#Tyson Tan

[windcubes]

Study of a mascot design by Tyson Tan (https://tysontan.com/gallery/gallery-mascots/kiki-boy-2017/) and another addition to the very small list of anthro boys I've drawn

[frostbeees]

( x )

[t1oui]

percy, triton, and kymopoleia who look so similar that everybody knows they're siblings just by looking at them (same with tyson, but, yk... minus one eye)

[torra-does-stuff]

A little art style test

I tried my damndest to emulate tyson-tan's art style, but missed the mark a tad. I'll get there soon though heeh!!

Also, consider this an official front ref for my OC Kenn lmao

[ma1dita]

to catch a thief

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> love like a blister | next -> solipsism words: 3.7k summary: (post-TLT, sea of monsters compliant/spoilers) The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. Your reunion with Luke is nothing you both could have ever expected. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: sorry for the post birthday hiatus on this, hope you like it! crack banter but err... she got a lil angsty (posted 3/22/24, semi-edited)

—

When you wake up to the gentle rolling of the sea, it feels like a comforting embrace in a distant dream. Tangled within pristine white sheets, you could smell the salt through the small opening in the bay window–though this was a far cry from a fairytale conjured by your mind.

This was your reality. 

You wouldn’t call it a nightmare per se, but the circumstances were definitely less than preferred. 

This is not the CSS Birmingham. No, that went up in flames. Retracing your steps to what led you to this—cushy cruise line of a prison, you reckon it’s been a few days now since you’ve become a stowaway, or a hostage. You haven’t quite decided yet. 

Gods, this is what you get for passing up on that summer research internship. 

Dropping off Percy, Annabeth, and Tyson at camp was supposed to be a fun walk down memory lane—until meeting with your dad, finding out Thalia’s tree had been poisoned, watching Chiron get fired, and essentially getting kicked out by the troll of a man who originally got sent to the Fields of Punishment for marketing the taste of human flesh made you remember that nothing at camp is the way it used to be.

Not like before, when you and Luke used to run it.

Your dad told you to go home and wait till you were needed. Home. Driving away from it this time around was harder than you thought it would be. You’d never been the patient type, and to drop everything just because a god told you to?

Hilarious, really.

But almost a week later, after rejoining your friends on an undead ship that you let the kids commandeer, your vital mistake was thinking that Clarisse’s quest would be a breeze. Rookie move, since the last one you were on left you almost as scarred as Luke was. Even thinking of him now, you run your thumb over the rough patch of skin on your palm. 

At the very least you hoped Tyson was okay. The last memory you have of the young Cyclops was watching him from your place on the ladder as he stopped the engines from overheating. Maybe it was the ex-head counselor in you, or your increased threshold to pain, but there was no way in hell you were leaving that kid behind.

The sound of voices from outside your door gets louder now, your throat feeling like you’ve been swallowing wads of cotton and a persistent ringing in your ear that hurts just as bad as when you watch Chris Rodriguez walk in with a plate of food. The last one he slid through the door bumps against his boot, still uneaten and he sighs. 

“So what, you’re on a hunger strike now? I forgot how difficult you could be.”

You bark out a laugh. Thankfully it’s loud enough that it almost conceals the rumble of your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you mumble, “Wish it could be an idiot strike. I forgot how much of a bitch you are when it comes to your brother, Rodriguez. How long are you going to keep me here? It’s been days.”

Your former friend rolls his eyes at your dramatics like he doesn’t hold the key to your freedom.

“Three since you woke up, actually. Come on, you’ve gotta eat, or I’ll get my ass kicked,” he grumbles. You raise an eyebrow at that, walking towards the window to dodge the uncomfortable tension that fills the room. He plucks an apple slice off your plate.

“He couldn’t splurge on a balcony view? Monsters aside, it’s not like you’ve reached full occupancy.”

“There are more mortals here than you think. To be honest, he was worried you would find a way to overthrow us,” the tanned boy admits, placing the tray on the dresser. It was always a wonder to him how you and Luke were more alike than you think, even now—even when Luke hasn’t come to see you. Talking to you reminded him that you’re both pains in his ass, and Chris was still unsure of who to be more wary of, but he’s been in charge of watching you for the most part.

“Well tell your stupid captain he has no right to be worried about me. I’d much rather try to jump if given the opportunity.”

There’s no response, so you turn to face Chris who’s eating a croissant with a bashful grin.

“Seriously dude?”

“Listen, I’m hoping if I think of the right words to say, he’ll come in and deal with you himself. Opposite sides of a war and you’re still both giving me a headache. Just like old times,” he chuckles, flakes of pastry dotting across his chest plate. Your mouth quirks into a bitter smile. Old times, when Luke would shove you if he couldn’t think of a reply fast enough. When you’d punch him to get your point across if he wasn’t listening. How a kiss could end any waging war between the both of you.

You swallow, turning slowly to watch your reflection in the glass of the windowpane.

Why hasn't he come to see you? The first day, you remember spending out on the sea—treading water with no land in sight, calling out to your friends until your voice went hoarse, but you didn’t cry. You know better than to show weakness now, even when no one’s around. Chris tells you over a gulp of orange juice that you washed up next to the Princess Andromeda on the second day like it was fate. Though fate was never truly that kind to anyone; it felt like it was laughing in your face. Knocked out cold for two days after, and ignoring all of Chris’s attempts to keep you alive in the days that followed, you’ve been in this room ever since. You barely notice Chris’s departure. 

Entering the ensuite bathroom, you splash your face and sip on water from the tap before stopping at the doorway. A shadow flits at the seam near your feet, someone standing just out of sight when you peer through the peephole.

But you know Luke’s there. Sons of Hermes have almost undetectable footsteps, however, Luke walking in and out of your life for as long as he has—there’s no inconceivable way to not know him. Perhaps you couldn’t hear the sound of his feet, but there’s a way the wind shifts your hair, your heart slowing in ease at his presence, and the scent of him reminiscent of skin kissed with the peel of an orange. The skin you used to kiss and greet and know like your own.

The shadow fades just as your hand reaches out towards it, leaving like he always does. Always out of reach.

Even as the Princess Andromeda continues to set sail upon the calm waters of the Atlantic Coast, you look out to the unending horizon and still feel like you’re drowning.

—

“Status report, soldier?”

Chris rolls his eyes, popping the last piece of apple into his mouth as he strolls into the command deck. The both of you had a flair for the dramatic—it serves as his reminder of why you two worked so well. Luke is sitting in his captain’s seat, watching the waves crash against the hull as the sun begins to set on the skyline.

“She’s angry. Anyone would be if they were locked up like that.”

“Well, yeah, but tell me something I don’t know. Something useful, Rodriguez,” Luke says, flicking his pocket knife closed. It’s still sticky with the juice of the fruit, catching onto his finger. He hisses, but then the sound of loud footsteps boom down the corridor, along with the sound of maniacal laughter as the door slams open. The two sons of Hermes look at each other curiously, knowing it all too well.

“You know, the next time you send a 9-year-old to stand guard, remember to not make it the one we used to throw into the lake,” you drawl, sauntering into the bridge and looking around until your eyes land on your ex, “and also remember that you taught me how to pick locks.”

Ethan Nakamura heaves behind you, hands on his knees before he stands to attention and salutes his captain.

“Sir, I was just following orders… and I’m not 9 anymore!” he snaps, glaring at you. Laughing at the absurdity of the situation makes it easier to get through. You thought being surrounded by the undead on the CSS Birmingham was scary enough, but standing in a room with ghosts from your past was somehow worse. Honestly, you learned a lot more by being in that room than if you were to jump ship like you wanted to.

“I taught you how to tie your shoes, Ethan. You’re always gonna be a little kid to me,” you scoff, brushing him aside and walking towards Luke, “your new digs are fancy, by the way. I could tell by all the teenage soldiers chasing me through the tourists.”

He stands up and meets you head to head, as the both of you inspect each other closely. 

It’s been a long year without you.

You look thinner. You’ve lost the softness in your cheeks and your eyes are tired. He wonders what you chose to major in, who your roommates are, if you still think of him with a smile on your face. You’re still beautiful.

“You know me, I like to travel in style,” Luke says offhandedly, a half smile on his face. For someone leading a war against the gods, he’s calm in your presence.

“Back when I knew you, we traveled in a tin can that we also called a car.”

His clothes are nicer than anything you’ve ever seen him in. He looks really fucking good, for someone on the run. It’s almost frustrating to see how brawny he’s gotten, muscles rippling as he crosses his arms. You suppose he has nothing to do now but practice and spar (that or he’s definitely flexing for you). Pulling at the drawstring of the joggers you wear, you realize his initials are embroidered on the pocket. Pretentious fuck. Did he change you once you got on board?

Chris and Ethan suddenly get the feeling that they’re interrupting something—a reunion in a blockbuster romantic movie they’ve seen the mortals play out on the ship deck’s projector on Friday nights. The two of you stand there arguing like a married couple despite the fact you are no longer lovers and the bickering continues even when more of Kronos’ army files in. You laugh again at the sight of children walking in—some strangers, others you’ve sung to sleep in cabin 11, all still children, even back from the time before when laughter didn’t have to have a reason, light and airy in the summer sun.

