before you go,” Abby said, holding out a few seashells toward you. “Here,” she added, her voice soft. “I believe I no longer have use for them..”

You hesitated, your hand hovering above the shells. The contact with her skin was always a strange sensation—warm and oddly comforting, stirring feelings you were reluctant to acknowledge. Every time your fingers brushed against hers, it sent a thrilling jolt through you, a sensation both exhilarating and unnerving.

“Are you certain?” you asked, your voice betraying a hint of hesitation. “I put in a lot of effort to gather your supplies, and I’d rather not see them go to waste...”

Abby’s gaze locked onto you, her eyes searching your face. You shifted uncomfortably, unable to hold her gaze, feeling a flush of warmth rise to your cheeks. Her eyes, filled with an unreadable emotion, made you look away.

“It isn’t fair to the ocean,” you continued, your voice softening. “It provides for us, and you must respect that.” The seashells glinted in the dim light of the cave, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the shadows. “Every piece, every bit of the sea, has its place and purpose.”

Abby smiled gently, her expression reassuring. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t do such a thing,” she said, settling down at the edge of the lagoon. “I simply can’t find a use for them; they’re all cracked.”

You glanced at the shells in her hand, and she was right—their delicate structures were indeed fractured, not sturdy enough for any practical use.

“Surely they can.” you replied, reaching out to take them from her. 

Your fingers brushed against her palm, the warmth of her skin sending a thrill through you, leaving you momentarily breathless. It was a sensation you couldn’t quite comprehend—a confusing mix of pleasure and unease. Perhaps it was your instincts craving her warmth, or something deeper and more mysterious.

The thought of feeding upon her, though a familiar part of your nature, seemed strangely less appealing compared to the comfort she offered. You tried to focus on the practical aspect, but your stomach turned with each lingering touch.

“You see,” you began, forcing yourself to concentrate on the seashells, “even these cracked shells can be useful. They can be used as decorative elements or for crafting pieces.” You hoped that by redirecting your attention, you could brush off the moment. 

Abby tilted her head, curiosity evident in her eyes. “How so?” she asked.

“I’ll demonstrate,” you replied.

 You took the cracked shells from her hand and set to work. With careful movements, you began transforming the fragile pieces into intricate hair clips.

The process demanded precision, and you could feel Abby’s eyes on you.. Her gaze seemed to weigh heavily on your shoulders, making your fingers tremble slightly as you worked. Each time you looked up, you caught a glimpse of her observing you intently, and it only added to the tension you were feeling.

You could feel your frustration mounting, anger and embarrassment rising within you. The sirens often spoke of the danger of being affected by humans, and here you were, struggling to maintain composure while a mere human’s gaze seemed to unsettle you. It felt as though your control was slipping, and the very act of creating these clips, which should have been straightforward, was becoming a struggle.

You felt exposed, vulnerable, and it made you angry—angry at yourself for allowing a human to have such an effect on you.

Abby’s gaze remained fixed on you, her eyes softening as she watched you work. “I don’t mean to distract you,” she said quietly, sensing the shift in your demeanor. “It’s simply… fascinating to see what you can do.”

You gritted your teeth, forcing a tight smile as you finished the last of the clips. “It’s nothing.” you said sharply, trying to regain your composure.

Abby’s expression was a mix of admiration and something else you couldn’t quite decipher. “They’re beautiful,” she said softly, reaching out to touch one of the clips. 

You felt a surge of irritation as Abby’s hand moved closer to the clips. Without thinking, you sharply slapped her hand away. “They’re delicate.” you blurted, trying to mask your frustration behind a flimsy excuse. The abrupt action seemed to echo through the quiet of the cave, your pulse quickening in your ears.

Abby’s hand recoiled from your slap, and she looked at you with surprise and amusement. Her laughter, light and unexpected, filled the space between you. “Okay, okay,” she said, her voice carrying a playful tone. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Despite her reassured demeanor, you couldn’t shake a feeling. The irritation you felt was not just about the intrusion but about the conflicting emotions stirred up by this human. The very fact that Abby’s presence could make you feel so vulnerable, was deeply unsettling. The urge to lash out, to push her away, was strong, but the notion of harming her felt wrong.

You looked away, feeling a flush of both anger and embarrassment. “Just… handle them carefully,” you said, your voice rough. “They’re not as sturdy as they seem.”

Abby nodded, still chuckling softly. “I’ll be sure to be gentle with them,” she promised. She seemed genuinely intrigued by your reaction, her eyes reflecting an unexpected warmth. It was clear she found your fierceness endearing, but for you, it only added to the chaos inside.

“I’ll place them in your hair for you,” you offered, trying to mask the anxiety with a sense of control. “I don’t quite trust that you’ll handle them as carefully as they deserve.” Your voice was firmer than you felt, a desperate attempt to maintain composure.

Abby’s eyes widened with a hint of amusement, and she raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that so?” she said, a teasing note in her voice. “Very well.”

Your hands, usually so steady and confident, now felt shaky as you reached for Abby’s hair.  

Her long, dark blond hair cascaded like a waterfall of sunlight and shadow, each strand woven together with a silky smoothness that felt almost unreal. As you gently sifted through her hair, you could feel the soft texture against your fingertips.

The longer you worked, the more you became aware of how deeply you craved to tangle your fingers in her hair, to feel the fullness of it wrapped around your hands. There was something thrilling about the idea, an urge to pull and entwine. The sensation was so unfamiliar, as if each touch of her hair awakened a part of you that had long been sealed. You couldn’t believe how such a simple act could stir up such feelings.

As you looked down at Abby, the details of her face seemed to magnify, each feature more captivating than the last. Her long lashes fluttered softly with each blink, her nose was lightly rounded with a gentle bump, seeming to need the trace of a fingertip, an urge to explore its contours. Her lips, slightly pouting with a hint of curiosity, their natural shape perfect.

Abby’s eyes, now focused on you with an almost conspiratorial glint, made it even harder to concentrate. “You’re surprisingly gentle,” she commented softly, her voice just above a whisper. “I didn’t think you'd be so concerned.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. You were acutely aware of every detail: the way her hair fell against her shoulders, the faint scent of the sea that clung to her, and the undeniable pull you felt toward her.

Abby looked up at you, her gaze locking onto yours with an intensity. There was an unspoken connection in the way she studied you, her eyes dark with a mix of curiosity and something deeper. You could feel the weight of her gaze, a sensation that seemed to pull at something inside you, making you hyper-aware of every movement and emotion.

"Is something the matter?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

Slowly, Abby reached up with a tentative hand, her fingers brushing gently against your skin. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a jolt through you.. Her eyes, still fixed on yours, seemed to search for something, a deeper understanding or perhaps a connection that words could not express.

“You’re possessing..” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper, but filled with an underlying intensity. Her gaze shifted to your lips, lingering there with a look that conveyed longing. Her touch, though gentle, seemed to hold a promise of something more, an invitation that made your pulse quicken.

At that moment, a stark realization overcame you. The thought of sharing Abby with anyone else, of another discovering her, made your skin crawl with a deep unease. The notion of her dying at the hands of another siren was unthinkable—if she were to meet her end, it would have to be at your own hands.

“I must go..” you said, the words coming out strained and reluctant, as though they were being forced from you against your will. 

───────

Isaac gestured towards a chair with a nod. “Have a seat, please.”

Ellie hesitated at the door of Isaac's office, her heart racing. The room was shrouded in darkness; the heavy curtains were drawn tight, letting in only a faint, eerie glow from the lights outside. The air was thick with the acrid smell of cigarettes, lingering like a heavy fog. She took a seat in the worn, leather chair opposite Isaac's desk, her mind already racing through possibilities.

“If this is about the delays in our hunts, it’s because we’re still waiting for the ammunition shipment. Jessie was supposed to handle it-”, her voice trembling slightly. She had been feeling the pressure of the delayed shipments and hoped this meeting wouldn’t be about her failures.

“Williams.” Isac cut her off with a sharp, authoritative tone. 

Ellie fell silent, her mouth snapping shut. She looked up at Isac, confusion knitting her brow.

“This is nothing of the matter,” Isac continued, his tone indicating the gravity of the situation. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. He slid a dossier across the desk towards Ellie. The file was thick, its surface marked with a red stamp that read “ANDERSON.”

Ellie’s eyes widened as she took in the sight of the dossier. Her confusion deepened as she picked up the file, feeling the weight of it in her hands. 

“As you’re aware, Anderson was responsible for delivering crucial cargo to Europe,” Isaac's voice was calm but carried an undertone of tension. “There’s been a serious breach. We suspect Anderson of taking the cargo for her own gain”

Ellie’s hand gripped the file tightly, her heart pounding in her chest. The words seemed to ring in her mind, the gravity of the accusation sinking in. She stood abruptly, her face flushed with shock and disbelief. “No!” she exclaimed, her voice rising in protest. “Abby would do nothing of the sort!”

