#bad girls of ancient greece

[hoeelliexx]

I started doing end of the year TBR last year and it went horribly… So here I am trying again!

24 books I want to read before 2024 is over. My hopes are abysmal but we will see! Big thanks to NetGalley for doubling my TBR with a few ARCs!

QOTD: Do keep to a strict list when working through your TBR or are you a mood reader?

[tleeaves]

”this book is a reimagining of hades and persephone as-” it’s the final month of 2023 as a society we need to move on and fast.

[funeral]

In folk belief, magic is often said to accumulate around liminal moments—points of transition, places where something is neither A nor B but both at once. Brides, for example, are vulnerable to malevolent magic because they are neither married nor unmarried; hence, our extensive array of superstitions around weddings. Midnight is the witching hour because it is neither today nor tomorrow. In ancient Greece and Rome, ghosts supposedly appeared at both midnight and noon, since noon was another hinge point in the day; it was the state of in-betweenness, not the dark, that allowed them to manifest. Adolescence is one of the most frightening and protracted forms of liminality, a time when someone is neither a child nor an adult, but can seem like either, or both. ...A girl's first period—blood shed, simultaneously, by a woman, and child, and the moon—rips a hole in the world.

Sady Doyle, Dead Blondes and Bad Mothers

[ew-selfish-art]

Dpxdc (sounds like a bad joke) AU: A Cat, an Amazon and an underage Dead kid walk into a bar...

Selina Kyle was on official Catwoman business on the Coast of Greece, though of course she told her currently on (off again on again) boyfriend Bruce that it was just a girls weekend away. A particular jewel came to mind and it needed to be hers, ancient Obsidian carved with symbols of power (and yes, one of the symbols happened to be a cat.)

Selina knew she was getting close to the artifact when Diana Prince showed up. The no-good goody-two-shoes museum curator seemed to have a will of iron, and each time they crossed paths, the tall beauty had some passing remark about Bruce (which was really starting to get under Selina's skin) and the fact that they were just friends. Who does this chick even think she is? Just because she can speak fluent Greek, knows Selina's boyfriend's favorite bedtime story to read his kids, and has an ass that just won't quit doesn't mean she's better than her!

Selina is going to (remind herself frequently that women in competition is just a factor of the misogynistic capitalistic society they live in) do her best to keep under the radar, steal the artifact fast, and then make Bruce propose to her.

But then this weird scrawny kid shows up and asks if she's seen something of his. Selina is on the street, sitting at a table outside the local cafe conveniently located across the street from the auction house holding the artifact, when he approaches. He looks like he could be one of Bruce's kids, made distinct by his very nervous demeanor and shrunken shoulder's attempting to make him look smaller. Briefly, he tells her about a piece of black glass that has a few drawings of his on it, about the size of his palm, and may or may not have some lingering ability to... he doesn't finish his sentence.

Diana was walking across the street to go into the auction house... but to Selina's chagrin, the tall could-be-a-model crosses and approaches them instead. Her eyes are settled on the young man, and he's nervously asking her something in Greek. (How did a kid with a midwestern accent speak fluent greek?) Diana explains that he must have gotten a replica of the item showing in the Auction house somehow, and the kid looks like he's eaten a sour lemon all of a sudden.

A projectile comes hurdling at them a mere moment after the kid's cold breath becomes visible in the hot greek sun- Diana braces the impact for them both, her golden bracers revealed from under her sensible work blouse sleeves.

"Oh! You're Wonder Woman!" The kid gleefully exclaims, which makes Diana and Selina both die a little inside, before adding: "Hey, no worries about this guy, I got 'em. But could you grab that chunk of obsidian for me? It's mine and I'm seriously in hot water for having broken my cro- er- for losing it in the first place. Thanks!"

He suddenly bloomed into white hair and green eyes, a dark suit appearing from nowhere, and flew towards the threat. Wonder Woman didn't spare a single word on Selina and chased after him into combat.

Selina sipped on her coffee and, upon finishing it- casually got up, went to the auction house, and stole the Obsidian. Finders Keepers.

It was the late afternoon when Diana walked into the Bar right behind Selina with the teen at her side. He looked nervous but was eye-ing the bottles on the wall as much as he was trying to look intimidating to her. Diana looked annoyed at best, and not just with Selina.

"I think we should have a little chat, sound good to you Kitten? Princess, did you want to stay to talk too?" Selina's famous cat like grin on full display.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

You're Keeping Me Down

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her)

WC: ~5.8k

TW: mentions of trauma, mentions of Maeve, kissing, previous relationships, swearing, alcohol, so much crying, bad decisions, girlbossing

A/N: ayo....angsty teehee. I hope y'all like it! It's a sequel to Dedicated to New Lovers and was inspired mainly by Sara Bareilles's Gravity, some Harry Styles, and other sad songs. I hope y'all enjoy it!! I really do love reading all of your comments, and tags, and feedback because it makes me so happy to know you guys are enjoying the writing!! <3

“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.” ~Maya Angelou

Something always brought you back to Doctor Spencer Reid. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you fought it, something about the universe could not keep you away from him for too long. 

It was like the two of you were attached at opposite ends of a string, always pulling you towards one another, ignoring whatever you had been feeling beforehand. 

There was nothing you could do to escape him. You had tried traversing the globe, studying in Greece and Turkey, or taking vacations in the most remote villages of China; you had even done a two-week expedition traveling to Antarctica. But somehow, some way, Spencer Reid stayed in the back of your mind. 

Sometimes, it was like he was right next to you. You could still feel him next to you in your bed, or if you were alone in your car, your hand was absently reaching toward the passenger seat, only to feel the leather and not his leg. 

Maybe it was because all of those stupid little facts he had spouted to you were resting in the back of your mind, popping up when you’d come across anything he would have told you about. 

It was something you missed. He would just ramble on about anything to you, watching the joy on his face as he continued to speak, so grateful to have an audience, to have someone who cared. But you’d have to remind yourself that Spencer chose her as his audience instead of you. 

Her. 

The guilt of Maeve’s death followed you around more than Spencer did. At first, it was anything to do with therapists. The thought of choosing someone to speak to outside of your circle was a betrayal you had felt, and you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same. Then it was your distrust of your friends, watching as they became less and less frequent in your life. 

Work was all-consuming. You knew this fact well. Being one of the top profilers in the FBI meant that news of your transfer went fast, and the job offers came even quicker. But you decided to take some time off to rediscover the girl you once knew, someone outside her job. 

The BAU was simply your life for the past eight years. You worked at the BAU, you dated inside of the BAU, and your friends were all within the BAU–It was honestly a joke that it all had decided to come crumbling down once you felt secure in your life, in your job, in your relationship. 

You had filed the paperwork that allowed you to take two months of paid leave, not to leave the department. Your social media suddenly became filled with images of Ancient Greek monuments, Italian Vineyards, the French and Swiss Alps, and cities you once only visited in your wildest dreams. 

Escaping reality was the best way to rediscover who you are. And so you tried.

When you returned from your two months, you had walked into the BAU bullpen and straight to Hotch’s office. Your skin was tanner, and your hair was a bit lighter from all of the sun. You were suddenly this confident woman again, but you weren’t who you were before, making you nearly unrecognizable. 

“Y/N, please come in.” 

You smiled warmly at Hotch, giving him a quick hug. 

“You look good. How were your travels?” 

You smiled and leaned against the wall, not wanting to sit since that meant you would be here longer than you wanted. 

“It was everything I needed it to be, Hotch .” You nodded to the file on his desk with your name on it. “I take it Garcia ‘accidentally’ discovered my file and decided to drop it off?” 

Hotch sighed and opened the file, looking over at you. “Of course she did. I thought you were just transferring after your leave; I didn’t know you were leaving the Bureau entirely.” 

You nodded, a sad smile making its way onto your face. 

Hotch looked at you, replicating the same sad smile. 

“I wanted to tell you in person since I didn’t want you to find out via paperwork, but I should have known to come to your office first and then file it instead of filing it on my way to your office.” 

A soft chuckle passed through Hotch’s lips as he nodded. “We’re going to miss you more than before, Y/N.” 

“I won't be gone forever, Hotch. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

“I know.” He rounded the desk, giving you a quick hug, arm on your shoulder. “You have my number.” 

You gave him a quick smile, nodding, “Don’t worry, Jack will still be getting weekly updates about my travels, and expect a box of goodies occasionally. I have to uphold my reigning title of the coolest aunt ever.” 