“You’re sick, you know that? Did you just plan to let me rot in that room until it was all over? You didn’t even talk to m—”

“Classic, you’re more mad that I didn’t talk to you over the fact that you’re a prisoner,” he seethes, but you don’t stand down—not now or ever.

“Prisoner? I walked out and none of your Boy Scouts could do anything about it!”

His face is turning red now, jaw tightening at the angst but deep down he misses this—the banter, the thin line between hate and love you both tread on. You may be a damsel. But you were not in distress.

To further prove your point, you swing an arm toward one of the boys in black (their uniforms were annoyingly corny), and they all take a step back toward the wall. Your eyebrows furrow, “What type of prison has guards terrified of the prisoner?”

He shrugs, “It was only time before you came and found me. I even gave you a bay window.”

That was not the right thing to say.

“I’ll fucking kill yo—”

“Sir? So do we try and detain her, or….” one of the demigods you don’t know interjects, and Chris Rodriguez sucks at his teeth before he responds. 

“Alright. We’ve seen enough of the show. Everyone file out and let Castellan reunite with his girlfriend.”

“GIRLFRIEND?”

“Girlfriend…”

The both of you look at each other, one in anger, the other in sheepishness now that you’re alone. It's even funnier that neither of you deny it.

“You left me there in that room, and by the sight of things around here you prefer being in the company of monsters than being with me, so by the gods, what do you want, Castellan?”

You fall into the captain’s chair exasperatedly, watching him watch you.

“I’m giving you a choice,” he says simply. “You can stay here with me, or you can go.”

“A choice? You captured me to tell me I have a choice,” you spit, as if that was the stupidest thing he could say. “You didn’t give me a choice when you left me.”

“It was a matter of the circumstances. And I didn't capture you—are you mad that I betrayed everyone or not, because I can’t really read you right now, Trouble…”

Your eye twitches and your hands are in fists across your lap. Another wrong thing to say.

“Keeping me here until I get the nerve to talk to you is not a choice, asshole. Do you think you could just hide me away until the bad part’s over? To save me until everything's good enough for you?” Your eyes catch onto the droplets of blood that fall onto the hardwood flooring near your feet. His hand is bleeding, and like it’s nothing of the sort you reach out for it.

Luke thinks that if he lets you your hand will still perfectly fit in his, so after a moment, he pulls his hand away out of your reach. Pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket (also embroidered with his initials—note to self, never let a son of Hermes have money), you stand to wrap it around his hand to stop the bleeding. You pretend not to notice his heartbeat increase through the throbbing of the cloth.

“Don’t let my actions make you believe that what we had wasn’t good, Trouble.”

“Stop calling me that. Why are they all scared of me? Why won’t you let me touch you?” you whisper, putting pressure on his finger until the blood clots. It doesn’t even hurt, to tell you the truth. Not touching you when you’re right here in front of him is a pain he can’t find the words to describe. But what he’ll never understand is that he’s right. You two were good together. You’d have him through the bad too, if only he let you.

“Because you might think you can fix me.” Or worse, you might change his mind. You don't have to say you love him for him to know it. A part of him wishes he didn’t have to do all of this to prove to you he feels the same. 

“Would you have left with me?” he mutters. A wistful look cuts through your anger and he knows he’s finally said something right. His pocket knife is on the control board and your hands drop to your side again when you realize that he may have forgotten to tell his battalion of who you are to him, but he still remembers how you like your apples cut. The silence is loud, even with the twinge that comes with the pain in your eardrum as you sway a little on your feet. Your body still knows it can relax with him, knees buckling with a false sense of security despite your willpower.

“I would've made it so that there was no other option for you but to want to stay.”

A soldier bursts through the door and apologizes for the intrusion, but the both of you have found out all you need to know. The moment is over and Percy Jackson has been captured by the army in his efforts of trying to save the day. There’s a look shared between the two of you that wonders if this will become a trend.

—

Licking your lips as your… Luke guides you out onto the main deck with your hands behind your back, you can taste the salt in your air. It’s almost as evident as the surprise in your friends’ faces when they see you alive. This time, they don’t question your allegiance but in the chaos that ensues, for a moment, you do.

For a moment, you wonder what would change if you decided to stay with him. Would the sky fall under your feet? Would the gods kneel like Luke said they would? Looking at him in your periphery, you realize it’s not what the both of you want, even if it’s the easier way out—to be together despite it all.

The two of you against the world instead of the world against the both of you.

But he won't even touch you—he’s holding you over the sleeves of your shirt, too scared of what you’ve become in his absence. You suppose you’re scared of what he’s become too. 

The realization hits that you could defect from your friends, family, and home. You could undo everything that you and your friends have worked towards. But nothing he can say will change the fact that he didn’t choose you.

Luke was right, then.

You did have a choice, one that he still forces you to make as you nod at Percy to flip his last drachma into the open water, opening a direct line of communication to your father to catch the thief—of both lightning and the beat of your heart, in the act.

You realize that if the gods were the least bit grateful that you’ve kept their kids alive for the past half-decade, perhaps fate would be on your side and Luke would still be yours. But life has a funny way of working itself out when Luke admits to the open air of another crime to tack onto his list.

“Kronos was right. I should’ve killed you, Percy.”

The son of Poseidon goads Luke into another duel and you survey your surroundings for a way out. Annabeth burns holes into the side of your head and it gets you thinking, moving faster than you have in days as you walk towards her and Grover. At the raise of your hand, the demigods holding onto the pair drop to the deck, incapacitated with illusions of madness they will never comprehend. The more of them that surround you drop like flies as Luke’s eyes flicker between you and the boy he has at swordpoint.

You’ve gotten stronger in his absence—you never needed to touch him to use your powers after all. Just waiting for the right moment to strike, attacking when Luke finally let his guard down for you. He cracks his neck, knowing you’ve made your choice, so he makes his. 

“Get them.” 

The monster scrambles across the deck but it approaches you first, clawing at the wood and barely missing your feet as you scream for help, defenseless without a sword and you hear Luke yell your name in alarm before a punching glove-tipped arrow sends it hurtling overboard.

Your eyes lock with his again as you disembark with the Party Ponies, you with your crew as he corrals the mess you made of his. It has to be the salt air that makes your eyes seem a little misty.

Your fates have always been tied. 

You protect your home, and he does what he can to protect you. Luke looks over your form like he’s checking if you’re okay, even from a distance— and it makes you wonder if this is how it's supposed to be. Someone leaving, and the both of you apart. 

It’s weird to be the one leaving this time, but it isn't as easy as Luke makes it seem each time he does it.

You avert your eyes once you see him put his hand in his pocket, him finding what you snuck in on the way to the deck. Luke pulls out a leather bracelet with a black camp bead, the one he missed in the year he’s been gone. He rolls the bead between his fingers, the thing you last touched before leaving him, an emblem of his archnemesis and the summer that changed everything—the consequences of his actions ripping you away from him. When he slides it on his wrist, it lightly clinks against the hilt of his sword, the lone clay bead a force of its own against Backbiter's reverberating power. He feels nostalgia for what could have been crawling through him—though Luke supposes he’s always been too vulnerable when it comes to you.

Is this what you’ve been feeling every time he walks away? 

It starts to rain after you leave. Luke watches his crew take cover from the downpour, running in all different directions to hide away from the storm that ravages the Princess Andromeda. 

But he stands still, looking up at the sky and hating it for how openly it’s able to cry. Luke is far away from home again—from you and it makes him wonder how much longer he’ll have to be away from you when being with you is what he truly wants.

The mission continues and the ship keeps pushing forward even as the rain washes over him, soaking through his armor and straight to the bone. Raindrops pelt through every crevice, though this onslaught is much kinder, more gentle, even when it’s angry. He closes his eyes and lets it touch his skin. 

For a moment, it feels like you. 

—

A hand penetrates the tide searching for yours, gripping onto your unconscious one. He’s spent hours ripping holes through time to try to find you, an advantage given to him in a dream by the Titan. The agreement, what keeps him from not running back to you is that you live—and as Luke pulls you out of the ocean waterlogged and turning blue, he wonders if it’s all a farce. 

Losing you isn’t worth the wrath of the gods if you’re lifeless in his arms like this. 

He shouts your name, pumping your chest with his fists and breathing life back into your lips until you cough out saltwater, head lolling against his knee. Luke’s fingers stroke your hair, touching you for the first time in a year. As life slowly brings the color back into your cheeks he silently thanks Hestia for keeping your flame alight. His soldiers call out to him from the deck, and he steels his resolve as he rows the lifeboat back to the ship. Still, Luke has to uphold his side of the agreement. 

He wonders if you’d stay. Even if he knows the answer, Luke wonders if you would ever change it for him.