Isaac's gaze remained steady, his expression unyielding. “We have evidence the cargo never reached its intended destination,” he said, his voice cold and precise. “The delay is suspicious, and Anderon’s sudden disappearance only proves our concerns.”

Ellie’s eyes widened, her voice trembling with both anger and desperation. “You can’t honestly believe that Abby would steal from you! She’s been nothing but reliable. If there’s a problem, there has to be another explanation.”

Isaac's voice cut through Ellie’s mounting frustration. “That’s where you’re mistaken, Williams. There’s no other explanation.”

A jolt of realization struck Ellie. She suddenly understood that this wasn’t just about finding Abby or ensuring her safety—it was about the missing cargo. 

“You only care for the cargo!” Ellie shouted, her voice echoing sharply against the dim walls. ““You don’t give a damn about Abby’s well-being!”

Isaac’s expression remained unreadable as he met her fiery gaze. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken truths. Finally, Isaac spoke, his tone as cold as the room’s oppressive atmosphere. “A thief doesn’t deserve my concern.”

Ellie’s anger flared, her hands trembling as she struggled to control her emotions.

Isaac's face remained impassive, his eyes cold and unyielding. “My concern is for the cargo and its value to our operations,” he said flatly. “Abby’s personal fate is irrelevant if she has compromised our interests. The priority is recovering what was lost.”

In a surge of frustration, Ellie grabbed the dossier from her hands and hurled it towards Isaac. The file flying through the air, papers scattering in a chaotic flutter as they rained down around him. The sudden movement shocked him, his eyes widening slightly as he watched the documents drift to the floor. The dim light from the desk lamp illuminated the disarray, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Ellie’s face was flushed with anger and resolve, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

"I'm not helping you," Ellie declared, her voice falt despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

Isaac's gaze remained steady, though his surprise was evident. He leaned back in his chair, his expression a mixture of irritation and contemplation. “You refuse?” he asked, his voice tinged with a cold edge.

Ellie met his gaze with a fierce determination. “I refuse to be part of an operation that disregards the well-being of the people involved,” she shot back. “I’ll find Abby, and I’ll make sure she’s safe. If you want to know what happened, you’ll have to look elsewhere.”

With that, Ellie turned sharply and stormed out of the office, the sound of her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

───────

"At last, you've returned," Dina said, swimming towards you with swift, graceful movements. Her tail, a shimmering blend of emerald and sapphire, caught the faint light, creating a mesmerizing glow. Mel followed closely behind, her tail a deep, rich violet that faded into midnight blue at the tips, moving with the fluid elegance of a predator.

Dina and Mel were among the most skilled of all sirens, their abilities in both hunting and navigating the treacherous waters unmatched. Dina's lithe form and sharp eyes had made her a master of stealth, while Mel's strength and agility made her a formidable force in any confrontation. Both of them now circled you with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

"What has occupied you?" Mel asked, her voice carrying an edge as she swam around you, her gaze never leaving your face. "There have been whispers."

You tried to steady your breathing, keeping your expression neutral. "Hunting," you replied, attempting to sound casual. “I ventured further than usual, looking for richer waters.”

“You must’ve ventured to another sea for you to be gone for months ,” Mel remarked, her violet and blue tail flicking with curiosity. Her eyes, still tinged with suspicion, held yours firmly.

Dina’s eyes narrowed, and she sniffed the water around you, a hint of skepticism in her gaze. “You reek of human,” she said, her voice tinged with suspicion.

Mel swam closer, her eyes piercing as she scrutinized you. “Bloodbathing alone?” she asked, her tone accusing. The act of bloodbathing—killing multiple humans at once—was a serious offense among sirens. The act is carried out alone, and is viewed as both selfish and gluttonous.

“No.” you snapped. “I was merely exploring new territories.”

Mel’s tail flicked impatiently, the violet and blue shimmering in the water. “Exploring or hiding something?” she challenged. “Your scent is too strong for just simple encounters.”

Dina’s gaze remained fixed on you, her expression unreadable. “The council isn’t too fond of such an act,” she warned.

In the ocean’s darkest depths, the Council of Elders—composed of the oldest and most powerful sirens—gather to pass judgment. Bloodbathing was deemed a serious crime, and the penalties for such an offense were severe.

Exile being the most common consequence, with a siren being marked with a scar and cast into treacherous currents. In more extreme cases, the council performs Scouring, removing a siren's scales and leaving them vulnerable to attacks. The worst punishment was Soul Binding, where a siren's soul is anchored to the sea floor, enduring endless darkness and crushing pressure—a fate deemed worse than death. 

You hardened your expression, "You believe I'd risk everything for mere humans? Don't insult me."

Mel swam closer, her fingers gently tucking your hair behind your ear. "The sirens whisper you’ve gone soft since you’ve  returned" she murmured, her tone a mixture of curiosity and challenge.

"You humor me," you snapped, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "I've been focused on finding new hunting grounds and ensuring our safety. That is all."

Dina's smirk widened, but her eyes remained sharp and assessing. "Prove it.”

Dina looked at Mel for a moment, their eyes communicating a silent conversation. After a brief pause, Mel turned back to you with a sharp, authoritative tone. ““Accompany us on a hunt. We received word of a small ship approaching.”

Dina’s eyes narrowed slightly as she added, “You were not present for the previous one.”

Mel’s expression darkened.“Unfortunately, our feast won’t be as grand,” she said with a frown. “Only one human.”

Dina nodded in agreement. “We’ll split it,” she said. Her tone was final, a clear signal that the decision was made and there was no room for disagreement.

“It should arrive by the next full moon,” Mel said, her voice carrying the calm assurance of someone well-versed in the rhythm of the ocean. “We have ample time to prepare.”

You tried to keep your outward demeanor composed, “What exactly do you have planned?”

Dina, always the more strategic of the two, began outlining their plans with detailed precision. “We need to position ourselves well, use the currents to our advantage, and ensure we’re ready when the ship arrives.”

As you listened to Dina and Mel discuss their plans, a wave of panic surged through you. The full moon was just days away, and you couldn’t shake the thought of Abby being alone, possibly running out of food and materials. 

Your mind raced with images of Abby in the cave, struggling without the supplies she needed. The small boat you had promised to help her construct was still incomplete, and you feared that she would be left in a dire situation while you were away hunting. The realization that she might be unprepared or worse, in danger, gnawed at you.

“I heard there’s a possibility it’s a woman!” Dina said, her voice bubbling with excitement as she swam in circles. Her emerald and sapphire tail flicked with anticipation, and her eyes sparkled with intrigue.

Mel joined Dina, leaning in closer. “Marlene mentioned she’s freckled.” 

───────

You swam swiftly through the dark waters, the urgency in your movements matching the pounding of your heart. The familiar rock formations loomed ahead, and you maneuvered quickly to reach the lagoon’s entrance.

Bursting into the cave, your sudden entrance sent a splash of water onto the rocky shore where Abby was seated, her back turned to you. She jerked around, her eyes wide with surprise as droplets dripped from her wet hair.

"Back so soon?" Abby asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and amusement. She raised an eyebrow, her expression playful. "You yearned for me that terribly?"

You tried to steady your breathing, forcing a calm demeanor despite the rush of adrenaline. "I had to return quickly. Things are more complicated than I anticipated."

Abby’s eyes softened, but there was a hint of a teasing smile on her lips. “Complicated? What could possibly be more complex than helping me build a boat?”

You met her gaze, trying to conceal the worry you felt. “It’s not just about the boat. There are... other factors to consider.” You hesitated, glancing around the cave to check on her supplies. “I came to make sure you have everything you need and to bring additional materials.”

You quickly checked the supplies and added what you had brought, trying to mask your anxiety. The weight of your secret and the looming threat of the hunt pressed heavily on you, but for now, your focus was on ensuring Abby had what she needed.

"I see.." Abby said, her smile widening as she looks at you. 

─────── 

Night had fallen, casting a gentle darkness over the lagoon as Abby continued her work on the boat. The soft glow of a lantern illuminated her focused expression. You stayed nearby,comfortably settled on a smooth rock, enjoying the quiet moments and the rhythmic sound of Abby’s steady work.

Abby’s hands moved swiftly as she shaped and fitted wooden planks, concentrating in measuring and adjusting each piece. The cool breeze carried the scent of salt and sand, mixing with the faint aroma of the wood. The occasional clink of tools and the soft rustle of materials were the only sounds breaking the stillness of the night.

After a while, Abby paused, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. She glanced over at you, her expression relaxed. "You know," she began, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity, "it’s interesting how different our worlds are, yet we have managed to find common ground."

You looked up, intrigued. "In what way?"

Abby leaned back against the boat, her eyes thoughtful. "Well, for instance, the way humans and sirens view the world. We’re always so focused on creating and building—like this boat. It’s a way of shaping the world to fit our needs."