As you left Hotch’s office, you didn’t notice Spencer at the coffee station. You didn’t see as he watched you quickly drop a note off on Emily’s desk and another on Derek’s desk before stepping into the elevator for the last time for the next two years. 

You didn’t notice the heartbreak in his eyes, and you didn’t notice the fact that he had overheard as you told Hotch you weren’t coming back to the FBI at all. 

But somehow, you found yourself back in that same elevator, visitor badge clipped to the new dress you had received as a gift from a friend during your month-long stay in India last year. The fabric draped across your body, highlighting how beautiful your curves were, and the colors brought out this newfound radiance in your skin, your eyes, your smile...

Color was the newest development in your life. The BAU meant that everything was in professional shades of blue, black, white, or maybe a subdued purple or green if you felt risky. But suddenly, your wardrobe burst through the rainbow as you experimented with patterns and shades, basking in this newfound joy beyond the world of suits. 

Eighteen months of experimenting–with life, with colors, with places you called home, with love.

You had two brief “love affairs” as Garcia lovingly called them. One was only two weeks long, but the other was a few months. Yet both were missing something special and could barely converse with you. Maybe that was how Spencer felt. And the sex wasn’t all that great either.  

And yet, after Eighteen months, an award, four nominations, a cat, a mediocre short-term relationship, and one groundbreaking dissertation that led to a Ph.D. later, you found yourself back in that damned elevator. 

You inhaled sharply as you heard the tiny ding, doors opening up to a sight that made your stomach twist. It was truly bittersweet to be back, to visit the place that once carried everything in your life, and to have it be so foreign to you. 

But what was not so foreign was how one Derek Morgan looked up as the door opened and his eyes filled to the brim with light. 

“Well, well, well, look who it is.” He dropped his file on his desk and met you in the middle of the side aisle of the bullpen, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. “My woman.” He muttered into your hair, giving you an extra squeeze before pulling away slightly. 

“What’s up, sexy.” You laughed, thrilled to hear he hadn’t changed too much while you were away. 

“I’m sexy? Have you seen yourself recently?” He laughed, and you gave him a twirl, eager to show off one of your favorite dresses. “And where did you get this? Wait, wait, let me guess.” 

You pursed your lips, failing to hide the smile that was beaming across your face. 

“Was it your time in Taiwan? No no…Pakistan?” 

“So close. India. Maybe next time, champ.” You patted his arm, turning your head at the gasp behind me. 

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Doctor Y/N Y/L/N, world traveler extraordinaire?” 

“JJ, you saw me three days ago.” 

JJ pulled you into a hug. “Yeah, over Facetime,” she grumbled, not even trying to pretend she was upset at the sight of you in person. “You seriously have to stop sending Henry so much stuff.” 

“Some of it is for the other one, too.” You muttered to her, knowing she wasn’t fully public with her pregnancy at the BAU just yet. 

“I’ll be right back, I promise, I just have to say hi to Hotch first.” You placed your hands on their arms, turning towards Hotch’s office. As you went to knock on the door, it opened, leaving you face to face with the only person you weren’t ready to confront just yet. 

“Hi.” He breathed out.

And fuck you, he looked so good. 

“Hi, Spencer.” 

You watched as a wave of emotion rippled across his face. His name almost tasted weird in your mouth, not something you’ve often said in the two years apart. 

“I’ll, um..” He moved to step out of the way, letting you maneuver into Hotch’s office. 

But you had also tried to move, causing you and Spencer to almost collide, causing his hand to barely grace your waist. A spark flew through your skin at the thought of his touch, causing goosebumps up and down your body. 

You both muttered an apology, eyes not leaving the other until you quickly moved into Hotch’s office, causing him to move back, still watching as you closed the door in his face.

While you spoke to Hotch, catching up, Spencer was down in the bullpen at his desk, barely even trying to move them away from the windows. 

JJ and Derek stood around his desk, looking from the office to Spencer and back again. 

“She’s back.” He said simply when Kate approached them, wondering why they were all standing around, staring at Hotch’s office. 

“Who?” Kate crossed her arms, looking between the agents, hoping for an answer.

Spencer said your name for the first time in a very long time. And it was almost as if his brain whirred to life, like some part of him had been dormant for a long time. 

“Doctor.” 

Spencer gave Derek a weird look. “What?” 

“It’s Doctor Y/N Y/L/N now, Pretty Boy.” 

Spencer let his mouth fall into a small oh, letting his mind sink deeper and deeper into the pit of you. 

When you had originally left, Spencer decided to try and ignore you. It didn’t work, but he wouldn’t seek you out purposefully. He never looked up your name and tried to steer clear of the conversations involving you. But he wondered why you had never mentioned wanting to get a doctorate beforehand. He would have remembered something like that. He should have remembered something like that. ______________________________________________________________

The thought of Spencer’s fingers on your waist was the only thing you could think about for the rest of the day. Your skin hadn’t stopped tingling, and suddenly you wanted to drown in his touch, let his hands roam over your body and— “Stop it.” You said out loud as you put in your earrings. 

Your mind wasn’t playing far. 

“What did you say, sweetheart?” 

“Nothing, just talking to myself!” You called back, sighing as you smoothed out the front of the dress you had changed into. 

The team had decided to throw you a welcome-back party that night, generously hosted by David Rossi. And since they had all wanted an excuse to get dressed up, you gave them that much, meaning you had to dawn heels and a touch of makeup to accentuate the features you wanted. It also meant you got to pull out another stunning dress you had bought. 

Celebrating your doctorate, which you completed a year early, you had flown to Milan with Emily Prentiss and decided to go shopping, which is how you ended up with the current dress you were wearing. 

It fits you in all the right places, showing off just enough cleavage to be tasteful but maybe tempt something a bit more. You wondered if Spencer would like—

“God, I forgot how hot you look in that dress.” 

“Emily Prentiss, I could kiss you on the mouth.” 

Emily laughed and looped her arm through yours, staring at the two of you in the mirror. 

“Thank you for flying in on such short notice.” You whispered, unable to take your eyes off of the reflection staring back at you.

“We can call the whole thing off right now…”

You shook your head and smiled at her. “It’s for me. And I really want some of Rossi’s cooking right about now. Especially now that I can compare my worldly experiences with the Italian Masterchef himself.” You laughed, causing Emily to laugh with you. 

“Let's get going, yeah?” 

The ride to Rossi’s house on the outskirts of Washington D.C. made for a relaxing drive, filled with updates from your best friend about each other’s lives, even though it had only been a month since you had seen each other last. 

“I think you’re being perfectly reasonable, hun.” 

“You’re saying that because all I do is cry these days,” you grumbled, kissing the head of the black cat in your lap. 

Emily laughed and took a sip of her wine. “Or maybe I just know that you need a change of scenery. You’ve dedicated your entire life to the BAU and now you need to explore the entire rest of the world.” 

“I think you just want to go to Greece with me.” 

“You know how much I love Mamma Mia….”

You cracked a smile and picked up your glass. “Maybe Em, I’m not sure…I just…”

Emily watched as you looked up, trying to keep the tears from your eyes. 

“I know he’s not worth the tears,” you mumbled, but you exhaled slowly. “It’ll just hit me sometimes.” 

She stayed quiet, watching as you slowly worked through whatever was happening in your head. 

“It’s like he’s right next to me sometimes. I…It’s like sometimes my own head is against me for not talking to him. I heard a song the other day, and I immediately turned to tell him something about it and–It’s like he’s ruling over my mind—” You huffed angrily. “I feel like I’m not making any sense–god.” You downed your wine and placed the glass on the table. “Maybe I’m just meant to wallow and drink wine and be completely useless for the rest of my life…past my prime, past my worth. I was so—I was so fucking sure he was the one…Like there's this strong attachment to my chest and I’m connected to him for eternity, regardless of whether he loves me or not.” 

Emily pulled you into her arms while you cried, rubbing your back. 

“You are so much more than him, hun. You will go out in the world, figure out who you are again, and stand so tall, just how you’re supposed to.”

“So tall.” Emily looked at you as she parked the car in Rossi’s driveway. 

“Just the way I’m supposed to be.” You whispered, looking over at her, smiling.  ______________________________________________________________

You’ve been to Rossi’s more times than you could ever admit, but it managed to take your breath away every single time. After his first wife had passed away, he had put in a garden near the edge of his backyard, providing beautiful color for you to look at from the porch. 

Somehow, you always had a half-full glass, managing to have someone always get you a new drink when you seemed low. 