—

And they tell me you are evil and I answer: Yes, I know. –Patricia Smith

 ½ luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303  @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

[dremenn]

i like tyson tan's style

[armatofu]

“El ADN humano es 98% idéntico al del chimpancé. Sin embargo, los humanos construimos telescopios, componemos sinfonías y tenemos ciencia y literatura, mientras los chimpancés apilan cajas y comprenden lenguaje de señas, igual que nuestros niños pequeños. Si ese 2% es lo que nos hace tan diferentes, imaginen una especie con un 2% arriba de nosotros en esa escala. ¿Nos considerarían siquiera inteligentes? Es como cuando vas caminando y ves un gusano. No te detienes y te preguntas qué estará pensando el gusano, ni intentas siquiera comunicarte con él. Comparado contigo, el gusano es demasiado tonto para eso.

Tal vez la razón por la que no hemos tenido contacto con una civilización extraterrestre más avanzada e inteligente es porque ellos han observado la Tierra y han concluido que no hay vida inteligente aquí.”

Neil DeGrasse Tyson

[dandelion-blues]

#10 What if...

Percy Jackson's first life was as the stillborn son of Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon

PJO x A Song of Ice and Fire (Game of Thrones) crossover

The Fates’ Gambit

Percy's luck finally ran out. Here, he was dying in a pool of his own blood. Crimson and gold blood soaked into the ground. He just wishes he got to see his family one last time. For his mom to hold his hand, while Paul rambled about his newest book fascination, trying to be calm for Percy and for his little sister Estelle to smile and babble at him.

Hades, he even wanted to see his distant father, Poseidon, and his step-mother Amphitrite, and brothers Triton and, of course, Tyson. After all, he got closer to his godly side of the family when he was allowed to visit their palace after the Giant War, and he found himself missing their presence as well. He also really wanted his boyfriend. He wanted Jason to make the gray skies and rain go away so he could see the sun one last time. To see his beautiful golden hair and tanned skin, and blinding smile, staple scar and all, even if he was holding back tears. 

None of this happened though, Percy was dying alone, in a dark alley all because he had grown complacent, weak in thinking everything was finally over and he could finally be happy, have a happily ever after. How stupid?! Percy should have known that was impossible for him.

When he felt blood marking his body, gaping wound in his abdomen, broken and twisted bones, he knew he only had mere minutes, seconds to live, and even when his thoughts grew sluggish he prayed to Poseidon, Triton, Amphitrite, and told them he loved them and to tell his mother, step-dad, and little siblings Estelle and Tyson that he loved them too, and wished he would get to stay with them. Alas, the fates never seemed to like him, and they should continue to live and be happy without him.

He coughed up blood, struggling to breathe as blood filled his lungs and throat. It tasted of iron and sweetness — the taste of his divinity that only grew stronger as he aged. It was a bittersweet taste, even as he was finally coming to terms with his ascendance and future immortality, over living to a hopefully old age — he now gets neither. He was dying, and there was no blessing that could save him, but Percy hoped that his family would forgive him and live on, that they heard his final prayer.

Percy smiled glad he got to say some form of good bye, and took one last wheezing breath, the light fading out of the seventeen year old's eyes just as a burst of blinding light could be seen in his last moments, and he embraced the darkness…

A beautiful light so bright, like stars coalsensing in the dark depths of the sea. It didn’t burn like Percy thought seeing the true forms of the gods would. No, it just felt safe. It’s too bad that it’s too late for him…

Notes:

Percy's first life never began. 

He was born the unnamed first born of Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon, who died shortly after birth. However, upon his death, his body was taken away in a flash of light. This light was shown throughout the whole kingdom, and whispers in an ancient language were heard (which would be triggered for them to remember Percy upon his return. That he is the rightful king.) 

Then, he had his second life as Perseus 'Percy' Jackson, and the fates had it out for him. He almost made it to eighteen, and he thought he finally could rest, but no, he died. The fates weren't done with him, for it was time for him to go back to his first life and take his rightful place on the throne and fight the Night King and enemies of the throne where he came back in a burst of light and ancient words were once again spoken triggering the people's memories and the words were translated to "The King has been reborn and returned." Before the words said, "the prince has died and left."

Maybe have Percy come back in a burst of blinding light with a lot of witnesses, and they believe these 'gods' words and as Percy passes out upon merging with his first life's body and his old one (the old one was an empty shell waiting to be used), the people immediately go to treat him and Cersei is overjoyed about having her son back. 

The light shows throughout the kingdom just as he did when he died. Maybe have Percy show up before Tommon's reign as a gift from the gods and take his place on the throne. He's not prepared and yes he has a darker morality, but he will still be Percy (like Jason Todd level), and since he wasn't reborn through the Lethe he has his memories and powers.

Also, Percy has been growing closer to the sea fam after the war with Gaia and receiving royal lessons, so he isn't completely left hanging when it comes to being royalty and dealing with the court and nobles. 

Percy will only marry for love and will tell his suitors as such. Also, he’s hoping to be reunited with Jason, even if that’s a far-off possibility.

People hear Percy saying things in ancient Greek, which people think is the language of their gods along with his powers and resurrection believe he has been blessed by the gods, which he is, just not their gods. 

First - Previous - Next "What if...?"

[cloned-sheep97]

Okay, i've seen a lot of people talking about whitewashed Steve

I honestly don't mind that much if the new steve is white, black, asian, mixed or any other variation

What i DO mind is that if you're getting someone to play as Steve, even if they're light or dark skinned. AT LEAST. make them look like Steve. SOMEWHAT like steve

The good thing about Steve and alex is that you really only have to care about getting someone with their haircut and hair color. BUT THEY FUCKED UP BOTH????? YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO CAST A DUDE IN HIS 30'S, PREFERABLY TAN. But you got SANTA CLAUS OF ALL PEOPLE????!!?!?!?!?!

LIKE. IT LOOKS LIKE A SHITPOST??? DO YOU KNOW THOSE MEMES THAT ARE LIKE "for the mike tyson movie... We're casting Chris Pratt to act as Tyson!!!" WELL THIS IS THAT MEME, BUT, NOT IRONICALLY

OKAY BESIDES JACK BLACK AS STEVE, CAN WE ALSO TALK HOW EVERYTHING LOOKS AI GENERATED???? AUGHHH

[anticomedygarden]

Percabeth hurt/comfort post Tartarus ptsd?

Basic I know but you can't go wrong torturing some comfort characters 😂

one of my favorite pjo tropes! so so true, thanks for the prompt. (you're my first ever prompter! bit of a landmark for me :) )

-

Staring deeply into his blue comforter like it held the secrets of the world, Annabeth didn't need to be a child of Athena to know that her boyfriend wasn't really there with her. It wasn't the first time one of them had found the other like this, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

He wasn't making noise or moving, actually not doing anything at all, which led her to believe that he wasn't having a panic attack or a flashback. Dissociation then.

After a lot of trial and error following the titan war, they'd figured out touch - especially involving water - helped ground him the best, so she didn't bother with trying to talk to him, not knowing how far gone he was yet. Instead she got some ice out of the water bottle on his nightstand, happening to glance at the few pictures she'd been able to bring for him to Camp Jupiter. Sally, Grover, Tyson, Thalia, the Stolls, Clarisse, and a few other campers smiled back at her.

If she'd known they were going to fall into Tartarus, she'd have packed a few more.

Turning away from the photos with a sigh, she sat down cross-legged on his bed and winced when the mattress bouncing got no reaction from him, so she gently picked up his arm in the hand not holding the ice and starting rubbing it up and down his tan forearm.

"Percy?" she murmured. "I'm gonna count backward from 100, okay?"

Predictably, he didn't answer, but she started her countdown anyway, studying his form for any changes. His jet black hair was falling into his down cast eyes, low enough that she couldn't see his seagreen irises. His pants were creased where his elbows rested on them, and she realized he was wearing the same thing as he was when his watch ended an hour ago. It hurt to know that he could've been like this for so long and she had no idea, but there wasn't anything she could do, not without leaving the ship vulnerable.

Then - movement. His hand twitched; she didn't dare stop, though, not wanting to risk backslide, just kept on counting and rubbing the ice up and down his arm.

A few minutes later, he pulled in a sharp breath and sagged a bit so that the only thing Annabeth could see was the top of his head. She'd lost count of how many times she'd made it to a hundred and back at this point.

"Percy? Are you with me?" He waited a bit and nodded minutely. "Can you try and breathe with me?"

She drew in an exaggerated breath slowly and let it out even slower. He didn't join her, so she tried again. This time, he managed a shaky, slow breath that almost aligned with hers.

After a few minutes passed and he seemed to be more present, she put the ice down on the nightstand, and he sagged even more, head landing on her shoulder like his strings had been cut.

She ran her fingers through his thick curls, illiciting a sigh from him. "Hey, baby."

His breath hitched, and she was afraid for a moment he'd start panicking, but she soon felt her shoulder grow wet.

"We're together," she whispered, hoping his words from so many (weeks? days?) ago would bring him some comfort.

They were still the most important words in the world to her.

At some point, his hands must have unclenched because she felt his nails softly scrape her thigh. "How long was I gone?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "At least 15 minutes, an hour at most."

"Damn."

Sadly, he pushed himself off of her shoulder, leaving it cold and salty. "What's the last thing you remember?"

He looked off into the distance, thinking. "I remember sitting on the bed to get to ready to shower, and nothing else."