You nodded, considering her words. "And sirens?"

"You have a different perspective," Abby said, her gaze turning toward the lagoon. "You view yourselves as part of the natural world, more attuned to its rhythms. Your creations are often more about harmony.” 

You smiled, finding her observations entertaining, “I agree.” 

"You know," Abby continued, her voice reflecting a touch of nostalgia, "when I was younger, I used to spend hours just sitting by the water, listening to stories about sirens and their legends.” 

"I never truly expected to encounter one,"Abby said, her eyes locking with yours. There’s a moment of silent connection, the gravity of her words hanging in the air between you.

“Is it more surreal than you had anticipated?” you asked, meeting her gaze with equal intensity. 

Abby’s lips curved into a playful smile as she replied, “It’s captivating.”

Her reply made you momentarily freeze, a sudden warmth rising to your cheeks. The air between you seemed to crackle with tension, and you quickly looked away, trying to compose yourself. 

Abby’s gaze softened as she studied you more closely, her earlier teasing giving way to concern. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been a bit off since you returned. ”

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat as you grappled with the decision to reveal your feelings. The weight of Abby’s gaze, filled with genuine concern, nudged you toward honesty. Finally, you took a deep breath and decided that it’s better to be straightforward.

You sighed, “The sirens are planning a hunt,” you confessed, your voice low. “It is scheduled for the same night I am meant to be with you. That is the reason I’m restocking your supplies so early.” 

Abby’s eyes widened slightly, and she fell silent, processing your words. Her gaze dropped to the ground, a conflicted expression crossing her face. “You’re saying they plan to kill humans. They will be out hunting that night, and you are expected to be involved?”

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. “Yes. A hunt is a significant event for the sirens. If I don’t participate, it could raise suspicion and jeopardize everything.”

Abby’s face was a mask of turmoil. ““It’s difficult to imagine you taking a life,” she said quietly.

You met her gaze with a flat, almost detached expression. “I’ve killed countless.” you said, your tone devoid of emotion, as if you were discussing a mundane fact of life. To you, it was a normal part of existence, a necessity that had become ingrained in your world.

“It is the main source by which I obtain my energy,” you explained, your voice carrying a note of resigned practicality. You knew how your actions must appear to others, but to you, it was simply how things worked. The reality of your needs was an intrinsic part of your existence, one that was hard to reconcile with others’ perceptions.

“Besides,” you added, your tone shifting slightly to convey a sense of fairness, “You take the lives of our animals and sea creatures to sustain your own energy. It is only just that I do what is necessary to maintain mine.”

You sank down onto a flat rock near the edge of the cave, exhaustion and worry pressing heavily upon you. Resting your head in your arms, you closed your eyes momentarily, the cool surface beneath you offering a brief relief from the tension.

“Don’t worry,” you said softly, though the words felt hollow even to you. “It’ll only be one.” You tried to sound reassuring, as if the number of lives at stake would somehow make the situation any less dire. “A freckled one at that.”

Abby’s eyes widened, “Freckled?” she repeated, her tone laced with seriousness. “Are you certain?”

Her sudden intensity made you tense, and you could see the gears turning in her mind. "Why is it significant?"you asked, trying to remain calm, though the unease in your voice betrayed your agitation.

Abby began to pace back and forth, her movements sharp and agitated. “From where did you obtain this?”

she demanded, her voice tight with urgency.

Your eyes widened in shock. “What—?”

“where did you obtain this information?”” Abby repeated, her tone cracking under the weight of her concern. She stopped pacing and fixed you with a piercing gaze, her eyes searching yours for answers. 

“The other sirens received information about the ship,” you explained, your voice steady despite the situation. . “I am unaware of who the human is.”

Abby’s face paled, and she began to pace again, her movements more frantic this time. “If that ship is marked as originating from Jackson…” She stopped abruptly, her eyes wide with dawning realization. “It is possible that they may be searching for me.”

“I need to see it.” Abby said, her tone urgent and determined. “You must take me with you.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “What—?”

“That ship could be my opportunity to return home,” Abby explained, her voice growing more fervent. “If I am able to board it, I will not even need to complete this.”” She glanced over at the boat she’d been diligently working on, the unfinished vessel now seeming less significant.

“Are you hearing yourself?” you said, frustration edging your voice. “Bringing you to a hunting location is pure stupidity. It’s dangerous—”

Abby cut you off, her expression hardening. “ If that ship is indeed what I believe it to be, the risk is justified. I cannot afford to miss this chance.”

Her words seemed to blend into a confusing haze, muffled by the chaos of emotions swirling within you. The idea of Abby leaving your care, of potentially losing her, caused your body to tremble. As the realization of her departure hit you with an intensity you hadn’t anticipated, your breathing grew uneven.

The thought of returning to solitude, of reclaiming your cave, felt almost insignificant in comparison of her leaving. The connection you shared with her had evolved into something far more significant.

Abby’s hopeful gaze met yours, her expectations clear in her eyes. “Please,” she urged softly, “Help me do this.”

The impulse to lunge at Abby was almost irresistible, to wrap her in your arms with a force of desperation, clinging to her as if your life depended on it. You wanted to hold her so tightly that she could never escape, to preserve the warmth and comfort she had brought into your life.

A thought flickered through your mind, an irrational impulse to end her life right then and there, so that she could remain with you for eternity. 

How could you possibly let her go, knowing how her presence had woven itself into the fabric of your existence? The thought of her departure felt like a gaping void opening up, an emptiness that threatened to consume you. 

“No.” you said, locking eyes with her, the finality of the word hanging heavily in the air. 

The single word echoed in the space between you, the weight of it settling heavily. Abby’s hopeful expression faltered, a flicker of hurt and confusion crossing her face. She stood there, the tension of the moment etched deeply in her features, as the reality of your refusal sank in.

Abby’s voice trembled with confusion. “What…?”

“No.” you repeated. 

[officialdaydreamer00]

can i req cuteness aggression headcanons for the tweels :3

im gonna shake them around like a pinball, or they'll gonna do that themselves lol

reader is not yuu, reader is gender neutral, reader is the object of their cuteness aggression

awe shrimpy, you're so cute he could just eat you whole!

very vocal about just how adorable you are and how much he wants to bite you.

might have "accidentally" squeezed you until you turned blue a few times before.

shakes you around like a ragdoll, takes great pleasures carrying you on his shoulders like a potato sack.

bites you. a lot. fully utilising his sharp chompers to mark your uncovered skin.

yeah he's not gonna hold back the aggression, bestie. good luck.

also wants to bite you, but tries his best to suppress it.

probably nearly strangled you with his hugs before.

attacks you with barrages of kisses and borderline squeezes.

he's nearly as bad as, if not more than, floyd when it comes to you lmao

you're just too cute for your own good, dear prefect. that's why he has that mighty urge to litter your skin with bite marks.

sometimes the temptation wins, and people will see you the next day with bright red marks peeking out from your shirt.

again, good luck bestie.

taglist🏷️ @azulashengrottospiano @identity-theft-101 @aqua-beam @siren-serenity @dove-da-birb @krenenbaker @cave-of-jade @axvwriter @mermaidfanficlibrary @thehollowwriter @moonlit-midnight @cheezy-moon @cookiesandbiscuits @minimallyminnie @jaylleoo14

reblogs are very appreciated!!

[sirenedeslily]

VIDEO OBSESSION〻ᯇ # matthew sturniolo

✦ SEARCHING FOR PROFILES… two results found !

result ONE out of TWO — @FallenAngels

Y/N GREENBLATT, streamer known for her gaming skills and pretty visuals. seven stars cigarette. moon during a snowstorm. mtl › nyc. thé matcha 26. nyx cold brew lip liner. ‘03 stargirl. coy. cinephile. back tattoos. vanilla vodka infused. alluring. chrome heart uggs. silver jewelry. white orchid. dazed. tangled & wired headphones. black cat. sirene gaze. sullen girl by fiona apple. sweet talker. guarded. shows care in subtle ways. handwritten letters. sensitive. classic black eyeliner, smudged like a memory. mushishi. overpriced coffee. blue velvet (1986). her dream collab? a limited-edition hoodie with cibo matto album art, designed by a tumblr artist she once reblogged. midnight ‘silent hill 2’ streams.

VICTORIA WALKER, cheetah print. manicured nails. dean blunt. monchhicci. started off streaming with y/n, now focusing on her music. tumblr girl gone global. fur boots. london › nyc. betty boop. tom ford vanilla sex. pocket-sized camcorder. ‘01 baby. rick owens. reclusive but magnetic. spider lily. ipod nano. minecraft. angels by a$ap rocky. paradise kiss. 11:11. chrome heart grills. dream collabs? yves tumor, peggy gou, and a track with a.g. cook that’s “still in the works.” mismatched tiffany bracelets. unreleased a$ap mob.