You managed to talk to Jack and Henry, telling them all about the wonders of the world you had seen, then being pulled away by Garcia to discuss that brief love affair you had in Argentina, which then led to telling Derek about your time in England, studying for your doctorate. 

Gratefully, you excused yourself when Rossi announced that dinner had been served, leading you to the tables set up in the backyard, filled to the brim with all your favorite foods. He had simply done too much. 

Dinner was filled with smiles, laughs, and chatter about the ‘good ol days’ and the newer memories being made. You had become acquainted with Kate Callahan, Emily’s replacement. She seemed nice enough, but you both were hesitant of one another. 

Spencer was sitting across the table from you. The two of you would catch glances at one another, passing moments where you couldn’t help but notice the way the wind ruffled his hair or the way the garden’s fairy lights reflected in his eyes. 

“So, what brings you back to Washington,” Hotch asks you the question every person at the table has been dying to hear the answer to. 

“Oh! Well…” You blushed slightly and shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal, but I was just offered a position at Georgetown as an adjunct professor. If I take it, I’ll teach classes for at least the next semester. That is if I like it more than King’s College in London..”

The table erupted into congratulations, ending with a toast from Rossi.

You all raised your glass in “Salut”, and took a sip from your drink, but you couldn't help but look at Spencer, who was already looking at you. 

Excusing yourself from the table, you went inside quickly, walking towards the kitchen sink. You ran your hands under the cool water before splashing it across your face. 

“Y/n…”

There it was. The moment you had been dreading. The two of you were alone, no one else to buffer you, no one else to take your arm and drag you to the dance floor. 

“Spencer.” You turned around, your body leaning against the sink. God, you felt so small, so unable to watch yourself. 

“That’s a–that’s a beautiful dress.” 

“Milan.” You mused, fiddling with the ring on your pinky finger, unable to look away from the man before you. 

“Ah.” 

The silence hurt. Watching the two of you must have been painful because you could feel it. You once told this man everything about yourself; he once knew how your day went by one singular sigh. He could have told you what you were in the mood to eat for breakfast just by how you woke up. 

But now, you didn’t even know what to say. 

“Georgetown.” 

You nodded and looked down at your nails, seeming that they felt like a safer bet to look at. “Yeah, uh…should be fun. Can I–” You looked up at him. “Can I ask you something?” 

Spencer’s head nodded, and you pursed your lips, looking out the window and watching as your friends and family all laughed together and ate together. 

“When I was…um.” You cleared your throat, willing away the tears that had instantly sprung to your eyes. “When I was packing up all my stuff two years ago…I found the…W-Was it for her or…” You braced yourself for impact. Waiting for him to respond. 

Spencer’s eyes glassed over, and his mouth formed a small oh. He fiddled with his ring finger and looked out past you through the window. He couldn’t bear to watch the travesty he was about to cause. 

“You.” 

“Oh.” Fuck this. Fuck. You had sobbed over finding it for three hours while packing and then  sobbed again as you moved out. Somehow, hearing it out loud was worse. 

He was going to propose to you.

Spencer Reid had wanted to marry you. And god, that hurt. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, and then he told you that he wasn’t in love with you anymore. 

You didn’t care if you were reserving a spot in hell for yourself by damning an already dead woman. Her death meant Spencer could feel an ounce of the grief you just dug up. A sliver of the pain. 

Suddenly, you felt his hand on your jaw, a thumb on your cheek, wiping away the tear that had escaped your eye. “I am so sorry.” He whispered. 

And that broke the damn. 

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him, surrounding yourself with Spencer. Letting the smell of his cologne wash over you, letting him squeeze you tightly like he used to so long ago. The feeling of his chest rising and falling gave you such comfort that your brain was screaming at you to run away from it. You had finally built all your walls back up; you felt as if you could finally exist, but here in his arms, the world was silent. 

In his arms, you felt fragile; you felt so small. All of the strength you had was gone. And it felt so fucking good to not have to be the strong one, the person with the brave face. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

His lips kissed your hair, arm running up and down your back, trying so desperately to bring back that sense of comfort he once could provide you. And it was fucking working. God, why was it working. Why did it feel good? Why couldn’t you pull away? 

“Spence…” You mumbled into his shirt, that had been stained by your tears. You shook your head. “I can’t…We can’t…”

He pulled away from you slightly, eyes saddened, and you couldn’t tell if it was because you were rejecting him or because he still loved you just as much as you loved him. 

“I love you.” 

You pulled away from the kiss, hand on his chest, smiling brightly at him. “What?”

It was the most beautiful you had ever looked, Spencer decided. 

Your lips were puffy from how much the two of you were kissing, hair messy from his hands running through it, eyes wide with just as much love repeated in his own. 

“I love you.” He repeated, smiling beyond measure.

“Say it again.” You mumbled, yanking him back down to your lips, kissing him again and again. 

“I love you so much, y/n y/l/n.” 

You pulled away, laughter filling up the entire room. Pure joy echoed and bounced off of the walls. 

Spencer bit his lip, pulling away slightly. You hadn’t set it back. 

“Spence…” You cupped both cheeks with your hand, thumb rubbing over his bottom lip. “I love you too.” 

Just saying it caused you to giggle, full of love and pure joy. 

Loving anyone else would have caused you to gag–it still does. 

But the memory makes you shudder, causing you to step out of his arms, quickly wiping away your tears or trying your best to. 

The thought of love made you want to rip your head off. It made you want to sink to the bottom of the ocean and never resurface. 

Spencer said your name, making you shake your head. 

“You don’t love me Spencer. You haven’t for a long time.” The admission caused a resurgence of tears, making him take a step towards you. “No, Spencer, no.” 

You shook your head again. “I-I can’t…you hurt me. You…you left me for someone you had never even met. She was–god.” 

“I never loved her the way I love you.” 

“No.” You whispered, chest heaving. “No, no. You can’t..fuck. Don’t say that shit–why would you say that shit to me.” 

“Because it's the truth.” He said softly, too calmly for you to just ignore it. 

“How can you stand there and say that to me? You don’t mean it—You can’t..” The past two year’s worth of therapy, of moving on, of becoming your own, came crumbling down because fuck, you didn’t know what to believe anymore. “How can you just…You don’t fucking mean it.” 

“I know you don’t believe me, but I–”

“Don’t believe you?” You laughed at that, tears mixing with the stabs in your chest, dropping past your mouth as it laughed and laughed and laughed. “Then why did you fucking leave me. Why–Why–Why did you tell me to move out and…God Spencer, why did you come here tonight.” 

You were almost hysterical at that point; all Spencer could do was watch. He couldn't touch you because every time he tried, you’d move away or lose some part of your mind even more. 

“What about me was so–so–so, so boring, so understimulating to you, so desperately ignorant that you told me you didn’t love me anymore, that you kicked me out of our home, that made you reconsider wanting to marry me. And you know, I get it, I do. You found someone on your level intellectually, I get it. But still, I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life–what did she have that I didn’t, huh? What about her made her more appealing to talk to than me? ” 

“She…”

“She what, Spencer.”

“I wasn’t–”

“No.” You were leaning back against the counter, trying to gain some semblance of yourself back from the spiral you were on. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t give me some ‘unworthy’ thought process because maybe you’re fucking eidetic memory doesn’t remember all of the conversations we used to have, but I fucking do. I couldn’t cut them out of my skin if I tried, and god did I try.” 

Spencer stared at you, dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to do; he couldn’t function. All he could do was watch the pieces of you shatter all over, reliving the exact moments you were, but instead of being able to make it right, all he could watch as you closed yourself off more and more. 

“Y-you tried?” 

“God, Spencer, did you even look at me during those months.” 

“I…” He just looked at you, really looked at you. “I couldn’t.”

You scoffed, wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and straightened out your dress. 

“The only fucking thing I know is that if I don’t walk away now, then I will hate myself for the rest of my life for letting you talk me back into loving you again. And the worst part is, I still do. I don’t think I could ever love anyone again because of how much love I have for you, after everything we had been through, but—”

He kissed you.

Or you kissed him. 

You weren’t sure. 

But all you knew was that his hands were on your waist, and your hands were on his cheeks, and his lips were touching yours, and everything felt so right within the world, and your body was against his and just–

“Fuck.” You quickly pulled away, both of you panting, staring at one another, unsure about what happened. 

You two just stared at one another for what felt like forever until you heard Emily call your name from the porch. You took another step away, back against the kitchen counter, smoothing your hair and crossing your arms. 