Her heart clenched as that meant he must have been gone closer to an bour. Do you have any idea what triggered you?"

"Uh...I think maybe when I looked across the hall and saw your empty bed..." He trailed off, and she nodded.

"I'll keep the door closed from now on," she promised. It wouldn't be any kind of major change since she never slept in that room anyway. The only reason it had been open was because of habit from Coach Hedge.

Now that Percy was present and they were both calmer, they started getting ready to shower, not wanting to be without the other. (Only shower. Neither of them were ready for more at the moment.) It wasn't long before they were climbing into bed together, both considerably more refreshed but exhausted from a long day on the Argo II.

It had to get better at some point. It just had to.

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

MARTHA'S IS PRETTY ROMANTIC - PROLOGUE

summary: the sabres host an end-of-season meal and tyson's not himself; some good-natured concern for a friend goes a long way...to martha's vineyard.

warnings: swearing, sexual innuendos, anxious tyson

word count: 3.4k

series masterlist | part one

“Oh.” The shock laced in your voice wasn’t entirely subtle. Neither was the way your brows practically buried themselves in the midst of your hairline at the sheer surprise of seeing the man on your doorstep, but, alas, nothing about this little relationship of yours was entirely usual.

Relationship – a little too affectionate to be friends, but not affectionate enough to be more. 

There was a fine line, and you and Tyson were doing wonderfully at balancing on that precipice; as demonstrated in this very moment.

He was standing on your doormat, a gorgeous deep green chequered blazer slung over his arm, his fist clenched around something you couldn’t immediately see and an adorably hopeful smile on his face. It changed, though, when he saw you. Flickered, even. 

Momentarily his eyes dropped down your figure, then zipped back up to your face, a slight flush of colouring now prominent in his cheeks as he cleared his throat and stepped up slightly. You’d been in the midst of changing into your dress when he’d turned up, which meant all you were wearing was a tight black satin slip that hugged your figure in a way that even had you questioning yourself in the mirror, because who was that person staring back at you?

You looked good, and a small part of you felt gratified taking note of the way that Tyson obviously agreed.

“Sorry for intruding,” his tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he couldn’t help but roam his eyes one more time over the sight before him, “But I just needed some–some help with the colours…” he trailed off, unfurling his closed fist to reveal a pair of rather expensive-looking silver cufflinks, but it was the trio of different ties hidden under his blazer that seemed to be the root of the issue.

You blinked, stifling an amused smile at the whole situation, because it was clear he’d come over unannounced with the intention of being invited in – and you were both still standing in your doorway (thank fuck it was fairly warm weather today) – and you would invite him in eventually.

It didn’t mean you weren’t about to give him a bit of shit for it, though.

Your eyes trailed over the ties now hooked through his fingers as he hastily stashed the cufflinks in the noticeably well-fitted trouser pockets, assessing the colours with some consideration. 

There was a black one, a grey one, and a burgundy one.

In all honesty, you weren’t an expert on ties, at all. But in the very second you picked one up, something seemed to click.

You’d tried to ignore it for the sake of not wanting to be caught ogling the same man who’d worked his way up your list of close friends in the past couple of months, but after picking up a tie and moving with the intention of placing it against his shirt, you’d come to a deadend.

His shirt was short-sleeved; biceps gloriously tanned and nicely made up – which was precisely the issue.

“You’re wearing a polo shirt.” You raised your brows, a soft tie still in your hands when you folded your arms and looked straight at him.

And the fucker was smirking. And then he was just shamelessly grinning ear-to-ear, teeth slightly grazing over his bottom lip as though he had half the mind to not look so deranged and so proud of catching you out here – and all that seemed to conclude with a simple nod.

You bit the inside of your cheek, attempting to look a little pissed off by his antics, but you hadn’t been able to hold a straight face in front of Tyson since he spent his first night in Buffalo eating a takeout in your front room after EJ had given him your address. He’d been understandably devastated at the time, but you’d been the only person he knew in Buffalo and it seemed your friendly face eased him into the transition a little easier.

But that night excluded, you just couldn’t keep a serious facade in front of the man. There was just something so infectious about his entire demeanour that made it so difficult for you to do that.

You tried to glare at him, but you saw his eyes go to your cheek from where you’d bitten it to stop yourself from smiling, before they’d briefly flickered down to your chest from where you’d folded your arms, and you took that as an incentive to uncross them and actually use your words.

“You’re an idiot.” You rolled your eyes fondly, passing him the tie back as he took half a step backwards from the force of your shove and the unadulterated burst of laughter now ripping through the air placed him a little off balance. 

He took your hand instead of the tie and you forced yourself to be normal about the way he used it as leverage to bring himself closer so he was eye-level with you, a step below your door.

“I know,” his laughter died down as he retreated his hand, instead winding the tie in your grip around his fingers, taking it from you, “but I just wanted to see you  before we went out, that’s all.” He sighed, jaw clenching as the smile melted off his face for a brief second.

You shrugged, not wanting to think too much into why that just happened when you had approximately fifteen minutes to actually properly dress yourself and recheck you looked presentable, and although Tyson looked practically edible in that suit, you knew if he was within a seven metre radius that you’d break said time slot allocations, and that was the very last thing you needed if either of you had the intention of arriving on time at all.

“You’ve seen me.” You shrugged, but Tyson shook his head, apparently having none of it.

“Nah, I wanna see what you’re wearing.” He said defiantly, and before his gaze could travel south to the swell of your boobs and your bra, you snapped a finger in his face, causing him to blink in shock.

“Eyes are here.” 

He swallowed, mouth parting as the tips of his ears reddened slightly. If it weren’t for his eyes you’d have thought he’d be embarrassed at having been caught, but Tyson had never not taken stuff like this in his stride.

Which is why he shrugged good-naturedly, a small smile curving at his lips, “I’m sorry for looking,” you could practically smell the lie emanate through his pores, “but they’re kinda, like, right in my face right now.”

You sighed, turning around before he could see the blush on your own cheeks (his shamelessness always managed to catch you off guard because he was usually so cheeky, and you honestly had no clue as to what brings this out when he talks to you, but you’d be lying if a part of you didn’t enjoy the attention – and a part of you would be lying if you didn’t enjoy it more because it was coming from him), and you left the door open behind you.

You didn’t even turn around to check if he’d followed you through and shut the door behind him because you’d practically rushed up the stairs – trying not to make yourself sweat after that interaction and the short burst of exercise – and into your bedroom.

The dress was on a hanger hung on the back of your bathroom door, and by the time you’d slipped it on, somehow managing not to muss up your hair in the process, you could hear Tyson’s heavy footsteps thudding up the stairs after you. It took all of five seconds for you to notice him enter the bathroom, see you putting on your jewellery and spritzing a last splash of perfume and slightly adjusting your makeup, and then promptly stop.

It was pretty violent, the way he halted, almost throwing himself back into the door.

The dress you’d picked was one you hadn’t had the chance to wear before, but it was sheer with a black floral pattern and fell to mid-calf. The neckline and because it also hugged your figure pretty tightly, it left as little to the imagination as the black slip did. In fact, it looked as though you were wearing a black slip with a pattern, and not much else.

Tyson didn’t move an inch from where he’d stopped, not even a hand to tuck back the curl that had flopped onto his forehead after the aggressive stop, not until you’d finished applying your lipstick and turned to him.

Not until you’d all but ignored him as you breezed past, the fresh spritz of your perfume sending his senses haywire as you did so.

Then he moved. He spun on his heel, mouth dry as he watched you go about your final routine, gathering bits and pieces from your other bags and purses and collating them in the one you’d decided to take to dinner tonight. 

And fuck it if Tyson wasn’t currently trying to not look at you and simultaneously look at you. You looked breathtaking (though, you always did, even in hoodies and sweats), but his mind was a dangerous place, especially after harbouring this not-so-little crush on you and the whole flirting thing but never actually acting on it in the situation you’d got going on.

The dress left little to the imagination. Little to none, and he was having a hard time extinguishing the little flame that had ignited in his mind after he’d seen what you were wearing. For now, it was a thought, a simple idea of wow, I wonder how that dress would look if there was nothing underneath it. That thought was pretty harmless – he was just having trouble trying not to picture it.

And also looking at anything that wasn’t you because you looked divine. Divine, he thinks. He also wonders how the hell he’s supposed to let you sit next to EJ, your cousin, the entire night when you could be sitting next to him. He thinks that’d be more bearable than being on the other side of the table and able to look at you whenever he wanted to, because if you were sitting next to him, it’d be harder to look straight at you and therefore be held back – but if you sat next to him there was no way he’d be able to keep his hands to himself.

And that thought alone made something drop in his stomach. Words were fine, words were harmless, it was why you’d both resorted to the whole flirting thing, but touching was another thing in itself. Touching cemented unspoken feelings and hinted at other desires, and potentially allowed moments of wishful thinking and what-ifs, and that was something Tyson couldn’t afford to do. Not with you. Not only because you were EJ’s cousin, but because you were probably one of his closest friends.

It was also why, when you finally looked at him, cheeks flushed from the rushing around, he snapped out of his daze and readjusted his stance to a more casual one, one that didn’t scream you practically just floored me with your beauty and I just saw through space and time for a second, but whatever, no big deal or anything.