AERI UCHINAGA, pink-haired enigma. macbook photobooth. mean lesbian. twitch streamer turned cultural icon. cherry blossom. prettiestproblem on and offline. perfect blue (1997). harajuku streetwear. retired scene kid. björk. self-released ep titled “petal circuit”—a mix of shoegaze and hyperpop with haunting vocals. tokyo › nyc. widowmaker main. paranoia agent soundtrack. byredo’s blanche. ‘00 doll. two weeks by fka twigs. synth lab streams with modular glitches. dating ning yizhuo; model. domo.

HAMZAH SALEH, slush puppie. bone comics. vintage quiksilver tees. duct-taped backpack. messy. tony hawk fingerboards. his youtube history? “how to ollie without looking lame”. polar bears. co-runs slushy noobz; a youtube channel. created a subreddit called r/CherrySlushiesAnonymous. circa ‘02. napoleon dynamite (2004). cherry airheads. sega dreamcast he won’t shut up about. ck one. spider-man pez. xbox 360. unbrushed curls. owns a lego keychain of marah; his girlfriend. scrawny by wallows. steve lacy.

MARAH ADEL, doll eyes. celestial paradox. possession (1981). iced lavender lattes, leaves the last sip untouched “for the spirits”. heaven by marc jacobs. medieval angelology. ethel cain. ‘03 angel. tattoo artist of the hidden soul, her studio, melancholie, drips in velvet, candied amethyst light, and the faint hum of dusty jazz vinyl. etruscan art. dario argento films. night drives to nowhere. secretly hid a chipped rose quartz under hamzah’s bed. antique heart lockets. soft leather boots. faded polaroids. sparse. mtl › nyc. messy bangs. labdanum no. 3. seperpentskirt by cocteau twins.

back to masterlist! - profile two @ChromeHearts

🖥️𓈒ིུ✧꫶᳜᳝͟ᰭ✿⃨ TRENDING NOW ! matt sturniolo was known for many things: his striking looks, his dominance in the gaming world, and his complete inability to keep his cool around beautiful women. so it’s almost poetic—almost—that his fiery temper explodes during an intense fortnite match, broadcasted live to thousands, only to discover later that the player who completely shattered his pride was y/n greenblatt, one of the most beloved streamers in the community—and undeniably beautiful.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ plsplsplspls send asks about these characters !!!

TAGLIST ( open ) ; @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @waitforyrlove @elizabebabe @ncm9696 @marrykisskilled @l34n @sturniolossss @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @mattscoquette @chratts-left-ball @jetaimevous @angelesqve @starlace111 @secretlocket @starkeyszn @etherealval @slut4chriss @star-yawnznn @nickmillersn1gf @sturnsmia @tastesousweet @strnilolover @xoxo4chrisss @ifwdominicfike @emely9274 @maggot3647 @fratbrochrisgf @2augustsago @sturn777

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Backalley Galaxy - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx's cosmic field trip + self-care retreat + honeymoon

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

Jinx breathes deep. She aligns emotion with essence, desire with deed.

Then, with a blink of her eyelids, the glyphs take flight. Red-gold-green-violet-blue, wrapping around her in concentric circles. Rings of a planet, and they're hers.

So's the cosmos just beyond the range of her senses, not one but thousands, rising and falling in a seismograph of symphonies.

She doesn't touch them. That's as risky as hitchhiking down the Deadlands at midnight with the family jewels jingling in your pocket and a bright red apple stuck in your mouth.

She's learnt that the hard way: that there's an ether between each cosmic fabric. An infinite fold, where broken things wander. Where you'll lose yourself if you're not disciplined enough to keep to one world, and one alone.

Jinx has been caught in the ether's undertow before. Found herself caught between the jaws of its allure, and the impact would've pulverized her bones.

She'd fought the tide with all her strength as it tried to drag her under. She'd tried to remember all the tricks in the books she'd read. The names of everyone who'd ever mattered to her. Everything she'd ever built. Everything she'd ever blown apart.

Everyone she'd ever loved.

Mommy. Daddy. Vander. Mylo. Claggor.

Silco.

Vi.

Ekko.

And all the while, from the depths, she'd heard them calling. Figments that could've been phantoms. Maybe friends; maybe foes. Old selves, new selves. Those who were still here, and those who'd been lost. And some who'd yet to live, and looked upon her with eyes the color of Silco's good blue one, and dark ringlets in their hair, and copper in their skins.

She'd longed to embrace them. Longed to hear them speak. To say: Hey, y'all. You're my peeps.

My family.

That's what they'd whispered, too. They'd promised her everything: magic, mass, matter. A love that tasted, not of bitter betrayals and hidden heartbreaks, but eternity. Kisses that didn't end on the fullstop of borrowed time and fractured fairytales, but lasted forever-and-ever, without death cutting the cord between bodies and souls.

Promises that she could have it all. That it was hers for the taking.

All she had to do was reach out and touch...

Stay, the voices crooned. Stay.

We have everything you want, Jinx. A story of your own, where you can write whatever ending you like. Where nobody's gonna tell you what ain't right, or what ain't real. You can make your life a bestseller, complete with stars and starlets. And every scene is exactly the way you pictured it. Every hero, a winner. Every villain, a flash in the pan.

All playtime, all pranks, all perfect.

Forever.

Jinx knew better.

Perfect was a losing game from the get-go.

She'd struggled. Against their seductions of friendship, their false vows of closure. She'd screamed, and those succubae and incubae beyond reckoning had screamed back to her. Their eyes, black and poison-hungry, had snared her within the wormhole of their netted designs. She'd fought on, knowing the fight was futile.

Because they had already begun to feast.

And then—

Two voices, reaching from above and below. Each speaking in counterpoint with the other. Calling out in stereo, in synchronicity. Urging her on, keeping her strong. Keeping her fighting.

You don't belong to them, Jinx.

Never surrender.

Never forget.

Vi and Silco, calling out to her like dueling sirens. Their cries, echoes of each other. Echoes of her.

Full circle.

With a scream, she'd flung herself backward. She'd fallen, and was caught by the slipstream of her own momentum. And she'd have gone on being caught, spinning in circles over and over, if Viktor hadn't cut through the maelstrom and done the job that she could not.

Ended it.

And with the ending, came the rebirth. 

The Change.

On that day, Jinx had killed Powder for the final time. She'd laid the little girl to rest in a corpus of stardust, with Vander and Mylo and Claggor gathered round, and serene silence stirring in her heart.

No funeral rites. Just farewells, and crows circling away.

She'd taken Viktor's hand, clasped his bony fingers, and touched her cheek to his. He'd been beautiful in that twilit realm, garbed in silver glory and faded sepia with gore. And yet his fragility burned bright. That boyish sense of wonder, a pindot intensity in his eyes.

Persisting, despite everything. Outnumbering the odds.

Let's go, she'd whispered.

Yes, he'd said. Let's.

And they'd begun the journey, through endless fathoms of light and dark. Begun, and yet stood in stasis, as Viktor began the deadly, delicate work of solidifying their tether, stitch-by-stitch, so she'd always feel the throbbing sense of a twin soul burning bright inside her. So they'd never again lose each other among the superhighways of the Void.

Between dimensions; between dreams; between deaths.

Together, Jinx-and-Viktor had slipped along the ether's currents. Together, they'd leapt from thread-to-thread. Together, they'd glided down the lustrous string of fate guiding them to the only destination that mattered. A haven, right and ripe for their union. He'd shaped the atoms, the sensory lexicon; Jinx breathed life into them, crafted the glittering palimpsest of their memories: lace-tipped waves flowing, spangled stars dancing, sands of time glittering cool and ticklish beneath their bare feet.

In this place, they'd shared themselves as one.

I can hear your memories, Jinx.

I can taste yours. Freaky.

Viktor smiled his gentle smile. In the other realm—the real one? the false one?—he was never much more than a pair of scrutinizing eyes at a guarded distance, his pale jaw set and his narrow shoulders braced to carry a thousand burdens.

Here, he could let down that shielded stance. Be himself, stripped to the softly-luminous core.

Human, and all hers.

There was so much I wished to unlock, he whispered, tracing folded fingers down the constellations on her cheek. And it's all here. Within you.

Told ya. I'm one of a kind.

Viktor's smile stayed put. He pressed his forehead to hers. Do you know... how many universes there are, Jinx?

Oodles.

A hypothesis, then. You, Jinx—

Me?

—and all your variations throughout the multiverse are the nexus of a grander design. You are a singularity, around which our private cosmos spins.

Like an atom?

Or a cog.

Jinx drew back. Made a moue. Cogs are for killjoys.

The gentle shine of his eyes was undimmed. The fingertips tracing her skin left spectral swirls, fireworks balanced on their reflections in the water. 

Cogs are part of something greater than themselves. Their beauty lies in their connection to the rest. And their meaning lies in their motion. Without it, we would stagnate. Wither. Die.