Emily walked in and eyed the two of you, misreading the tension as something more antagonistic from before than what had actually happened. 

“Uh, Rossi made you a cake…” She looked between the both of you, watching as you nodded at her, standing up fully. You followed behind her, sparing one last look at Spencer, who was just looking at where you were standing. 

______________________________________________________________

“Uh, hi, sorry, could you point me toward Agent Hotchner’s Office.” 

The person whose shoulder you tapped turned around and gave you one of the most beautiful smiles you had ever seen. 

“Well hello, gorg–”

“Derek. Don’t be rude.” The woman next to Derek had elbowed him in the ribs, preventing more HR training for the both of them. “Hi. You must be Y/n. I’m Penelope, and that’s Derek, don’t mind him.” She looped her arm through yours and started to lead you towards the little staircase on the side of the room. 

“Hotch’s office is right up here.” 

“I–Thank you, Penelope.” You smiled at her. 

“I’ve read your file.” She whispered, smiling back at you. “I’m really excited to work with you because you are one impressive woman, let me tell you.” 

You blushed slightly, about to respond, but Penelope had knocked on Hotch’s door, causing a voice to tell you to “come in.” 

“Welcome to the team.” She pulled away, leaving you to enter Aaron Hotchner’s office for the first of many times. 

You opened the door and smiled at the man at the desk. “Hi, I’m–”

“Y/n Y/l/n, You have a very impressive resume. Please, take a seat.” He stood to shake your hand, gesturing to the chair before his desk. You quickly scanned the photos along the walls, the books on his shelves. 

“Everyone knows who I am before I know who they are.” You laughed slightly, taking the seat. 

“Yes, well, We’re all very excited to have you join us here.” 

The memory of your first day hit you like a wave when Aaron pulled your seat out for you back at the table outside. You stalled for only a second, but it was long enough for any of the various profilers at the table to notice something was off. 

You smiled through the speeches, and you laughed at the jokes and cried at the sweetness of your friends, but you were somewhere far away, dreaming about the moments that led you up to where you were. 

“And that is why I am glad to have you back because clearly, the universe respects you enough to let us all come together to celebrate the return of our Y/n.” You raised your glass and cheer with Rossi, standing up to hug him. 

“Now.” You smiled at all of the faces that looked up at you. “Let us eat cake!!” 

The table erupted and while Rossi cut slices for each of you, you sat back down, listening to what Garcia was telling you, but your eyes kept darting to the person directly across from you. 

You could feel his eyes any time they were on you, and you knew they were fleeting glances, but it was just too much. 

“Want to take a walk with me through the rose garden?” 

You nodded, standing up and accepting Derek’s arm, letting him lead you towards the garden, enjoying the fresh air and the sudden weight off of your shoulders. You couldn’t feel his gaze anymore but you knew he was still looking at you. 

“What’s next on your list of adventures.” Derek looked at you, watching the millions of emotions race across your face before settling on a smile and a shrug. 

“I’m not sure yet. You know about Georgetown, but I don’t know about D.C. anymore….”

Derek nodded and pulled out the chair at the small wire table. It sat under a trellis filled with gorgeously bloomed roses and baby’s breath. The smell was almost overwhelmingly fragrant. 

You gratefully took it and watched as he went and sat across from you. 

“You looked like you got a bit overwhelmed back there.” 

“What happened to not profiling me like I asked?” 

Derek chuckled, “It’s not profiling if it’s written on your sleeve.” 

You sighed and looked out at some of the flowers. “I don't…”

He let you work through it in your mind, just glad to keep you company while you figured your shit out. 

Eventually, you spoke up. “It’s weird.” 

Derek hummed in agreement. 

“I don’t know. Just. I felt like I was doing so well, and I was becoming my own person, figuring out who I was, and then I come back here, and suddenly I’m back to being that twenty-two-year-old kid who breezed her way through the academy. It’s like I did everything in my power to end up where I did, and then the universe told me I fucked up and should have done something else.” 

“I don’t think you fucked up in the slightest. Do you know how many people you saved?”

You went to brush off his comment, but Derek didn’t let you get a word in. 

“I know your entire world got completely fucked over, but you were meant to be in BAU. You were supposed to be there. I cannot think of my life without you, I know Garcia can’t, and I know Emily would tear you a new one if you even brought up to her the possibility that you being in her life was a mistake.” 

“Yeah, and now I’m thirty, with a doctorate and a cat, and no idea what to do with my life.” 

“But you also just spent the last two years seeing the world–how many countries did you go to…”

You pursued your lips, trying to count in your head. A blush spread across your face as you mumbled the number. 

“Sorry, wanna repeat that for me?” 

“At least fifty…” 

“That’s what I thought.” A very proud look crossed Derek's face, smiling at you. 

You looked down at your left hand, fiddling with your ring finger. No matter how hard Derek tried, no matter how much you enjoyed his company and the way he was keeping your ego healthily inflated, you couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you could have been married–you could have been happy. 

“He told me when he bought it.” 

Your eyes snapped to Derek’s, and he looked at you with such soft eyes. 

That was something you had always loved about Derek. No matter how much he cared for you, no matter how gently he was being, he never treated you like a piece of glass.

“He, uh, I was the only one he told.” 

You nodded, waiting for him to continue. 

“When did you find it?” 

“When I was moving my things out of the apartment.” 

“Damn…” 

“Yeah.” You laughed. It was colder than usual but still antagonistic at the whole situation. “I…um. I found it on the last day when I was cleaning out my bedside table. He knew I never went into the bottom drawer because I literally never kept anything in there, but I checked because, you know, I was asked to leave, and…there it was. It was just…It’s ironic, really, how perfect it was, too. They say that if a guy can’t get the ring right, then he’s not the one for you, but no one preps you on if it’s the perfect ring, perfect size, but you had just broken up two days before you found it…” 

Derek nodded, letting you ramble. 

“I feel like I’m being weighed down by a million different things, yet they’re all him.” 

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I have no fucking idea.” 

"Sometimes good things fall apart, so that better things can fall together." ~ Marilyn Monroe

Part 3

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Tags: @lilrios-world @gubzgirl @mynameisnotokay @hereforfun22-blog @yoursarahg @mega-kittyglitter-1 @onlyspence

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? )

Warnings: canon gore, canon violence, discussing parental death, coping with grief

Word Count: 4540

A/N: Happy Juneteenth, my lovebugs!

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 You were barely clinging to consciousness in the backseat as the brothers’ bickering acted as a bizarre lullaby. Sam insisted on going to visit his mother’s grave following his father’s death, but Dean was— as always— stubbornly skeptical. You were, as usual, just along for the ride. 

When you did finally arrive at the site of Mary’s grave, Dean refused to go within a fifty-yard radius of her headstone. When you asked him why, he refused to answer. 

“Wait, (Y/N/N), look,” he said, gesturing to a tree with a perfect circle of dead grass around a grave right next to it. 

“Huh,” you replied, stooping down to the dead flowers laid on the gravestone. “What’re your thoughts?”

“I don’t know, but I think I’m gonna talk to the groundskeeper and find out.” With that, he walked away from you and over to a man who was tending the graves. You headed over to Sam and noticed he was burying John’s dogtags in the spot next to his mother’s grave.

“That’s really sweet,” you told him, and he looked up at you with teary eyes. “Hey, I know this is a bad time, but I think we got something.”

He tilted his head in confusion.

“I know, I know, weird coincidence, but come look.” You showed him over to the circle of dead grass. 

He just furrowed his brows at it as Dean walked back up to you. “Angela Mason,” Dean explained. “She was a student at the local college; funeral was three days ago.”

The three of you began to walk back to the car. “And?” Sam questioned.

“And? You saw her grave,” you said. “You don’t think that’s a little weird?”

“Maybe the groundskeeper went a little agro with the pesticide,” the brunet shrugged.

Dean shook his head. “No, I asked him. No pesticide, no chemicals. Nobody can explain it.”

“Okay, so what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” his brother responded. “Unholy ground, maybe?”

“Un—” Sam stopped himself, speechless.

“What? If something evil happened there, it could easily poison the ground. Remember the- the farm outside of Cedar Rapids?” Dean continued. “Could be the sign of a demonic presence. Or the Angela girl's spirit, if it's powerful enough.”

Sam nodded and turned away. 

“Well, don't get too excited, you might pull something,” Dean deadpanned.

“It's just,” Sam began, “stumbling onto a hunt? Here, of all places?”

You shrugged. “So?”