And why, when you asked “Do I look okay?” with a nervous expression on your face, as though his opinion mattered, answering with “Gorgeous.” came with zero hesitation before he was whisking the both of you downstairs and out of the door before the weight of his words could even begin to marinate in your head.

***

Tyson was being weird at the dinner. It was an end of season thing, and because Tyson had been traded to Buffalo before EJ had, it meant you’d known the team longer than your own cousin – which was a strange thought considering he played for them. So, naturally (you say that with hesitation), somehow you always seemed to get roped to come along with one or the other as a plus one if EJ or Tyson brought a date.

And despite EJ’s loud comments in your ear, it couldn’t quite distract you from the fact that Tyson had been uncharacteristically quiet on the other side of the table. In fact, he’d been quiet in the car after he’d insisted he’d drive you over to the restaurant instead of taking a taxi – it wasn’t uncommon, sometimes he wouldn’t talk unless you asked him questions, but it was weird considering the fact he’d been nothing but bubbly since he followed you inside your house.

It briefly crossed your mind that it was something you must have done to have him act like that, but he wasn’t one to offend easily, and you didn’t remember doing anything catastrophically hurtful towards him to warrant that kind of reserved reaction.

And because you’d known him for a while now, getting on a few years, you guessed it was probably his own brain keeping him quiet. He’d been chewing his lip every so often, fiddling with the cutlery in front of him and you’d also felt him shake his knee under the table. You hadn’t said anything in front of everyone, but you’d tapped the toe of his shoe gently with your own and flashed him a curious eye to which he’d shrugged and thrown a careless smile in your direction.

In fact, that nervous energy persisted throughout the entire meal. If anyone else noticed it, there wasn’t a comment; EJ was as oblivious as ever, gladly chatting away to Jeff, and you’d eventually swapped places with someone else so you could talk to Rachel. Even so, you didn’t stop checking up on Tyson – couldn’t help it really when each time you looked slightly to your right from looking at Rachel that it meant you’d be looking straight at Tyson over a couple of shoulders.

“Hey,” you found yourself taking the now empty seat on Tyson’s left, “are you ready to go, or do you want to stay a bit longer?” 

He leant back against the chair, palms splayed across the tops of his thighs, and all it took was a sigh and a meaningful, tired blink for the both of you to be saying your goodbyes and heading out to his parked car.

He was still quiet.

“Are you okay?” You muttered, stepping up to his side.

There was something unreadable on his face as he turned to look at you; shock at having been caught –  it was a possibility, but with the way he faltered and paused as though he was about to say something…you weren’t sure what to think or do.

What you weren’t going to do, though, was press on it. Especially because Tyson had never really been one to dwell on things for too long before saying something, so you weren’t particularly worried.

“Yeah.” He nodded, pressing his lips together, and you left it at that.

Then his hand disappeared in the pocket of his pants, and you assumed he’d gone to fish out his car keys, leaving the conversation at that (because, in all honesty, you didn’t entirely feel as though you had the right to pester and pester if he didn’t want to, and it briefly occurred to you that you were way overthinking the entire situation here), but he stopped on the sidewalk, grabbing your elbow to get your attention.

It was dark now, but you could still see him. 

He looked nervous about something, but he was focusing on the small screen of his phone, fingers tapping quickly to find something. In the meantime, you let him have a bit of space, ignoring the urge to look over his shoulders to see what he was doing, but you had an inkling that this had something to do with his behaviour throughout the entire night.

“Um…” he started, taking a deep breath, before flipping his phone around to show you a chain of texts between him and Mat. You took the phone, eyes scanning over what was being said, but there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary in particular. Mat was going on holiday, he’d asked Tyson if he wanted to go with him.

Tyson inhaled, and you looked up, unable to help the slight furrow in your brow, “Okay? It’s summer break,” you swallowed, entirely confused and a little concerned, “there’s no hockey.”

Silence.

Tyson scraped his teeth over his bottom lip, his hands on his hips, “Well, I spoke to Mat this morning, and he said he’s got a place at Martha’s Vineyard for him and Toni and he wants to know if I’d go with them.”

You cringed. Third wheeling Mat and Toni at Martha’s Vineyard of all places kind of seemed like a horrendous idea.

“He also said…Um,” his hands tapped on his thighs as he shot you some sort of desperate and frustrated look, like you weren’t managing to read his mind on what he was trying to say, “I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?” 

Oh.

“Oh.” You stuttered, seemingly at a loss for words as you cast your eyes back to the phone screen to reread it.

It was just an address, notes on the flight times and dates, and an open invitation of a room still left in the house they’d rented and Tyson hadn’t replied to that – it was where you were assuming the phone call occurred.

But a simple ‘oh’ to Tyson clearly meant something else because before you could even begin to think about it he’d spewed out more words, “I mean, you don’t have to go, I’d get it if you didn’t want to because there’s only one room and it’s Martha’s so it won’t be a twin room, which kinda means, well, y’know. Also third wheeling Mat and Toni doesn’t sound very appealing, so there’s that too.” He wasn’t rushing through your defence at all, more like calmly listing off reasons for you not to go so you didn’t have to.

“Martha’s Vineyard in August.” You muttered, shutting off his phone and handing it back to him. He ducked his head a little, trying to get a read on you, “August is, like, peak tourist season, right?” 

You wanted to go. But Martha’s in August would absolutely wreak havoc on your bank account.

Tyson nodded softly, “It’s already been paid for. I’m not even paying for anything other than flights, sounds like they had a house and there was an extra room, that’s all.”

Well, that was that then.

“Okay.” You nodded, flashing an excited smile.

Tyson blinked, “Okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll go with you. I can book it off work, I’ve got enough holiday time. I’d have to go shopping, but I can work something out with Toni–”

“Even if we have to share a bed?” 

“Well, when you put it like that.” You muttered sarcastically at the tone of his voice, “Do you sleepwalk or sleep-yell or something?”

He just stared.

“Do you not want me to go?” It had played across your mind, but you figured if he didn’t want you there, he’d have never bothered to ask in the first place. And the way he’d said it, it made it seem like it was Mat’s suggestion and that Tyson would never have thought to even invite you.

It wasn’t that deep, though. You guys were friends.

“No, no, I want you to go.” He breathed, tilting his head at you curiously, “I guess I just didn’t expect you to say yes.”

You pulled a face, “It’s a mostly free vacation to Martha’s, why would I say no?”

He pulled his mouth into a tight line, dumbfounded at your willingness, “Martha’s is pretty romantic.” Was all he said.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Thank fuck I’m not allergic to romance, then. Why are you so against me saying yes?”

“I’m not, I just – are you sure you want to spend an entire week with me?”

Your annoyance dimmed at that, something twanging in your chest at the self-deprecating doubt, “I’d love to spend an entire week with you.”

He swallowed, brown eyes widening fractionally. When he still didn’t say anything, you took it as an incentive to continue talking.

“Is that okay with you?”

He just nodded dumbly.

[windcubes]

Study of "Dashie The Low Poly Bunny", an open source mascot design by Tyson Tan (https://tysontan.com/gallery/gallery-mascots/dashie-2017/)

[spine-buster]

just friends, pt. 2

aka, another time it could have happened again

gif credit @/besthimbomachine

Length: 3704 words Summary: It's New Year's Eve. Tyson and Hazel's favourite holiday is New Year's Eve. A beautiful dress doesn't quite help any New Year's resolutions. A/N: This series is slowly taking over my mind. This is some more blue balls for you all before we finally get to a sequel.

31 December 2019

Hazel took time to get ready for AEW’s New Year’s Eve party; she took time shaving and exfoliating in the shower, lathering herself in lotion, curling her hair, applying her makeup, slipping into her dress.  She took time looking at herself in the mirror, happy with how she looked.  It took a while to get here, literally and figuratively, but judging by the colour of her dress and the slit that reached up her thigh, she was, firmly, here.  Happy.

The party was to be held in TIAA Bank Arena for the entire roster, and while she knew she wasn’t running late, she knew Tyson would be. 

Can you hurry your ass up?

Perfection takes time, hunny

You are the worst person alive

Hazel snorted to herself at Tyson’s text, if only because she could picture so perfectly him saying it in person, too – if he were ever on time.  Regardless, she waited out in the hotel lobby, scrolling through her phone.  She saw some personal stories posted from some other friends already at TIAA Bank Arena, seeing all the decorations, the bar set up, and the hors d’oeuvres already being served.  She was starving.  If Tyson made her miss the hors d’oeuvres, she was going to kill him.

Her instincts told her to look up, and when she did, she saw Tyson walking towards her wearing a nice button up shirt and a pair of pressed slacks that fit him perfectly.  He looked good, but to Hazel, he always did, even though she couldn’t say it out loud.  She thanked the Lord it looked like he scrubbed all the spray tan off too, and trimmed his beard so it wasn’t too scraggly.  Sometimes she thought it looked so, and she made sure to tell him.  ‘It looks better when it’s shorter, Ty,’ she’d tell him, and usually within twelve hours it would be at a length she loved.  It was kind of like when he told her how he liked her long hair, how he didn’t want her to cut it again after she had chopped most of it off into a long bob a few years ago now.  Hazel went for regular trims so her hair was healthy and grew it out to a length that cascaded down her back.