Sheesh, that's depressing.

I mean to say that you have freed me from inertia, Jinx. With you... He stopped. Not bashfulness, because Viktor had no room left for that. Not here. All that stood out was the reverence: bleeding through as he cradled her head in his hands.  With you, there is the potential for infinite possibilities, each spinning off into another, and another after that. And I... Awe, spilling out in trembles.  I want to discover them. Discover all the possibilities there could be.

We will, Jinx promised, and twined her arms around him. We'll punch 'em out—Bam! Pow! Ka-ching!—until it's all just one big beautiful mess with Zaun's flag flying over it.

He'd laughed, as she'd known he would.

They stayed on that little island forever. Or between fractions of split-seconds. Whatever. Time wasn't time there. It was timeless. Hand-in-hand, they'd walked the mirrored shores and followed the seagrass bowing over dunes shaped like diamonds. They'd played tag through the night-blooming gardens, swinging under flowering archways, until their own laughter left them dizzed. They'd embraced in the coral caves, foreheads together, eyes locked and spirits resonating as they resurrected old pains and buried them there, together.

Later, dragging herself through the unmitigated ugliness of reality, Jinx would wish for eidetic memory. Wish she'd captured every ripple, every revelation, every rapture. Keep it catalogued somewhere for posterity.

But wishes are for wide-eyed dreamers.

Jinx was eyes-shut awake.

And because she was awake, she remembered enough. Enough for nostalgia. Enough for dreams.

Enough for hope.

Enough, but little else.

She remembered when they'd departed the silvered shores, leaving unmarked the sand where their feet had left prints, and the latticed starlight had safeguarded their secrets. The parting was inevitable; life was waiting for them beyond its bounds. Silco, and Vi, and Zaun. The consequences of Viktor's reckless error, and Jinx's swandive toward martyrdom.

The cost of perfection, writ in blood.

They'd joined once more, but it wasn't the death-defying anamnesis of before. It was easy-as-you-please, as Jinx opened herself to him and invited him to melt into the spaces between her atoms. Because he belonged there now; because this was home-away-from-home.

It would be, for the rest of their days.

And though the joy was a sacred flame, and Viktor's smile so, so sweet, it was a sorrowful sweetness.

Because Jinx knew, down deep, she was meant to be twined with another.  Another, with whom nothing was going to be same again. Her bond with Viktor was set, settled, deep in Jinx's matrix. Her quicksilver thoughts, filtered through Viktor's keen self-focus. His wisdom, transfigured by her volatility.

A mutuality that'd make the Void sing, if they traversed these dimensions again.

And yet...

And yet, Jinx wished for someone else. Wished with every fiber of herself. Because even if their orbits had spun out of sync, the scars were still strung like pearls between them, shining bright as the stars that'd made them for each other. Still calling out, back and forth: an endless song-of-call and response.

Ekko, Ekko, Ekko.

It’d always be the pair of them. Hand-to-hand; heart-to-heart. Building gizmos in the basement and racing across the rooftops, their laughter chasing after like shooting-stars.

She must've wept, or wailed, or shown some secret anguish. Because Viktor had paused to clasp her hands in his own.

I'm sorry, he'd told her. Truly. I wish—

She'd wished too, for a whole different outcome. For better odds, and safer bets. For a happily-ever-after that left you smiling to the last, not sobbing till your guts ached and your heart bled across the rainy cobblestones inches from your father’s corpse.

She'd wished so fucking bad.

But wishes, well. You know.

It's okay, Vik, she'd whispered back. I don't regret this.

No?

Not for a damn second. It's the shiniest thing that ever happened to me. A tiny grimace. Even if we did sorta cock it up on the other side.

He didn't laugh, as she knew he wouldn't. Only enfolded her close, as fiercely as he must've prayed for a good leg and a working pair of lungs as a boy.  Jinx held him back, twice as tight, knowing, somehow, that it would be the last time they could do so without boundaries. On the other side, the gentleness of him would recede from her synapses, leaving behind an imprint. An echo.

And not the Ekko who was always just one step away, forever reaching out his hand to catch her when she fell, or when she flew too high on the fumes of freedom and forgot how to live without hurting others or hurting herself.

How strange, to be held, yet hollowed out.

To be so close, yet so far from closure.

 Viktor's lips touched her forehead. They were one: the essence of themselves flowering into a breathless harmony. Yet there were tears standing in his eyes, unashamed.

If it were mine to give, he said. I'd let you stay here forever.

Psssh. Jinx nuzzled closer. No can do.

No?

Silly would shank ya.

Viktor said nothing. Just smiled. Just waited.

And Jinx, readying herself for the home stretch, nodded.

The last threads wove into one. And together, they plunged. Back through the membrane of creation, universes strobing and spinning out from underneath their feet. The cosmic strands rippled at their passing, each humming their own individual melody, each imparting their own secrets. Jinx breathed those melodies in. Hoarded those secrets for safekeeping. In another life—one where Vi kept her temper screwed on straight; where Sevika didn't pity her guts; where Silco...

Oh, Silco.

Jinx shut her eyes, and let the tears burn out. Shut her ears to the screaming chorus as they crossed the in-between realm. It sang out from all directions, filling the dark fabric between hers and Viktor's consciousness, trying to invade the stronghold their mindmade love had fused between themselves.

No dice.

Their bond lasted the distance. It outran the phantoms snapping at their heels, and the vortex yawning to swallow them. Viktor felt her pain and wrapped it in empathy; Jinx felt his fragility and fortified it with fearlessness.

That, at least, they could do, and well.

Together.

Merged, their spirits scaled the distance, carrying them out from the interdimensional fold, and back to the Now. Back to Zaun, with its pulsating neon and its insatiable hungers: the nexus of home and hell, where tragedies and triumphs marched to the mad drum of Progress.

Maybe, Jinx cracked, I'll write a book.

Oh?

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Backalley Galaxy. It'll be a hoot!

Doubtless, replied Viktor, half-here, half-everywhere, but solid as an anchor as they made explosive landfall.

Together, they returned.

Together, they lived.

Together...

...in the med-bay, with its nauseatingly bright halogens, and the searing stink of disinfectant, and Silco's bottomless rage, and his fist slamming into Viktor's gut.

A strange pain, hot and prickling. It echoed inside Jinx. In tune with Viktor's shock.

Then: darkness.

[kamaluhkhan]

TIME TO PRETEND

pairing: luke castellan x gn!poseidon!reader word count: 5k chapter summary: you're the eldest child of poseidon and the hero of the last great prophecy. you left your demigod life behind after defeating kronos. now, years later, you find yourself back at camp half blood for the summer.....which means dealing with luke castellan, and all that history (tension?) left unresolved between you. warnings: some nicknames for reader are based on female characters (mermista, sailor neptune) but they're still written as gender neutral. reader has tattoos. mention of alcohol + death (post-titan war). spoilers for the entire pjo (book) series, mostly references to the last olympian. timeline is all over the place but set in the early 2000s for vibes. no betrayal (au where chris was the one who sided w kronos and led the titan army) so slightly ooc luke <3 author's note: welcome to another product of my pjo hyperfixation !!! i wanted to finish the nemesis!reader series first but it's summer and i felt like reworking my tsitp series in a camp half-blood setting with bb luke. so prepare for childhood friends to lovers drama! summertime vibes! nostalgia! angst! would love to know what y'all think about this and if you want a part 2 so feel free to scream at me in the comments. otherwise, enjoy and thanks 4 reading 💙

♪: time to pretend by mgmt

YOU’VE GOT MAIL!

1 new message 

from: LukeNotSkywalker

to: Mermista86

subject: you are GETTING that record deal

Hey,

Your demo CD just came in the mail — and, Connor as my witness, I’ve already listened to it five times!!! 

It’s amazing. You’re amazing. The label would totally lose out if they didn’t sign you. 

Things have been pretty chaotic around here, with the summer term happening soon. Speaking of which: are you coming back? Chiron gave me the list of returning campers and counsellors this morning and said he hadn’t heard from you, so I thought I’d ask. I know you’ll be busy with the band, but if you get the chance, it’d be really great to see you.

Anyways, I’m leading the next Shield & Sword session, so I’d better go. Talk soon ;)

- L

FOUR YEARS LATER

TURBULENT WATERS? ALT-ROCK BAND MIDNIGHT SIRENS HIT ROUGH PATCH AFTER LEAD GUITARIST GETS INTO VIOLENT ALTERCATION 

the cover is the nail in the coffin: a blurry picture of you, an electric blue guitar forgotten at your feet, lunging forward into a crowd, with your bandmates on stage behind you in shock. 

you’d gone all this time without any major incidents, and one stupid chimera managed to burn down everything you worked for in one fell swoop.