“So—” Sam turned to his brother, “—are you sure this is about a hunt, and not about something else?”

Dean was immediately on the defensive. “What else would it be about?”

Sam sighed and went to duck into the Impala. “You know, just forget about it.”

“Sam, I have no connection to this whole thing, and I think it’s worth checking out,” you protested.

“Yeah, fine,” Sam grumbled, getting into the car.

***

You and the Winchesters went to speak to the deceased’s father next. The tension in the room had been high as the brothers subtly digged at one another; their feelings on the case began to seep through into their words while they talked to the professor. Something you found interesting was the man’s ancient Greek textbook, and the fact that he taught a course on ancient Greece. 

Dean and Sam were bickering as soon as you got back to their motel room.

“I'm telling you, there's something going on here. We just haven't found it yet.”

“Dean, so far you've got a patch of dead grass and nothing.”

“Well, something turned that grave into unholy ground.”

Sam scoffed. “There's no reason for it to be unholy ground. Angela Mason was a nice girl who died in a car crash. That's not exactly vengeful spirit material. You heard her father.”

“Yeah, well, maybe Daddy doesn't know everything there is to know about his little angel, huh?” Dean suggested.

“You know what? We never should have bothered that poor man. We shouldn't even be here anymore,” Sam argued.

“Boys, quit it!” you tried, but Dean talked right over you.

“So what, Sam? What, we just bail? Without even figuring out what's going on?”

Sam’s voice softened. “I think I know what's going on here. It's the only reason I went along with you this far.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean scoffed.

“This is about Mom's grave.”

Dean glared. “That's got nothing to do with it.”

“You wouldn't step within a hundred yards of it. Look, maybe you're imagining a hunt where there isn't one so you don't have to think about Mom. Or Dad,” Sam continued.

Dean turned to look at him, his face angry. 

“You wanna take a swing?” Sam sighed. “Go ahead, if it'll make you feel better.”

Dean shook his head and grabbed his keys and jacket. “I don't need this crap.”

“Dean, where are you going?” you asked, following him.

“I'm going to go get a drink. Alone.”

Your feelings were slightly hurt, but you understood. You allowed him his space and backed off immediately. 

***

Dean called you the next morning, waking you up at around six in the morning. “Dee?” you rasped, rubbing your eyes. “Why are you up this early?” You sat up, suddenly snapping to attention. “Don’t tell me you’re still out—”

“No, (Y/N/N), I’m not,” he responded. “I’ve been working my imaginary case.”

“Dean, I never said it was imaginary. I think you’re onto something here. Don’t get snippy with me just ‘cause you’re mad at Sam,” you scolded.

He sighed. “You’re right, I’m sorry. And… I’m sorry I shut you out.”

“I get it,” you replied softly. “You needed space. That’s okay.”

He chuckled. “Thanks, Dr. Phil, but seriously. Angela’s ex-boyfriend is dead. Meet me in the room with Sam. I’ll be there in five.”

And so, you obliged, meeting him outside their motel room. When you opened the door, Sam immediately turned off the television and awkwardly looked around. 

“Hey,” he said.

You entered cautiously, glancing between Sam and the television.

“What?” he asked you and his brother.

Dean grimaced. “Awkward.”

“Where in the hell were you?” Sam questioned pointedly. 

“Well, you were right. Didn’t find much.” Dean said, glaring a little at Sam. “Except Angela's boyfriend died last night. Slit his own throat. But, you know, that's normal. Uh, let's see, what else. Oh, he was seeing Angela everywhere before he died. But you know, I'm sure that's just me transferring my own feelings.”

“Okay, I get it. I'm sorry, maybe there is something going on here,” Sam sighed.

“Maybe?” you snickered.

“Sam, I know how to do my job, despite what you might think,” Dean deadpanned.

“Did you check out the dude’s apartment?” you asked Dean.

“Pile of dead plants, just like the cemetery. Hell, dead goldfish too.”

“Great, more unholy ground,” you noted.

“Maybe. I'm still not getting that powerful angry spirit vibe from Angela.” He leaned against the dresser and held up the pink book he had in his hand. “I have been reading this, though.”

You scoffed, smiling a little. “You stole the chick’s journal?”

“Yeah. And if anything, the girl's a little too nice.” 

Sam asked, “So what do you want to do?”

“Keep digging; talk to more of her friends.”

“You get any names?” the brunet asked.

Dean smirked. “Are you kidding me? I have her bestest friend in the whole wide world.” He wiggled the diary around. 

“Okay, well, who’d you find?” you questioned.

Dean leafed through the book. “This guy Neil shows up a lot. I think he’d be a good place to start.”

“Okay. Give me, like, ten minutes,” you replied. “I just woke up when you called me.”

Dean followed you out of his and his brother’s room and back to yours.

“What’s up?” you asked, noticing he was behind you. 

“Nothin’. Just wanted to hang out with you.”

You scoffed as you closed the door behind him. “I have to change, though.”

He smirked. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Perv.” You took your clothes and headed toward the bathroom.

“Whoa, where ya goin’?” he asked.

You turned back to him. “Dean, I just feel weird moving so fast after everything with your dad. You’re tired. I can see it. Of course, I want to be more than just friends, but I don’t think the timing is right.”

He scoffed and looked at the floor. "Don't do the same thing Sam's doing."

Your formerly understanding tone hardened. I'm not. Don't do that to me. I am the furthest thing from patronizing you right now. And it's not all about you, dude. This isn't exactly ideal conditions for a relationship. And if you're gonna get mean every time we disagree, then this is not for me."

Dean's jaw tightened, and he went to say something. However, he seemed to realize that was a bad idea. Eventually, he admitted, “I know you’re right.”

You walked back over to him and pulled his face up to look at you. “Hey, I don’t mean ‘never.’ Just… not right now. You’re still my best friend, though. That will never change.”

He relaxed into your hand and closed his eyes, sadly saying, “Yeah. You, too.”

***

You felt slightly awkward around Dean after your conversation with him. You wanted him badly, and it killed every part of you to not let yourself be close to him. However, you knew he needed time and space to recover from his father’s death.

You knew he was going to continue to struggle with that for the rest of his life just as you did with the deaths of your parents, but you also knew he would eventually find a way to cope. You just didn’t want to be more of a distraction to his healing process than hunting already was.

You could tell he was burying so much just below the surface, and it threatened to boil over at any moment. You wanted so badly to hold him and tell him everything would be okay, but you knew that would be an awful idea at that particular moment. 

You continued with the hunt as usual, though, and went to visit Angela’s best friend, Neil. He seemed a little awkward upon meeting him, but not just in the “I have trouble socializing” way. He was awkward in a way that unsettled you. What unsettled you even more was the dead plant on the table just behind him in the doorway of his home. Something interesting you’d learned from him, too, was that Angela’s boyfriend cheated on her just before her accident. 

You and the brothers walked away from Neil’s house, tossing around potential theories.

Dean began, “Well, that vengeful spirit theory's starting to make a little more sense. I mean, hell hath no fury…”

“So, if Angela got her revenge on Matt, you think it’s over?” you asked him.

“Well, there's one way to be sure.”

You got in the car and noticed Sam was looking at his brother stunned. “Burn the bones? Are you high? Angela died last week!”

“So?” Dean argued.

“So, there's not gonna be bones. There's gonna be a ripe, rotting body in the coffin.” Sam’s nose twisted in disgust.

Dean smirked. “Since when are you afraid to get dirty? Huh?”

***

When you did exhume the coffin, you and the boys were shocked to find the coffin completely empty with strange Greek lettering etched on the inside of the coffin’s lid.

Dean insisted on going to Dr. Mason’s home to confront him then and there. He figured that he would be the only person with access to an ancient Greek ritual like the one you’d found etched in Angela’s coffin. Despite yours and Sam's protesting, Dean's unbelievable stubbornness prevailed.

The older Winchester pounded on the door, incredibly agitated.

“Dean, relax,” you stated firmly. 

He didn’t look at you or give a response.

Dr. Mason opened the door and forced a smile. “You're Angie's friends, right?”

Sam began to gently say, “Dr. Mason—” when his brother cut him off harshly.

“We need to talk.”

Dr. Mason seemed surprised. You glared at Dean, hoping he would be able to feel your aggravated warning. 

You could tell the poor man was a little startled, but he still invited you inside. Dean stepped over the threshold and immediately began unfolding a paper he’d copied the Greek characters from Angela’s coffin onto. “You teach Ancient Greek. Tell me—” Dean held out the paper, “what are these?”