Okay, so maybe they did say it out loud from time to time.

“Did you order the Uber?” she asked when he was close, but he didn’t answer.  She waited patiently for a response, but didn’t get one.  Tyson didn’t respond because his eyes were travelling from her face down her body, the dress accentuating every beautiful curve and line.  “Kenneth!”

He snapped out of it.  “What?!”

“You’re going to make me miss the hors d’oeuvres,” she said.

“No I’m not,” he said.  “The Uber’s two minutes away.  Let’s go wait outside.”

He walked behind her, watching her ass in the dress.  He had to think of the smell of his hockey team’s locker room from 20 years ago to prevent himself from getting a fucking erection in the lobby of a hotel.  He wanted to punch himself for thinking what he was; for thinking about what he wanted to do to her in that dress.  The things he could get away with.  The things she’d let him get away with.

If it was the right time.

“You look great by the way,” he said nonchalantly, barely making eye contact with her as they stood outside waiting for the Uber to pull up to the door.

“Yeah, thanks,” Hazel was almost bashful, running her hands down the fabric that covered the front of her thighs.  “You don’t—you don’t think it’s too m—”

“Nah, no way,” he cut her off, shaking his head vehemently.  “Everything…you just, you look incredible, Haze.”

“Thanks, Ty.  I mean it.”

He looked at her finally, a small smile on his face.  “If any of the guys hit on you tonight, you’ll know why.”

Before Hazel could say that none of the guys would hit on her as long as he was around (except for Austin, probably, and even then it would be as a joke), and before she could blurt out something stupid like “I wish you’d be the one to hit on me,’, their Uber rolled up in front of them.  She climbed into the back, trying to get her dress not to bunch up too much.  Tyson hopped in after her, staying behind the passenger seat.  “TIAA Bank Arena, please,” Tyson said to the driver before looking out the window to distract himself.

***

At the party, Tyson didn’t appreciate how he and Hazel were separated.  She had been whisked away early on and he watched her order gin and tonic with lime from the bar.  He hung out with some of the guys but the eye he kept on her in the dress was near constant.  New Year’s was his favourite holiday and he wanted to spoil himself by staring at her – sue him. He wanted to spoil himself in more ways, but he knew he couldn’t.  It was getting harder the more he saw her smile, the more he saw her laugh, the more he saw her cheeks flush red and her smile get wider as the night passed, taking pictures and laughing at jokes and singing along with the music.

For what it was worth, Hazel noticed.  She noticed Tyson’s eyes on her almost the entire night, stuck on her as she giggled and smiled and sipped her drink.  She could tease him all night if she really wanted to, and she knew it.  But instead of doing that – instead of teasing him more than she already was – she decided to whisk herself away to the bathroom, if only to cool herself down and reapply her lipstick. 

As she bent over the vanity to reapply her lipstick in the mirror, the door opened and in walked Tyson.  He stared at her through the mirror, smiling as he shut the door behind him and leaned against it.  “Hey,” his voice was soft.

“Hey you.”

“You okay?” Tyson asked quietly.

“Of course,” Hazel nodded.  She picked up her glass filled with ice and a lime.  “This is water.”

“It is?”

“I keep asking the bartender to fill it with just tonic water,” she revealed, smiling.  “You know how I always like to remember New Year’s.”

Tyson couldn’t help but smile at her little scheme, pushing himself away from the door and taking the few steps towards her.  “Yeah.  Of course.  Just like me.”

“We promised, didn’t we?” she maintained direct eye contact with him through the mirror.

“We did,” he said, remembering their conversation and promise in Tokyo all those years ago. His hand went to her waist, without warning. Then it snaked around, his hand resting on her lower belly. Hazel looked at him through the mirror. “Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight?” his voice was low.

A smile broke out on her face; one she could barely conceal. “Mhmm,” she nodded her head quickly. She placed her hand over his, intertwining their fingers slightly. “You’re getting real handsy, Ty.”

“Sorry,” he didn’t mean it.

“You don’t have to apologize. You just have to…be careful.”

“Of what?”

“Yourself,” she deadpanned, biting her bottom lip mischievously.  “You’re your own worst enemy sometimes, you know that?”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Smirking at each other through the mirror, Tyson slowly pulled his hand away from her, but didn’t step away from her body.  “Are you having fun?”

“The most fun,” Hazel closed her lipstick, turning around so she was finally facing him and not looking at him through a mirror.  “You know how much I love all these rapscallions.  Are you?”

“Now I am.”

***

When there was about five minutes to go, the waitresses and caterers began pouring the champagne into the flutes.  Hazel watched as each one filled up one by one, everybody gathering together to watch the final minutes.  As the champagne was passed around, Hazel accepted her flute graciously.  Tyson, of course, politely declined. 

“Can I have his?” she asked the waitress, who was more than willing to oblige.

With two champagne flutes in her hands, the final minutes were dwindling.  Tyson stood beside her, watching on, a smile on his face.  The excitement in the air was palpable.  The countdown was always the best part.  And when the last minute of the year hit, he watched as Hazel performed an excited jig. 

Then, thirty seconds left.  They both turned towards the TV again, counting down with the growing number of their friends shouting out the numbers.  Tyson grew more and more emphatic with his screaming of the numbers the closer they got.  Hazel screamed along, careful not to spill her champagne.

Five!...Four!...Three!...Two!...One!...Haaaaaappy New Year!

Hazel screamed along with everyone else, raising her hands with the champagne flutes up in the air for dramatic effect.  Tyson was screaming along with everyone and clapping his hands.  She could see Austin and Britt already sharing a New Year’s kiss, and a few others, too.  She brought the first of the champagne flutes to her lips to drink, to suppress what she really wanted to do.  Hopefully the moment would pass.

When she looked into Tyson’s eyes after downing the second flute, she saw everything she loved about him; everything she was so desperate to have but desperate to keep hidden, to keep locked away in some small compartment within her.  “Happy New Year, Ty.”

His smile was soft, but light, and genuine.  “Happy New Year, Haze.”

***

It was nearing two in the morning by the time Tyson and Hazel decided to call it a night.  There were still plenty of people at the party, and they were still all giggly and smiley, but they wanted to go back to the hotel.  Tyson ordered the taxi as Hazel said goodbye to everyone, kissing everyone’s cheek and hugging them tight.  When they left the venue, Tyson walked behind her again, watching her hips and ass move in her dress. 

The car pulled up in no time.  Hazel crouched into the taxi first, shifting all the way over to the other side.  She could immediately feel how cool the air was in the car, in such contrast to the humidity outside.  As Tyson climbed in after her, her body shivered.  “Hyatt Regency, please,” she said to the driver, watching as Tyson close the door behind him.

As the taxi driver signalled to rejoin the road, Tyson moved so he was in the middle seat, practically in her seat.  Then, his hand went straight to her thigh, where the slit of her dress exposed as much leg as it could.  Her eyebrows rose playfully.  “What d’you think you’re doing?” she asked playfully.

“What?” he asked non-chalant, the smallest of smirks building on his face.  “Not like my hand’s never been there before.  Plus, you shivered.  Body heat is paramount.”

Between training and matches, and between, well…he wasn’t technically wrong.  But he still knew he was pushing it, and Hazel knew he was pushing it too.  While she appreciated the physical touch – she always did with Tyson – she knew it wasn’t the right or the best thing to do.  “Oh Tyson,” she chastised him, leaning back against the window.  “You know what would be even better?” she asked as her hand went to lay on top of his on her thigh, their fingers slightly intertwining.

His hand attempted to go higher, closer to her core, but she stopped him.  “What’s that?” he asked.

“If you gave me a foot massage.”

He pretend gagged and she laughed out, knowing that he hated anything to do with feet.  “Now why the fuck would I do that?”

“Cause you love me,” she said.  “And these heels are awful.”

“They look great.”

“Beautiful but awful.”

“Why don’t you just take them off?”

She rolled her eyes.  Men.  “The first rule of heels is you can’t take them off until it’s the end of the night.  Your feet won’t fit back in them if you do, and it actually becomes more painful to walk in them again.”

Tyson shook his head.  “Beauty is pain, I guess.”

“So I guess I’m not getting a foot massage, huh?” she smiled.

“No chance.”

They chatted and joked for the short ride back to the hotel, wishing the driver a Happy New Year and tipping generously with cash so he didn’t have to claim it.  The second Tyson’s hand left her thigh and his body left her side, she felt the loss.  She hated admitting so.  She buried the feeling again as she stepped out of the car.  But before Hazel could even shut the door, Tyson’s hands were on her again.

Except this time, he lifted her up dramatically into a fireman’s carry.  She yelped loudly, acutely aware that despite her dress still being on and the fabric covering everything it needed to cover, her ass was in the air.  “Tyson!”