“that’d be $8.50,” the cashier informs. 

you tear your attention away from the magazine, instead fishing through your pocket for some change. meanwhile, the cashier furrows their brow, leans down slightly to get a better look at you underneath your sunglasses and baseball cap. 

“hey, do i know you?”

“nope,” you say instantly, slapping a $10 bill onto the counter. “keep the change.” you gather your pile of necessary roadtrip supplies (slushies, m&m’s, and goldfish) before rushing out the door, your half-brother trailing behind you.

you slide into the driver’s seat, set each slushie in a cup holder, and hand the rest to percy once he’s slipped into the passenger side. 

“seatbelt,” you remind him. you shake your hair out after removing your baseball cap disguise. “i promised your mom i’d be responsible.” 

percy does as he’s told, though not without mumbling about how he’s practically an adult and a demigod who’s been in much more dangerous situations than a car ride up to long island. you just tell him to put on some music, even though he has a point. he’ll be 18 in august and you’re only five years older, but the fact is that you gave sally jackson your word. 

plus — you’re his older sibling, so gods forbid you let him get hurt. a seatbelt seems like a band-aid solution for one of the most powerful demigods out there, but still.

percy flips through a few radio stations while he sips his blue raspberry slushie. when he doesn’t find anything good, he opens the glove compartment and surveys your music collection before sliding a cd into the stereo. 

instantly, the familiar sound of david bowie’s voice eases the tension in your shoulders.

“good choice?” 

you nod and percy smiles triumphantly. you reach over to steal a few goldfish from the bag he just opened and ruffle his hair playfully, for good measure. 

you’re perfectly happy, driving along a long island highway while getting lost in the glam rock world of ziggy stardust, but it isn’t long until percy interrupts: 

“are you finally gonna tell me what happened, or do i have to read it from some trashy gossip magazine like everyone else?”

“well, your dyslexic ass can barely read so….”

you look over at him briefly, and laugh when you see him stick his slightly-blue tongue out to you. 

“at least my dyslexic ass is actually decent at ancient greek. luke told me you failed the reading test, like, a million times.”

your heart twinges at the mention of your old friend. 

friend.

if you could still call him that. 

thankfully, percy doesn’t give you much room to dwell on the past, too focused on your drama-filled present.

“so, what is it? you got kicked out of the band? lost everything? have nowhere else to go?”

you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “i did not get kicked out.” 

“then, what happened?”

“just the usual.” you shrug. “monster attack, mortals who can’t see through the mist. i tried to explain it away after — something about how i saw someone in the crowd attack another person and i stepped in to help. most people bought it, but the media loves drama and the label’s worried i’m a flight risk now. apparently, everything will blow over if i just keep a low profile for the next few months. so….no. i didn’t lose everything.” you take a deep, like when anyone other than children of poseidon are about to go underwater and they’re not quite sure when they can come up for air. 

“i just don’t really have anywhere else to go,” you finish.

“damn.” percy offers you a blue shark gummy (or whale - you and percy had already debated the shape of the candy that sally packed for the trip, and the jury’s still out). you gratefully accept. “well, i know it’s not the best reason, but i’m excited to spend the summer together.”

despite everything, you find yourself smiling. 

“me too, kid.” 

“it’d give me a chance to kick your ass in sword-fighting.”

“you wish!” you nudge his shoulder, both of you giggling. once the laughter’s died down, you glance at percy once more. “hey – did you tell anyone i was coming?”

percy shakes his head. “why?”

you take a long swig of your drink until you’re on the brink of brain freeze. 

“no reason.”

it’s just after lunch when you arrive at camp half-blood. 

you weren’t sure what you were expecting — maybe not some futuristic technological developments that had been discovered within the years you were gone, but definitely not for camp to look pretty much exactly the same as when you left. 

instantly, you find comfort in the familiar scenes: a dragon, peleus, guarding the magical borders; dryads and satyrs picking strawberries in the fields next to the forest; chiron standing near the central guidepost, greeting and guiding every camper in the right direction.

chiron smiles down at percy and practically does a double take when his eyes land on you.

“mx. l/n! it has been a while. are you here to drop off your brother, or do you plan on staying for the summer?”

before you can answer, someone appears behind him. 

“perce! hey!” 

“hey, luke.”

luke gives him a side hug, and percy shoves him away with a laugh when he ruffles his hair. it’s then that luke acknowledges you, though he looks like that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“i thought i’d never see you again. what are you doing here? ”

chiron turns to you expectedly. “i believe you have yet to answer that question of mine as well.”

“staying for the summer…” you adjust the shoulder strap of your backpack, uneased by luke’s cold demeanor. “i hope that’s okay.”

“of course!” chiron’s smile grows wide, eyes crinkling. “you’ll resume your position as head counsellor of cabin 3.”

“so i’m dethroned? just like that?” percy guffaws.

you nudge percy’s shoulder. “fulfill the next great prophecy, and then we’ll talk.” 

percy rolls his eyes playfully. luke, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to appreciate your tongue-in-cheek remark. his jaw tightens, and he suddenly finds a deep interest in the clipboard he’s holding.

chiron clears his throat, likely sensing the tension. “yes, well, i’m sure you remember how things work around here. if not, mr. castellan has been keeping this ship afloat. he's always here to help.”

“always.” luke smiles, but it’s elastic, threatening to snap at any moment. someone calls his name, and he walks away to deal with whatever chaos is waiting for him.

summer — age 15

you weren’t exactly conscious when you first arrived at camp half-blood. 

apparently, coach hedge, a satyr and protector, found you just in time and had to practically drag you up half-blood hill after a particularly gruesome fury attack. 

when you woke up and saw luke sleeping next to you in a chair, his curls overgrown and falling onto his eyes, you thought you had died and gone to elysium. 

you took in your unfamiliar surroundings. some sort of infirmary, with only your best friend next to you, the one you hadn’t seen in almost a year since you’d parted ways. 

then, you remembered what was happening before you passed out; it was more likely that you were being tricked into a false sense of security by that fury, who definitely planned on devouring you later.

with a newfound sense of urgency, you decided it was time to get out of there before it was too late. you were reaching for your knife when you felt a hand grab your shoulder. without losing a second, you twisted your body around, weapon at the ready.

whoever it was watching over you sure looked like luke. he was wearing a bright orange shirt and leather cord necklace with one clay bead. another point of difference was the jagged scar that cut across his left cheek.

“it’s just me,” he said, gently. “you’re fine here. you’re safe.”

you weren’t convinced, kept your knife in front of you to keep distance. “prove it.” you narrowed your eyes. “tell me something only luke would know.”

“you’re left-handed.”

“that’s a great observation,” you scoff.

“storm is your favourite x-men character.”

“that’s a very popular opinion.”

“your aunt would make us mango lassi after swim camp when she got home from work,” luke tries for the third time. “and, my mom - she used to call you ‘starfish.’”

your heart skipped a beat.

that was the confirmation you needed. 

the knife dropped from your hand, clattered on the wooden floor, as you pulled luke in for a hug. you were greeted by a familiar scent, that pear shampoo luke loved because it made his hair so soft, mixed with the smell of fresh pine trees. 

“it’s really you,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

despite sleeping for gods know how long, you were exhausted. you rested your weight into luke, but he didn’t seem to care.

“it’s really you. i thought i’d never see you again.”

“where are we?” you asked, breaking away to face luke. you ignored the wooziness you felt throughout your body; luke seemed to sense it, his grip around you tightening. “are annabeth and thalia here, too? how’d you get here?” your thumb traced the unfamiliar scar on his face. “what happened? are you okay —”

“i-i’ll answer all your questions, but you lost a lot of blood.” luke guided you to lay back down in bed. “we’ll explain everything. just get some rest.”

a third scenario entered your mind: this was all a dream. you’d close your eyes and when you opened them again, luke would be gone. you’d be alone again.

you couldn’t let go of luke’s hand, even as he tucked you back into bed. you tugged his wrist, silently urging him to join you.

“will you stay with me?” you finally croaked when he continued standing. 

luke looked at you, and you nodded once as final confirmation. then, he removed his shoes and slipped into the bed next to you. it was luke, all sweet pear and soft curls and strong heartbeat, and you held on to him in fear that he might slip away.