“I don't understand. Does this have something to do with Angela?”

“It does. Please, just humor me.”

The old man was confused. “They're part of an ancient Greek divination ritual.”

Dean’s tone never softened. “Used for necromancy, right? See, before we came over here we stopped by the library and did a little homework ourselves. Apparently they used rituals like this one for communicating with the dead. Even bringing corpses back to life. Full-on zombie action.”

Dr. Mason chuckled uncomfortably. “Yes. I mean, according to the legends. Now, what's all this about?”

He didn’t seem guilty to you, but Dean kept pushing. “I think you know.”

“Dean—” you and Sam tried, but Dean continued on.

“Look, I get it. Okay?” he spat. “There are people that I would give anything to see again. But what gives you the right?”

“Dean!” Sam scolded.

“What are you talking about?” the man stuttered out, looking between you and the brothers.

“What's dead should stay dead!” Dean growled.

“What?!”

Sam jumped in front of Dean. “Stop it!”

“What you brought back isn't even your daughter anymore. These things are vicious, they're violent, they're so nasty they rot the ground around them. I mean, come on, haven't you seen Pet Sematary?” the older brother snarled.

“You’re insane,” Dr. Mason muttered.

“Where is she?!”

Dr. Mason rushed over to his phone. “Get out of my house.”

Dean continued his pursuit. “I know you're hiding her somewhere. Where is she?!” 

You rushed in front of Dean and grabbed his jacket. “Dean! Stop it, that’s enough! Look!” You jerked him around to face the window sill with a row of plants sitting on it.

Sam turned to Dr. Mason. “We’re leaving.”

The shell-shocked professor still held the phone to his ear. “I'm calling the police.”

Dean pulled away from you and stormed toward the door.

“Sir, we're sorry. We won't bother you again,” Sam said.

You followed Dean, footsteps heavy with anger. “What the hell is wrong with you, Dean?”

“Back off,” he told you.

“Dean, he didn’t do anything! He didn’t deserve that!” you protested.

Dean huffed. “Okay, so she's not here, maybe he's keeping her somewhere else.”

“Stop it! That's enough, okay? Enough!” Sam piled on.

“Sam, I know what I'm doing,” the older brother grumbled.

“No, you don't," you responded for Sam. "At all. Dean, I don't scare easy, but man, you're scaring the crap out of me.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Don't be overdramatic, (Y/N).”

“You're lucky this turned out to be a real case. Because if it wasn't you would have just found something else to kill. You’re on edge, you’re erratic, except for when you’re hunting, ‘cause that's when you’re downright scary,” Sam stated firmly. 

“You’re tailspinning. You refuse to talk to even me about it, and you barely let me help you; let alone Sam,” you jumped back in.

“I can take care of myself, thanks,” Dean chided.

“No, you can’t,” you challenged. “And you’re the only one who thinks you should have to. You can’t handle this alone; nobody can. I couldn’t!”

Dean went to cut you off, saying, “(Y/N), if you bring my dad into this, I swear—”

“Dean, no. You’re scaring me." Your voice was still firm but had an empathetic undertone. "You’re killing yourself. I mean, I had to set boundaries with you earlier because I don’t want you to use me as a distraction. Whether you are intentionally or not, that would be what you’re doing.”

“(Y/N)—” he tried.

“No! Stop it. Quit burying your head in other shit to distract you. I’ve lost everything. I’ve lost my family. I’ve lost friends. And as much as it kills me, I’m driving a wedge between us because I don’t want to lose you. Please, Dean. Don’t make me lose you.”

Dean paused before murmuring, “We better get out of here before the cops come.”

You frowned at him.

“I hear you. Okay? I know, I'm being an ass. And I'm sorry,” he said earnestly. “But right now, we've got a fuckin’ zombie running around, and we need to figure out how to kill it.”

Sam laughed. “Our lives are weird, man.”

Dean’s tone lightened slightly. “You're telling me? Come on.”

***

Later that evening, Dean paced around his motel room while you and Sam sat at the table looking through John’s journal.

“We can't just waste it with a head shot?” Dean questioned.

“Dude. You've been watching way too many Romero flicks,” Sam quipped.

The older Winchester quirked a brow. “You're telling me there's no lore on how to smoke 'em.”

“No, he’s saying there’s too much,” you chimed in. “Every fuckin’ zombie legend has a different way to kill it.”

“Some say setting them on fire, uh, one said, where is it?” Sam paused, looking for the right page. “Right here. Feeding their hearts to wild dogs. That's my personal favorite. I mean, who knows what's real and what's myth?”

“Is there anything they all have in common?” Dean asked.

“No. But a few said silver might work,” you replied.

“Silver's a start,” he nodded.

“Yeah. But now, how are we going to find Angela?” Sam added.

“We've got to figure out the person who brought her back.”

“Any ideas?” you questioned. 

Dean considered for a moment. “I think if it's not her dad, it might be that guy Neil.”

“I agree. He had a dead plant on the table behind him in the doorway,” you chimed in.

Dean looked at you. “And you didn’t think to mention that till now?”

“Well, sorry, I’ve had more important stuff on my mind,” you replied sarcastically.

“And get this,” Dean said, picking up Angela’s pink journal. “ ‘Neil's a real shoulder to cry on, he so understands what I'm going through with Matt.’ There's more in here where that came from. It's got unrequited Duckie love written all over it.”

You giggled. “You’ve seen Pretty in Pink?”

Dean looked at you, opening and then shutting his mouth, unsure of how to respond. He went back to Neil. “Did I mention he's Professor Mason's TA? Has access to all the same books.”

You looked at Sam, who seemed pensive.

***

Your next stop was the home of Neil. The house was dark and there were no cars in the driveway. Dean picked the lock on the door, and called up the stairs, “Hello? Neil? It's your grief counselors. We've come to hug.”

You burst out laughing at Dean’s remark, and he looked down at you, smirking. He pulled out his gun and cocked it.

“Silver bullets?” you asked.

“Yeah, enough to make her rattle like a change purse.”

You started walking through the house and led the brothers over to what seemed to lead down to the basement, noticing wilted plants all along the walls. 

Dean nodded at the door to the basement. “Unless it's where he keeps his porn…”

You gave him a look and pushed the door open. “Ladies first.”

He glared at you playfully, but went down the stairs first nonetheless.

“Sure looks like a zombie pen to me,” Dean said upon seeing the dank, dark room with a thin mattress on the floor in the corner.

“Yeah. An empty one. You think Angela's going after somebody?” Sam questioned.

You walked over to a loose grate on the wall and pulled it aside. “Nah, she’s probably goin’ after Dean looking for her diary.”

“Look, smartass, she might kill someone. We gotta find her, (Y/N),” Sam remarked.

“Yeah. Alright. She, uh, she clipped Matt because he was cheating, right?” Dean jumped in. “Well, it takes two to, y’know, have hardcore sex.”

You giggled, but felt your cheeks heat up and opted for looking at the floor. 

“I don't know, it just seemed that, uh, Angela's roommate was broken up over Matt's death. I mean, like, really broken up,” Dean continued.

You sucked in air through your teeth. “Yikes.”

***

When you entered Angela’s former home, you and the brothers heard two women struggling and screaming at each other. You jumped out from behind the wall leading to the kitchen and shot at Angela, landing them squarely in the middle of her back.

Angela’s corpse convulsed and turned to face you angrily. You shot at her again, and she stuttered before running out through the kitchen window. You immediately followed her, sprinting after her for quite a while before fatigue began to catch up to you.

Her white dress became smaller and smaller before you turned to run back to the house. You met Sam and Dean back at the house’s exterior. “Fuck, that dead bitch can run.”

Dean chuckled at you. “What now, Quicksilver?”

You deadpanned at him. “Let’s go talk to Neil. After I catch my fucking breath.” ***

The best possible solution you and the brothers could come up with for killing Angela was nailing her back into her coffin. However, that required you being able to get Angela back to the cemetery. Dean said he had a plan, but you were a little skeptical. 

Neil sat in his office in the dark, seeming nervous. “What are you guys doing here?”

“You know, I've heard of people doing some pretty desperate things to get laid, but you; you take the cake,” Dean scowled.

“Okay. Who are you guys?” Neil asked.

“You might want to ask Angela that question,” Dean replied.

You could tell he knew what Dean was talking about but was trying very hard not to let that on. “What?”

“We know what you did,” you said. “The ritual? Ringing any bells?”

Neil scoffed. “You're crazy.”