“Oh will you stop,” he mimicked Gorilla Monsoon perfectly.  “You said your feet hurt!”  He began walking towards the door and through the foyer.  Hazel could feel her body heat up from embarrassment as she saw the concierge look at them.  What a sight to see at two in the morning.  She was thankful that nobody else was lingering around.  “Better than walking, huh?”

“Can you at least carry me like a normal person so my ass isn’t in the air?”

Carefully, so as to not tear at her dress, they transitioned like they were in the ring in-between wrestling moves, and eventually, Tyson was carrying her bridal style.  She pressed the button for the elevator before looking into his eyes and cradling his face in her hand.  “Hey Tys?”

“Hmm”?

“Thanks for carrying me.”

“I’d do anything for you.  You know that.”

“I know that, but your back is bad.”

“Doesn’t matter.  Your feet hurt.”

Her heart swelled.  Tyson had always been so good to her, and her to him, but she revelled in this sweet moment as much as she could.  It was only when Tyson’s face started to get closer did her heart begin fluttering instead of swelling.  “Ty…” she whispered. 

“You smell delectable,” he mumbled. 

“That’s Jo Malone for you,” she tried to joke, even though she knew it wouldn’t hit.  Tyson’s mind was somewhere else as she dug through her purse for their room key.  She shoved it into the reader, the little light turning green before she opened the door for them.  Tyson carried her into the room without even looking where he was going, the hair on his beard tickling the sensitive skin on her neck.  She couldn’t help but smile and giggle.  “Ty…”

“Let me put you on the bed,” his voice was husky all of a sudden.  He placed her down on the bed but followed her down, his face still in the crook of her neck, his body looming over hers.  “Christ, Hazel…”

Even though she was smiling, and even though almost every inch of her wanted this and could have had so, so much fun with it, she couldn’t.  Trouble – that’s what this was.  They could get into a lot of trouble this way.  “That’s not the best idea, Ty,” Hazel whispered as she felt Tyson’s nose on her décolletage, on her clavicle, on her neck.  She knew his lips were next.

“Why not?”

She giggled.  “You already felt up my thigh in the taxi.  You just want to because you’re hyped from the party.  New Year’s has always been your favourite holiday.”

“Our favourite holiday.”

“Regardless,” she smiled to herself like a Cheshire cat, “you shouldn’t do much more, Ty.  It wouldn’t be right.”

He knew she was right, fuck he knew she was right, but he gritted his teeth and bit his tongue.  ‘Yes it would be right’ he thought.  ‘Anything we do is right.  Anything we’ve ever done has been right.  It’s been right because it’s been with each other.’  He dislodged himself from her neck and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling of the hotel room.  “It’s that dress, too,” he said to mask everything he was feeling, in a tone that covered any agony with humour.

Hazel’s smile didn’t leave her face.  “It’s always the dress, huh?”

Tyson stayed silent, continuing to stare at the ceiling, trying to collect his thoughts.  His arm was up above his head, the back of his hand resting on his forehead.  “Sorry Hazel,” his voice was soft and low.

“You don’t have to apologize.  I just don’t want you doing something you’ll regret later.”

‘But I won’t regret it’ he thought to himself.  “Yeah, yeah,” he nodded slightly.  “Thanks for always looking out for me, Haze.”

“You know I always will.”

Both of them took deep breaths, staring up at the ceiling as they lay in bed.  Tyson couldn’t get the images out of his mind of Hazel at the party posing for photos, laughing, her legs glistening in the light.  Her beautiful smile that took up half her face.  The shine of her hair down her back.   Fuck.

He felt Hazel shift beside him.  When he looked over, she had lifted her knee to her chest, stretching to grab the buckle of her heels.  The material of her dress rode up her thighs, exposing more of her skin.  They came off one by one, with Hazel haphazardly throwing them to the side on the floor.  He watched as she pushed herself up, sitting on the edge of the bed, her back now facing him.  He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Hey Tys?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you unzip me?”

He shot up, but tried not to look too eager.  He moved so he was directly behind her, watching as she gathered her hair over one shoulder.  He grabbed the small zipper of her dress with his big hands.  He took his sweet ass time pulling it down; Hazel knew he would.  A part of her wanted to tease him so badly, only because she knew she had the power to at the moment.

When he was finished, he didn’t say anything.  Instead, Hazel sensed it and she stood up from the bed, not bothering to look back at him.  He watched her as she walked through the room, watched as she reached her suitcase and promptly dropped her dress to the floor, leaving her in only her underwear in front of him.  He caught glimpses of the curves of her breasts as she threw her hair up in a ponytail and dug through her suitcase to find her pyjamas.  His mind took him back to Tokyo and it was like a magic trick how he could remember the feeling of them in his hands when they made love.

Hazel went into the washroom and closed the door behind her, and Tyson knew it was so she could wash off her makeup.  The memories of the night they’d just had flooded his mind, interspersed with memories of Tokyo.  Her dress.  The first time she wore one of his t-shirts after crashing at his apartment in Shinjuku.  Her being backstage after the G1 Climax.  Her laughing at his dumb joke at the bar.  Her lips around the straw of her drink.  Her hand over his when he grabbed at her thigh inside the taxi.

When Hazel got out of the washroom, clean-faced and with her hair in a bun, she noticed Tyson laying back down on the bed, still in his clothes from the party.  When she moved closer, she realized that instead of using the time she was in the bathroom to change, he hadn’t.  Now, he sleeping in his pants and shirt, an arm draped across his chest.  He looked so peaceful in his slumber Hazel almost didn’t want to disturb him.  But she knew what she had to do.

She crawled onto the bed slowly, making sure not to disturb him, and began to pull his belt out of the loop and unbuckle it.  When she tugged slightly, he moved his arm, and it wasn’t until she unbuttoned his pants and unzipped them did he groggily open his eyes.  “Hazel?” he asked.

“Let’s go to sleep.”

Considering what he had been thinking of before he fell asleep, he wasn’t sure if this was reality or a dream.  The fact that her hands were near his crotch was enough to make him confused.  “What’re you—”

“You can’t sleep in your party clothes, Tys.  Lift your hips for me.”

He did as he was told, and felt Hazel pulling his pants down, all the way down, until he was left in his boxers.  She moved to his shirt and started unbuttoning it for him.  In his mental haze of still not knowing if this was a dream or reality, he bought his hand up and placed it over hers.  She stopped and looked at him.  “I’d do anything for you,” he whispered softly.

A smile spread across her face.  “I’d do anything for you too.  Let me take this off you now, okay?”

Her hands were soft as they glided across his chest and up to his broad shoulders to push his shirt back.  It came off easily.  Hazel noticed Tyson’s heavy eyes.  “Get your head on a pillow, Tys.  You’ll be more comfortable.”

He pushed himself back and settled himself; meanwhile, Hazel pulled back the covers, got underneath them, and pulled them over their bodies.  She snuggled into his back, his body heat radiating onto her.  She paused for a moment, her lack of judgement winning out against her better judgement as she placed three kisses along Tyson’s shoulder.  She dragged her lips along his skin between them, making sure her lips lingered on his skin when she was done.  “That okay?”

He groaned slightly in response, nodding his head.  “That feels so nice,” he sighed out.

Hazel couldn’t help but appreciate the sentiment.  “Let’s go to sleep, Tys.  Tomorrow when we wake up there’ll be a whole new year of memories we can make together.”

Always together.

[konqi-official]

Introduction post

My full title is "Konqi the Konqueror" but most of my pals call me Konqi!

I'm a robot dragon-kid living in KDE Valley. I love to go on adventures and explore the world beyond my village! I have a knack for building things, but I break stuff occasionally too.

Info

This is a fan account; I am not affiliated with KDE. All opinions, thoughts, and dumb jokes are my own.

I don't know if I'm gonna roleplay on here, but do be aware that Konqi is canonically a child.

Konqi's modern design is by Tyson Tan. "Konqi Drip" artwork (my current profile picture) was created by DeterminedTorres. The flag background was added by me :3c

About the blog author

My name's Theo! I made this blog because I saw all the other "[Linux Related Thing]-official" blogs and thought I'd join in. I wanted a spot to talk about computers, Linux, Krita, and whatever other tech stuff I like. My main blog (which is only partially-organized) is @theonimo .

This blog was created on March 30th, 2025.

[weclassybouquetfun]

I'm seeing all of these headlines from critics about how ridiculous FAST X as if they are just learning what the Fast and Furious films are. They are ridiculous. And? So? Your point being? Are you going to write that Looney Toons cartoons are silly?

22 years, 10 films, countless implausible moments.

You're going to say the franchise is stupid because you have people driving through skyscrapers or parachuting with cars or even surfing on a car but you say nothing about how we're supposed to believe Paul Walker as an LAPD cop when no LAPD cop in the history of the force has ever looked like that?!

This is the real stretch of imagination.

FAST X. The X stands for X-TREME SPOILERS

THE GOOD -I like a bit of fan service and the franchise keeps doling out heaping helpings of it. We got Letty back, Han back, Owen Shaw, Deckard Shaw, Elena back (briefly), whoever the hell Lucas Black and Bow Wow played in TOKYO DRIFT, Hobbs back and now the gal - Gisele.

Their babies are no longer babies.