“always,” he whispered.

during the orientation video you were later shown, you learned that camp half-blood’s motto is keeping young heroes safe (mostly) for over three millennia!  

luke had used that word, too. safe.

chiron told you this was to be your new home as he walked you to the poseidon cabin. he told you that you were safe now, though you noticed how the word almost got caught in his throat. he gave you a sad smile you didn’t quite understand.

you did wonder, at first, if those words were true: this place, a home for you and other children of gods. somewhere safe.

and, well.

you came to understand chiron’s general melancholy a few weeks later, and every week after that. he was used to training and sending heroes off to their potential death, and you would be no different. stolen lightning bolts, deadly quests, cryptic prophecies. a pending war between divine forces you had been entangled with long before you knew. heartache and betrayal and loss beyond measure. 

but, there were other things, too. 

annabeth, fitting in perfectly at the athena cabin, continued being her genius self, leading her team to victory every capture the flag game. she was extra patient in helping you with ancient greek, especially after chiron had given up.

chris rodriguez, luke’s half-brother, would tell you jokes from across the dining pavilion, knowing that you hated sitting alone at the poseidon table. michael yew, son of apollo, taught you how to play guitar at the bonfire one week; you’d ask for more and more lessons until you could start playing on your own. charles beckendorf made you a celestial bronze sword that shone like that burst of light when the sun hits the ocean at sunset. it transformed into a ring that you would never take off, unless in battle. you might not have gotten along with mr. d, but you spent free time picking fresh strawberries with his son, castor. you made matching friendship bracelets with silena beauregard, who was really the only person you confided in, about how you maybe possibly felt something other than friendship when it came to luke. she told you about her crush on clarisse larue, the daughter of ares whom you would always partner with during sparring practice. you taught ethan nakamura, who didn’t have his own cabin as the child of nemesis, how to properly hold a sword. thalia’s tree stood tall at the top of the hill where you almost bled to death, protecting you and everyone inside the magical borders. you, annabeth, and luke would share a picnic there every thursday.

you had been on the run for so long, always looking over your shoulder for monsters, sleeping with one eye open to be one step ahead of death, jumping from one place to the next so quickly to avoid danger.

so, yes. 

it was nice to stay in one place, where you knew you were as safe as demigods could be. it was nice to spend your time learning and training and laughing instead of just surviving. 

it was nice to have a place to call home. and people to call it home with.

now 

the first week passes in the blink of an eye, and it’s like you never left.

tie-dye, volleyball, strawberry picking, kitchen duty, and cabin inspection. 

luke has everyone on a tight schedule — one, you notice, conveniently places the two of you at opposite ends of camp at all times.

still, you catch up with clarisse and the stoll brothers, spend time with annabeth and percy, say hi to pollux and katie gardner and others you vaguely recognize as five years older than what you remember. there are also a lot of faces you don’t recognize at all.

of course, you try not to think about the faces you wished you could see: friends you grew up with and would never have a laugh with again, younger campers you had trained who would never grow up. all lost because of the gods and the titans and a prophecy you never asked to be a part of. 

it’s a side effect of being back here; their ghosts are harder to ignore.

again — trying not to think about it.

anyways.

climbing wall, armory, sword-fighting practice, archery field, and free time on the beach.

to conclude: capture-the-flag, a friday night camp-half blood tradition.

you’re praising annabeth for her latest strategy that led to blue team victory when you notice luke. he was also on the blue team, but instead of celebrating with the rest of you, he’s speaking to someone who’s wearing a red helmet. they seem to be in a heated discussion, one that luke is not wanting to continue. his tells are the same, after all these years: the impatient tapping of his foot, his eyes searching for an out.

you give it to him.

“sorry, i need to borrow this guy.” you say, grabbing luke’s wrist. “camp emergency.” 

if the person said anything, you didn’t hear it, because you were already dragging luke away from the crowd, towards the armory shed. 

“what’s the emergency?” luke wonders, brows furrowed in concern. he has deep shadows under his eyes, too. keeping the ship that is camp half-blood afloat has clearly taken a toll on him. 

“you wanting to get out of that conversation. you’re welcome.” you wink at him; luke flushes, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s annoyed, or if he's just flustered. “so, are you gonna keep ignoring me the whole summer?”

you put your helmet on one of the shelves and turn back to luke. you expected him to start removing his armor as well, but he doesn’t. he just glares at you, arms crossed over his chest.

so, he’s annoyed, then. 

“what do you expect?” luke hisses. “you can’t come back here and pretend that everything can be like it was when we were kids. things are different now, especially between us.”

you decide to take him up on his challenge. 

“oh? tell me, luke, what exactly is different between us?”

luke shakes his head in disbelief. you remove your chest plate, and that’s when the tattoo on your waist becomes visible. it’s a magnolia, like one of the flowers that bloomed on the tree outside may castellan’s house. 

something in luke softens, then. he sighs. 

“you could have at least given me a warning.”

he storms off, and you’re left half-armored, wondering what he meant by that.

you figure it out once a few of you settle down for a late-night, underground poker game, and you’re trying not to stare at luke’s hands.

it starts with you telling yourself that you’re just trying to predict what cards he’s holding, figure out if he’s bluffing, and if he’s about to lose everything he’d so confidently bet on. 

but then you notice the silver thumb ring that thalia got him for his 17th birthday. you notice an array of hair ties and elastic bands he keeps just in case a camper needs them, and woven bracelets given to him by his admirers. you notice how the tattoo on his wrist is covered. (it’s hidden well, but you know it’s there — you’d gotten one of a wing, the kind that might be found on a pair of magical red converse, at the same time)

you also notice the forest green painted on luke’s nails, the same shade worn by the person beside him.

van, the new head counsellor of the hephaestus cabin. you’d seen them at staff meetings, but you somehow did not notice that they were dating luke. 

he moved on — is that why luke needed a warning? is that what's changed between you?

it’s fine. whatever. so what if luke has a new partner? it’s not like the two of you were anything, officially. 

luke has a new partner. they’re wearing matching nail polish. they’re one of those couples.

well, van is also wearing a nickleback shirt and luke hates nickleback, unless that fundamental part of his personality changed, too. 

“yo, sailor neptune. you in or not?” travis brings you out of your daze, by using a nickname luke once called you.

back before becoming heroes, when you and luke were just kids, you’d watch cartoons in his living room on saturday mornings — x-men, she-ra: princess of power, teenage mutant ninja turtles, sailor moon. a lifetime ago.

you look around the table and see that everyone has been waiting for you to take your turn. even luke raises an eyebrow at you.

“yeah.” you clear your throat and throw some chips into the centre. “i’m in.”

you have decent enough cards to keep you in the game, and you’re comfortable that you can play the odds in your favor. the stoll brothers are good liars, you know that, and so is luke. malcolm pace is good at strategy, but thankfully not as good as his half-sister annabeth. pollux, who had invited you to the game, already folded along with butch, the son of iris who has a rainbow tattoo on his bicep to prove it. beside you, lou ellen, daughter of the hecate, contemplates her next move. clovis has fallen asleep, true to their title as head counsellor of the hypnos cabin. you can’t get a read on van, but they keep raising the stakes so confidently, and you’ve always liked a good challenge.

soon enough, it’s only you and van in the bet. when it comes time to reveal your cards, you curse yourself for overplaying your hand.

“good game,” van says to you as they collect their winnings. “you really had me going there.” 

“yeah.” your smile is strained, but it’s there nonetheless. “tried my best.”

“guess the curse of achilles doesn’t help as much in poker as it does in capture the flag.” 

“excuse me?” you raise an eyebrow.

luke, who had one arm casually draped around van’s chair the entire game, pulls away. “van, maybe don’t —”

“it’s not like it’s a secret, luke. they’re the prophecy kid, everyone knows they bathed in the river styx to be able to fight kronos. it’s camp legend.”

other than you, luke, and van, everyone else is occupied with something else. connor busies himself shuffling the cards, while lou ellen, malcolm, and pollux get up for more drinks. it seems like butch and travis have their own bet going to see who can balance the most chips on clovis’ forehead without waking him up. 

van waits for an answer. you’re a little queasy, and it’s not from the wine pollux managed to snag from his dad’s office. you’re suddenly faced with the reality that your life is reduced to a legend. you try your best to swallow that feeling, of being made into a greek tragic hero while your heart is still beating, and your life is still a mess.

“that’s relevant, why?”

“just that some people might consider the invulnerability thing an unfair advantage in physical competitions like capture the flag,” van explains. “increased strength and all that.” 

“that would mean nothing without a good strategy,” you counter.

“that’s what i said,” luke grumbles. 

you recognize van now as the person luke was arguing with earlier. it must have been about this. 

about you. 

“okay, y’all were best friends, so luke is obviously going to take your side.”

you’re not sure what stings more: friends or were. 

“although, he never really talks about you, which is weird because you’re, like, famous in and outside camp.”

ouch. that definitely stings the most. luke winces slightly, almost like he feels it, too.

“alright, alright,” connor interjects, shuffling the cards in his hands. “another round?” 

you’re the only one who decides to call it a night. everyone says goodbye; even van, who’s blissfully unaware of the effect their words had on you. luke avoids your gaze. the game continues without you.

percy’s snoring provides enough cover as you sneak into your shared cabin. you try to sleep, but it doesn’t come easy. 

you feel the spot underneath your rib, the one spot you’re truly vulnerable, ache.

summer — age 17

for the first time in your life, you couldn’t breathe underwater. you were swimming in acid, and your skin was melting away.

at least, that’s what it felt like to bathe in the river styx. achilles could have mentioned that, but all he gave was a cryptic warning about anchoring yourself to what makes you mortal.

you really tried at first. you thought about your friends at camp. you thought about percy, about your aunt back when she was still around. you even thought about may castellan, burnt cookies and saturday mornings.

the pain was too much, though. 

you were forgetting where you were, who you were. with every passing second, you were dissolving into nothing.