“Your girlfriend's past her expiration date, and we're crazy? When someone's gone, they should stay gone. You don't mess with that kind of stuff,” Dean responded.

“Angela killed Matt. She tried to kill Lindsey,” Sam added.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Dean stomped over to the other side of the desk and hauled Neil up by his collar. You mentally scolded yourself for finding that attractive. “Hey! No more crap, Neil. His blood is on your hands. Now. Me and him can make this right, but you've gotta tell us where she is. Tell us!” Dean demanded.

“My house,” he rushed out. “She’s at my house.”

As Dean let him go, you followed his line of sight to dead plants beside Neil on the windowsill. “You sure about that?”

Neil nodded and looked around nervously. You nodded your head toward the closet. Dean seemed to catch on to what you were saying and subtly gave you a look. He then raised his voice slightly. “Listen. It doesn't really matter where she is. There's only one way to stop her. We've got to perform another ritual over her grave, to reverse the one that you did. We're going to need some black root, some, some scar weed, some candles... It's very complicated, but it'll get the job done. She'll be dead again in a couple hours. I think you should come with us.” Dean stared him down. “I'm serious, Neil. Leave with us. Right now.”

Neil shook his head. “No, no!”

Dean leaned into Neil and quieted down again. “Listen to me. Get out of here as soon as you can. But most of all, be cool. No sudden movements. Don't make her mad.” He nodded to you and Sam. “Let’s go.”

***

You and the brothers set up candles around Angela’s open grave, and Sam asked, “You really think this is going to work?”

Dean huffed. “No, not really. But it was the only thing I could come up with.”

You heard a noise behind you and looked to Sam, who stood and pulled his gun toward the sound. He walked hesitantly toward the sound, and you followed his retreating form till you couldn’t see him anymore.

The next time something emerged from the trees, it was Angela’s pale body, which you shot at. She stumbled back all the way to her open grave, and the last shot sent her falling back into it. Dean ran toward the grave with the metal stake he was holding and slid the last few feet on his knees. He dove into the coffin, and you kept him from completely falling in by holding his jacket. 

“Wait, no!” Angela cried as Dean plunged the metal stake through her chest and pinned her into her coffin.

You pulled Dean back up, and he looked down into the grave. “What's dead should stay dead,” he said.

You looked at him sadly, knowing what he meant by that. “Dean—”

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

You sighed and set to work reburying Angela. The whole time you buried her, you were consumed by your own thoughts surrounding what you knew Dean meant when he stabbed Angela. Sam and Dean went back and forth as they usually did about the last battles of their hunts. The brothers then wiped the dirt off their hands and moved to the car. You stood up, too, and followed them. 

Dean sighed suddenly and paused. “Sam, wait in the car, will you?” he asked, throwing the keys to his brother.

Sam seemed confused but obliged anyway and walked away from you. Once Sam was out of eyesight, Dean turned back to you. 

“What’s goin’ on?” you asked.

He looked down at his shoes, unable to meet your gaze. “I'm sorry.”

You shook your head, surprised. “Uh, for what?”

“The way I've been acting,” he continued. “It’s just… it's my fault that he's gone.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dean’s head hung low as he spoke. “I know Sam’s been thinking it; so have I. And maybe you, too. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Back at the hospital, I made a full recovery. It was a miracle. And five minutes later, my dad's dead, and the Colt's gone.”

You stepped toward him. “Dean—”

He looked up at you, tears in his eyes that he was trying desperately to keep at bay. “You can't tell me there's not a connection there. I don't know how the demon was involved. I don't know how the whole thing went down, exactly. But Dad's dead because of me. And that much I do know.”

“We don’t know that. Not for sure,” you protested, although you were pretty sure. You just didn’t want to affirm that for Dean and send him even further into a tailspin.

“(Y/N)—” his voice broke as he began to cry. “You, Sam, Dad... you're the most important people in my life. And now— I never should've come back, (Y/N/N). It wasn't natural. And now look what's come of it. I was dead. And I should have stayed dead.” He sniffed and tried to gain his composure. “You wanted to know how I was feeling. Well, that's it.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. You looked up at his glassy eyes, your heart breaking.

��So tell me, what could you possibly say to make that all right?”

You bit the inside of your cheek thoughtfully and did the only thing you could think to do at the time. You wrapped your arms around his torso and pulled his head down to your shoulder. He tensed at first but eventually relaxed into you. Quiet, choked breaths wracked him, and tears began to soak your shirt. You stroked the hair at the nape of his neck and stood with him for a long while.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

You Already Know, Babe

Request: Heyy would I be able to pretty please ask for a Roy one-shot based of So High School? Mainly the lyric: "Truth, Dare, Spin Bottles. You know how to ball, I know Aristotle" (bc I have TTPD brainrot) Like I'd love to picture Roy with a total academic girl who loves classic literature and ancient greece and philosophy pls ???

Roy Kent x Reader

3.3k words

Warnings: Language, Roy being insecure, the guys making Roy feel bad (not on purpose)

A/N: Ahhh I also have TTPD brainrot so I loooooove this! I made the reader a uni professor. Also been wanting to do a Bantr fic for Roy for a while, so I incorporated that in too!

Roy scowled and sipped his beer. “Fuck no.”

Leaning forward in the booth they sat in, Keeley gave him her best puppy-dog eyes, the ones that stopped working the moment he got over her. “Come on, Roy. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it’d be good for you.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Jamie chimed in.

“‘Fuck no’ used to be a complete sentence,” Roy growled.

Before he could stop the striker, Jamie grabbed Roy’s mobile off the table, holding it just out of the gaffer’s reach. “Just… one… moment…” he huffed as Keeley did her best to hold Roy back. “Alright, we need a username.”

Roy rolled his eyes but stopped fighting against Keeley’s grip. “How about ‘This is fucking stupid’?”

“I think that’s against their policy,” Jamie hummed, eyes still on the phone.

Keeley thought for a moment. “RoyallySarcastic? Y’know, ROYally?”

Jamie’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I got it!” He typed away before proudly showing the screen to Roy and Keeley. “RoyalPain,” he announced.

With a giggle, Keeley took the phone from Jamie and handed to Roy, who looked ready to kill his friends. “There we are Roy-o,” she said. “Welcome to Bantr.”

~

~

Roy sat at the small table, fidgeting with the shiny fork on the table and staring intently at the condensation on the glass of water in front of him. Why the fuck was he so nervous? He was Roy fucking Kent, he reminded himself sternly. He’d been on plenty of dates. Sure, this was his first Bantr date, but that shouldn’t really matter. He’d been on a couple of blind dates in the past; this shouldn’t be much different.

But it sure felt different when you walked in, all wide eyes and nervous smiles. You approached him hesitantly, cocking your head as you got closer. Your gaze flickered to the tattered copy of A Wrinkle in Time on the table next to him before settling on his face.

“RoyalPain?” you squeaked out, raising your eyebrows expectantly.

Before he could stop himself, he grinned and blurted out, “I Kant believe it’s you.” Immediately, he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nope, fuck, that was stupid. I’m sor-”

Your laughter eased his embarrassment as you sat across from him. “Don’t you dare apologize,” you countered. “That was cute.” You offered your name with a small smile.

“Roy,” he said simply, searching your face for any sign that you recognized him.

Instead, you nodded and leaned forward. “And what do you do, Roy?”

What did he do? He tried to remember the last time someone asked him that. “I work for a football team,” he said slowly. “A.F.C. Richmond.”

You nodded, interest all over your pretty face. “And what do you do at Richmond?”

He blinked a few times and cleared his throat. “Do you… you don’t know who I am?” Fuck, he felt like an absolute asshole saying the words out loud.

“Sure I do,” you chuckled. “I just figured that Roy Kent doesn’t often get the chance to introduce himself. Thought I’d give you the opportunity.”

Roy couldn’t help but smile. Yeah, it was kind of dorky, but fuck, he liked it. Just like he liked hearing about your job as a uni professor, or the article you recently wrote about Arthurian legend, or the book you’d read recently. And he really liked the way you looked at him like he was the most fascinating thing in the world, more interesting than the well-renowned experts and authors you got to spend time with, asking him about his work and his life and his opinions. He smiled all through dinner, laughing at jokes even when they went over his head and making a mental list of books he now wanted to read.

He was still grinning as he walked you to your car after dinner, wondering when he’d last enjoyed himself so much on a date. As you fished your keys out of your purse, he found himself desperately hoping for another date with you. And another. And another.

“Could we do this again sometime?” he asked gently once your keys were in your hand.