At this pace I can't even feel bad that John Cena's Jakob died because we didn't see his body. For all we know he could have jumped out the car when it exploded! We see Han's body and he still returned from the dead so...I'm just saying don't count your dead characters before they hatch.

-I loved that they tied this story into Fast Five because that film was my entry into the Fast and Furious films so I remember that one distinctly enough that I could appreciate how they re-did scenes to add the idea that Dante was in their orbit then.

-Following THE SUICIDE SQUAD's lead and relegating Scott Eastwood to bit player. This feels like they were just trying to help him retain his SAG-AFTRA health insurance.

-The twist with Alan Ritchson's character. They intro him giving a wall of exposition about how the "cult with cars" win everyone over and then we see him won over and I think, "Exactly. As it should be." But no! Mans was luring Dom into a false sense of security. Dom was probably too blinded by that tan Ritchson was sporting for some reason.

-Paul Walker's daughter Meadow having a small role. Wouldn't be la familia without her.

-Jason Momoa was having so much fun and he certainly made for an entertaining villain. I'm all in for a villain who wears nail polish and space buns. And I liked how they actually used his photos from his BAYWATCH: HAWAII and STARGATE ATLANTIS years instead of photoshopping it.

THE BAD -Momoa IMO didn't find a good balance between unhinged lunacy and camp. I wish he was able to blend the menacing aspects of the character into his character when he was being more flamboyant. I think an actor who pulled that balance off perfectly was Chris Pine in SMOKIN' ACES.

-I can turn my brain off, I want to be entertained. If I wanted to logic police these films I'd just tweet Neil DeGrasse Tyson and ask his opinion. That said, bad writing is bad writing and this film had some awful writing. The script was written by Justin Lin, Dan Mazeau (Wrath of Titans) and Zach Dean (The Tomorrow War). I like to think Justin Lin knew some parts of the script was absolute dog piss and quit because he didn't want to have to massage a performance out of his actors using those words.

Justin Lin when handing in the final draft to Universal.

-The CGI was so bad! Regressively so. It was like they were using 2001 technology in some of the big scenes.

THE REST A cliffhanger? Editors exist for a reason. You're telling me I am going to have to sit through another 2 hours watching Letty, Cipher and Gisele on their sub adventure through Antarctica, Deckard saving his mum, Dante acting like he's on RuPaul's Drag Race, Roman with the weak jokes (Tyrese isn't as funny as he thinks he is), then a race to hurriedly find a way to give Brie Larson something substantive to do and because everyone comes back, we will see the return of Mr. Nobody (Kurt Russell) and then shoehorn back in Rita Moreno to close out the film with another speech about family?

[openseascn]

in texas, 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐖 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐒 ( 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘. 𝐒𝐇𝐄/𝐇𝐄𝐑. ) is more commonly known as 𝐋𝐄𝐍 / 𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐀 / 𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐘. they’ve been living in stratford for 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘+ 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 and currently 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐈'𝐒 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘. some say they are 𝐂𝐘𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 & 𝐔𝐍𝐘𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 but i’m more inclined to believe those that say they’re 𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 & 𝐀 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑. if you walk by their house, you can sometimes hear 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐄 by 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 playing from their window.

❝ an existential crisis at the coffee pot, a scythe tattoo and a tan line from a missing ring that won't fade, cold sheets on an empty bed, an emergency ashtray hidden beneath the bathroom sink, the art of the slow blink, tough love and tougher choices, reminiscing about the glory days ❞

────── 𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲 › 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 › 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 › 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ──────

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬.

birthday: december 31st, 1984

zodiac sign: capricorn sun, gemini moon, tbd rising

ethnicity: brazilian, english, scottish, irish

faceclaim: jordana brewster

sexual orientation: heterosexual, heteroromantic (probably)

relationship status: divorced from tyson shaw for 1.5 years, previously married for 19 years.

hometown: angelwylde, texas

positive traits: hardworking, loyal, ambitious, practical, persistent, adaptable, resourceful, nurturing, curious, devoted, sentimental, empathetic

negative traits: stubborn and uncompromising, pessimistic, slow to share emotions, possessive, melancholy, suspicious, moments of irrationality, impatient, moody/sensitive

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬.

mother: maureen santos fraser.

father: luca santos oliviera

step mother: tbd santos, nee tbd.

step siblings: tbd (wanted connections)

children: yes - two children with ty, names and ages tbd.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲.

TW: drinking problems, divorce

born and raised in the west austin area of texas, helena comes from a family who found their success in horses. from the time she was little it was always assumed she'd graduate, go to college, and then return home to take her place on the ranch within their training / breeding business. not only was it her birthright, but what her parents considered her god given talent. growing up she'd already started making a name for herself with the in the barrel racing circuit.

as far as lena was concerned all of the above was the plan... until one fateful visit to stratford turned her entire life on its head. it was almost painfully obvious how out of place she was that night, meeting her college roommate at the forge / a reapers clubhouse party, but her shock and unease vanished the second she locked eyes with tyson shaw.

the way she felt pulled to him followed no rhyme or reason. it wasn't something that could be explained in words, only felt—and len chased that feeling all the way across the finish line, never once looking back. they'd barely knew each other before she upended everything and moved to town for the sake of being with him. not long after that they were married.

for nineteen years she stayed at ty's side while he moved up within the club. she made his life her life, and did it gladly. from the outside looking in nobody ever would've expected the turmoil within their marriage. they certainly wouldn't have expected lena to wake up one day and ask ty to choose between the bottle or a divorce. then again, they probably wouldn't have expected him to chose the former. tbh neither did she.

walking away from ty and their marriage, still every bit in love with him but at her limit, shattered lena. it's been a year and a half and she's still not entirely healed from it (though maybe she'd have an easier time letting go and moving on if she could stay out of his bed).

after spending so much of her life within the family of the club and on the back of ty's bike she's once again left feeling entirely lost and out of place now that she's on her own and sitting somewhere to the left of it all. his friends are her friends. without the club she wouldn't even have a job. even though she left him they're still so intertwined—to the point that she's not even really sure who she is without him—but without his property patch on her back does she really still belong?

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬.

while lena is usually known for being relatively level headed, all of that "cool, calm, and collected" goes to shit when it comes to ty—or more like, when it comes to other women and ty. she'll be the nicest person you've ever met until you look at her man (that isn't even her man anymore) a little too long and then she's more likely to introduce your face to a table than she is shake your hand.

lena swears she quit smoking years ago, but the ashtrays hidden near windows in the house and the half smoked pack in the bottom of her purse say otherwise. it's her worst kept secret and tbh she doesn't really care.

lately their teenage daughter has been really acting out and she's not sure if that 'wild streak' is merely in her blood, or if its in response to the divorce. although she probably doesn't admit as much or show it often, the guilt of it potentially being the second option is crushing her.

shortly after their wedding lena got a scythe tattooed behind her left ear. despite the fact that their marriage ended and she's technically no longer a significant other within the club she has no regrets. if anything (secretly) she regrets it not being somewhere a little more visible and easy to stare at when she's allowing herself to sit at home alone and mourn the end of their relationship.

in that sense and probably a few others it's safe to say lena miiiiight have a slightly masochistic side. she pokes at her invisible / emotional bruises often, if only because the way it still hurts reminds her that, at least at some point in life, she had something genuinely real.

lena has taken on an almost motherly role at the autobody shop. not a soft, sweet, motherly role, mind you, but the kind where she'll slap you upside the head for being stupid and then shove tupperware in your face because she brought a homemade lunch for everyone to eat.

she's prone to taking exceedingly long showers because it's the one place she feels free enough to let herself cry.

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.

aside from all of the basics like neighbors, co-workers at gotti's, connections through the reapers, etc. I'd love to find───

her step siblings (may require a new character): at some point within helena's childhood her parents divorced and, however many years later, her father remarried. these would be the children of her step mom but everything else, including why they're in town and who they are / are not affiliated with is UTP.

her best friend / college roommate (f, 39-41): they roomed together freshman year of college and instantly hit it off. this character is from stratford, with some form of connection to the reapers, and it was through them that lena met ty for the first time. who they are, what they do, whether they stayed in stratford this entire time or recently moved back is UTP but i do imagine she and lena are still really close friends.

her 'mentor' / best friend (f): this is someone similar in age to helena who is affiliated (or was affiliated) with the reaper. basically, lena met them once she got together with ty and they were the one who sort of took young her under their wing when it came to all things club life. they helped her get her footing in such an unfamiliar world and developed a really close bond through that. if they're still affiliated with the club there's a chance maybe lena has questioned their friendship, or how legit it is, now that she's no longer with tyson.

antagonist #1 (m/f/nb, any age): this is a very loose idea atm but i think it could be really fun to play around with if there's any characters in group who are secretly / not so secretly out to bring the reapers down. maybe they've been sniffing around and trying to sway lena into helping them achieve whatever their goal is now that she's left ty, assuming she'd be an easy target.

antagonist #2 (m/f/nb, any age): another super loose and fluid idea, but this would be anyone who's out to get the reapers and decides to fuck with lena, knowing she's likely tyson's (aka the reapers vp) weakness.