“if you wanted to go for a swim, you should have told me. i would have worn my swimsuit.”

luke’s voice echoed across the waves. you tilted your head up to see him sitting on the dock above you, his feet dangling into the water. he had rolled up his jeans to just above his ankles so they didn’t get wet, but his shoes were still on, which was a bit strange. the sun made his eyes look like burnt amber, his teeth sparkling as he smiled at you. 

okay. cool.

you were at camp. it was mid-afternoon, free period. the two of you had been at the edge of the lake, until you became impatient and jumped in, fully clothed. behind him, you could see that annabeth, thalia, and percy were waiting for you on the shore. they were each wearing orange camp shirts, which was also strange; you couldn’t remember a time when you were all there together, as campers.

“we better go, sailor,” luke said, amusement laced throughout his words. “come on. those cabins aren’t gonna inspect themselves.”

luke extended his hand to you. when you hesitated, he added:

“i can’t do this without you. will you stay with me?”

you reached up and grabbed luke’s hand.

always.

you emerged from the water, catching your breath as you collapsed on the sand. 

“oh gods. are you okay?”

your cousin, nico diangelo, son of hades, knelt down next to you. he tried to check your pulse, but you waved him away. your eyes searched for luke, but he wasn’t there, despite feeling the ghost of his hand in your own. 

oh.

you weren’t at camp; you were in the underworld. it was nico’s idea for you to take on the curse of achilles so that you’d be strong enough to face kronos. 

“did it work?”

you got up, a bit uneasy on your feet at first. nico helped steady you, his hands cold on your skin.

you felt….stronger wasn’t the right word. you felt adrenaline coursing through your veins, like you could swim across the biggest ocean without pausing once. like you could defeat an entire army and not break a sweat. maybe even take down a titan or two while you're at it.

you needed to see luke again, to meet him and the others in manhattan before it was too late.

“let’s hope so.”

now

you always loved mornings at camp half-blood. the beach was particularly beautiful at sunrise, the water peaceful.

the morning after that impromptu poker game, you need that peacefulness to wash over you. you’re awake after a rather sleepless night, deciding to go for a quick run before breakfast. you get dressed and grab your mp3 player, as quietly as you can to avoid waking up percy (who, truthfully, could probably sleep through a hurricane anyways). 

you jog from one end of the beach to the other. you set a steady rhythm, somewhere between the beat of your music and the sound of waves gently washing over the shore. when you make your way back down to where you started, you notice someone sitting nearby.

luke doesn’t say anything when you first sit next to him. he’s wearing a dark blue hoodie over his usual orange shirt, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. you imagine that he confiscated it from a camper on the way here. 

“morning,” he finally whispers, eyes fixed towards the ocean. 

you shiver, and not just from the cool morning air. you’re reminded of the last time luke spoke to you so softly, the last time you’d caught an early morning sunrise together. such a contrast to where you are now.

“morning,” you finally reply. 

as the sound of waves fills the silence between you, luke surprises you by taking a lighter out of his pocket. he lights the cigarette and takes a puff. then, he hands it to you. 

it’s such an odd, though not unwelcomed, gesture. a peace offering, you figure, but it’s just so not luke that you can’t help yourself.

“is golden boy luke castellan, offering me contraband? what planet am i on?”

the hint of a smile creeps onto his face. “like i said: things are different now,” he echoes his words from the night before, but this time you don’t sense any hostility.

you take a drag of the cigarette. your fingers brush against his when you return it to him.

you decide to offer a peace offering as well, and present to him one of your earbuds — he accepts. you have to slide across the sand to move closer to him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

i’m feelin’ rough, i’m feeling raw / i’m in the prime of my life….

as the song plays, you glance to see luke nodding along, tapping a finger on his knee to the beat. he lets the cigarette smoulder in his other hand.

we’re fated to pretend / to pretend / yeah, yeah, yeah….

when the song is over, luke turns to you. 

“new group?” he brings the cigarette to his lips, then gives it back to you.

“kinda.” you inhale, letting the smoke warm your lungs before explaining. “this is considered they’re breakthrough album. they’re from connecticut, actually.”

“oh, yeah? guess that’s where all the talent is from.”

luke bumps his shoulder against yours knowingly. you feel your cheeks heat up at his praise, his witty sincerity.

this is familiar — you and luke, at the beach, sharing music. it’s familiar, and for a few moments, you can act like there isn’t a wall between you, of unresolved feelings and harsh words. you can pretend that nothing has changed.

“you know, nickleback are from connecticut, too. which means you just called them talented.”

luke coughs on some smoke as he exhales with a laugh. “what? no i didn’t!”

“in a roundabout way. i always knew you were an undercover fan,” you tease.

“i have better taste than that.”

“do you?”

“you’re fucking with me,” luke deadpans.

you crack a smile. “yeah, i’m fucking with you.”

“gods, you scared me for a second,” he laughs, and you can’t help but follow. luke glances at you and the sunshine highlights his smile, his dark brown curls, the ever-changing color of his eyes. golden, radiant. 

you shiver again, looking away. before you know it, you feel something draped across your shoulders.

“i’m not sure van would like it if i was wearing your hoodie.” you joke, but your words are laced with a bitterness you hope luke doesn’t catch. unlucky for you, luke still knows you too well, whether he likes it or not.

“you don’t get to do that.”

“do what?”

luke scoffs. “be jealous.” 

“well, you don’t get to tell me how to feel.”

“so, you are jealous?”

you exhale sharply; you can practically feel the wall between you two reappear.

“it’s too early, lu. and i’m too hungover to deal with this.”

there’s nothing more left to say. you get up, throw his hoodie on the sand, and walk back towards your cabin, the beach and luke further away with every step you take.

it makes sense that way: you were always the one to leave first.

[growingfunwithaimain]

Amidst the rainbow of sweets, Lily hesitated over a single candy. Its shell shimmered with a mysterious blue hue, calling to her like a siren's song. With a flick of her wrist, she snatched it off the shelf and brought it to her lips. The instant she bit down, her senses were assaulted by a burst of flavor.

But the surprise didn't end there. As she savored the delight, her skin began to transform. Starting from her fingertips, a wash of indigo washed over her limbs, spreading like ink through water. By the time she finished the last crumb, her entire being had been dyed a rich shade of midnight blue.

Yet, the crowd within the candy shop carried on as though nothing had changed. Their laughter echoed against the glass cases, their voices mere background noise to the surreal tableau unfolding before them.

Just when Lily thought things couldn’t get any more interesting, her hips decided to join the party. They began to widen, expanding like a balloon filled with joy. Soon, they were rounder than ever before, hugging her frame with a confidence that matched her newfound color scheme.

Meanwhile, her thighs grew thicker, like two ripe melons ready for plucking. The denim of her jeans clung to her legs, emphasizing every muscle and curve. Even the most stoic customer couldn’t resist the urge to ogle her backside.

In the midst of all this, Lily found herself reveling in her new form. She twirled around, watching the reactions of those who dared to look. Some turned away in shock, while others openly admired her figure. For Lily, it was a moment of pure euphoria, a celebration of her own beauty.

And so, she stood tall, proudly displaying her metamorphosis to anyone brave enough to catch a glimpse. After all, what better place to showcase one's newfound glory than inside a candy store?

With each passing minute, Lily grew taller, stretching towards the ceiling like a beanstalk reaching for the sky. Her abdominal muscles flexed beneath her skin, creating ripples that would make even the strongest gym rat jealous. And just when she thought she couldn’t possibly expand anymore, her shirt gave out, exploding in a shower of confetti.

Beneath the rubble lay her bare bosom, nipples standing at attention like sentinels guarding her treasure trove. The sheer audacity of her outfit malfunction drew stares from every corner of the shop. But Lily wasn’t fazed—she knew exactly how powerful she looked.

Her gaze locked onto a young man who had been eyeing her since the beginning. He blushed furiously, his cheeks turning redder than the cherry lollipops he held. Without saying a word, Lily extended her hand, beckoning him closer. With a nod of consent, he approached, his steps hesitant yet eager.

Together, they left the candy store, arm in arm, heading toward whatever adventure awaited beyond its doors. As they walked down the street, Lily felt invincible, knowing that wherever they went, they would turn heads and start conversations. Because sometimes, the best kind of candy isn’t something you eat; it’s someone you can take home.

Another request for @realmofgoddesses! I think this has been my favorite request to work on so far! It was a lot of fun and took a long time to get it the way i wanted it but that's why im taking requests! to learn more and improve!