Fuck, he loved the way your eyes lit up at his question. “Absolutely,” you breathed.

With a dizzy little nod, Roy cupped your face and tugged you close, ghosting his lips over yours. You gently laid your hands on his hips to press against him, deepening the kiss. You swore you could feel him smiling against your mouth as his thumb stroked your cheek. Some little part of you wanted to pull this man into your car, into your apartment, into your bed. But from the happy little hum that vibrated from his chest to yours, you knew you had plenty of dates ahead of you, plenty of time for all that, plenty of Roy Kent ahead of you.

~

After three weeks of dates and laughter and late-night phone calls and kisses that escalated to other things, Roy invited you to a match. He seemed weirdly nervous for a retired football legend whose dating history could fill any of the giant books that filled the shelves in your office, but you found his nerves nothing short of charming. So, you threw on some comfy jeans and a sweatshirt and climbed into Roy’s giant black car to go with him to Nelson Road, where he showed you his office before giving you your ticket and sending you off to your seat with a chaste kiss.

Roy was fighting the stupidest smile as he prepared for the match, the same stupid smile he’d been fighting since your first date. He was excited for you to see him and the Greyhounds in action, to be able to show off for you a little and, he didn’t fucking know, make you proud or some shit.

“Was that your girlfriend, Roy?” Sam raised his eyebrows as he and Jan stood in the doorway.

He cleared his throat. “No,” he said slowly. “But we’ve been dating for a few weeks.” He paused for a moment, hoping he didn’t look too dopey as he spoke. “She’s a professor. Fucking brilliant. Like, she teaches, and she’s been published and speaks at conferences.”

Jan spoke up. “Most men would not be able to handle dating a woman so much more educated than they are. Good for you, Coach. It’s nice that you are not intimidated by her clearly superior intellect.”

A knot appeared in Roy’s stomach, but he simply cleared his throat and gave a curt nod. “Yeah, well.” He blinked, not sure what the fuck he was supposed to say to that. “Best finish getting ready, hmm?”

Jan’s words continued to flutter around Roy’s mind like an annoying butterfly as he made his way out to the pitch. He liked that you were smart. Hell, he liked that you were smarter than him. He could listen to you talk for hours about literature and history and philosophy, especially when your eyes lit up and your voice got faster, the way he noticed it did when you were especially passionate about something. It was impressive, not to mention sexy as all hell. But there had definitely been moments over the last few weeks where he had to Google what you were talking about while you weren’t looking, or where he laughed at a joke he didn’t really understand. It came with the territory, he told himself. It was to be expected, dating someone like you.

And there you were, sitting in the seat Roy had selected for you, the one that gave you the perfect view of the dugout- per your request. You waved excitedly when you caught Roy’s eye, wearing that giant smile that made his heart skip a beat. He offered back a small wave, knowing full well that all the guys could see his furious blush.

“That your girl?” Colin asked, following Roy’s dreamy gaze.

Roy shrugged, turning his attention back to his team. “Uh, I guess?” he mumbled, taking the clipboard Nate handed him.

Sam spoke up. “Roy said she’s a uni professor.”

Respect covered the faces of the men that were clearly more interested in Roy’s love life than their impending match. They all started chattering over each other, ignoring Roy’s eyerolls and Beard and Nate’s amused expressions.

Richard waggled his eyebrows. “Does she offer special office hours for you, Coach?”

Roy wrinkled his nose at the Frenchman. “What the fuck is that supposed to-”

“Did you have to buy a new dictionary to keep up with her?” Zoreaux teased.

Isaac spoke up, clapping a hand on Roy’s shoulder. “Most guys would probably run for the hills if they had to keep up with a woman’s brainpower,” he started. “But Roy’s not intimidated. I mean, sure, we all know he’s no Einstein, but he’s got other great qualities. Like…”

Roy raised a cool eyebrow at the captain, more curious than offended at this point.

“Coaching,” Colin finally finished for Isaac. “He’s a great manager.”

Jamie pipped up now. “And she seems to really like looking at you, Grandad.” He nodded to the stands where, sure enough, you were still gazing at Roy, affection all over your face. “She’s cute,” he mused.

Roy cleared his throat, trying to focus attention to the match at hand and not your pretty smiles. Or the words of his players that had etched a deep frown onto his bearded face. “Alright, Greyhounds!” he hollered. “Let’s fucking focus, lads! We’ve got a fucking match to win!”

~

And they did win, much to Roy’s pleasure. Winning always felt good, but he had to admit that winning in front of a pretty girl felt fucking great. And it was even better when he found you waiting in his office, gazing at him as if you had hearts in your eyes.

“That was brilliant!” you gushed, wrapping your arms around his middle while his rested on your shoulders and tugged you close. You pressed a tiny kiss to his lips. “Thank you so much for inviting me, Roy.”

He smiled down at you and pecked your nose. “Think you’ll come again sometime?” he teased.

Your eager nodding melted his heart. “Absolutely,” you promised. “Maybe next time I’ll even wear a kit. Since I think I’m officially a Richmond fan now.”

“That kit better have a six on it,” Roy growled, smacking another kiss to your cheek. He gave you a small squeeze before releasing you. He reached down to grab your hand. “I’ve got to go talk to the press for a bit, he explained, leading you over to his desk. “D’you mind waiting here? We can grab dinner once I’m done,” he promised. “Here, you can even watch the presser on my computer.”

“Sounds perfect.” You touched his cheek and pulled him close for one more kiss. “Now get going, I want to see you be brilliant in front of all those reporters.”

Roy was still blushing when he got in front of the cameras. The press conference was a blur of questions and comments. He’d probably have to apologize to Keeley later, because he was sure he was dreamy and distracted the entire time. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so lovesick over a woman, and he especially couldn’t remember the last time he enjoyed it so much.

When he returned to his office, he was surprised to see Jamie sitting on the edge of his desk, chatting pleasantly with you. You both lit up at the sight of him, with Jamie choosing to speak first as Roy offered a small grin to you.

“Your girl was just telling me about this seminar she’s speaking at next weekend,” he announced. “Some talk on the Lord of the Rings books and their impact on modern cinema.” He nodded to you. “It actually sounds really cool.” He slid off the desk with ease, offering you a wink. “Not sure what someone as smart as you is doing with Grandad here,” he joked.

He was kidding around. Roy knew that. Jamie loved to tease everyone, especially him. He was well-aware of the way Jamie admired him, as his childhood hero, as his coach, and, fuck it, fine, as his friend. Maybe it was all the joking from earlier, but Roy felt his face fall at Jamie’s teasing. He couldn’t help it; it was one thing for the guys to joke to his face, another to make a comment in front of you. He wouldn’t admit it even to himself, but some part of him was terrified you’d realize how brilliant you were, and how dull he was, and call the whole thing off.

Roy was so busy stewing in his childish embarrassment, he missed the way your eyebrows scrunched at Jamie, your mouth in a straight line. When you spoke, your voice was flat, maybe even a little angry, as you responded to the striker.

“I think,” you said slowly, “I’m going to dinner with him.” With that, you took Roy’s hand, hoping the adoration in your eyes would be enough to wipe that frown off his handsome features. “Ready, Roy?”

Roy nodded, but barely said a word as the two of you walked through the Dog Track, got into his car, and drove to the restaurant he’d been excitedly telling you about the day before. However, that excitement was nowhere to be seen as the two of you settled in and ordered some dinner. You cocked your head at him, wondering how someone who’d just coached such a great game could look so sullen- especially while on a date with someone he was supposed to really like.

“That match was incredible,” you offered, leaning forward with a smile. “Seriously, Roy. How do you do that? Being able to see the game unfold and know what plays to call, what players to have on the pitch. And all the preparation you have to do in advance. It’s like a really intense game of chess, with all those moving pieces, not knowing what the other side is going to do next.” You reached out and laid your hand on top of his. “Your team is so lucky to have you.”

His gaze avoided yours as he cleared his throat. “Dunno how much of it is me,” he chuckled hollowly. “I inherited a great team and have a really talented coaching staff.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I feel like I just… stand there and take up space.”

Now it was your turn to frown. This wasn’t the Roy Kent you met, the Roy Kent that teased you and smirked and made cocky comments just to make you laugh. Something had happened, something between the beginning of the match and the end, to make him so morose. Maybe something had happened in the match that you’d missed; you weren’t much of a sports fan before meeting Roy, you really only knew the basics, so it was possible what you thought was an incredible match was really something of a failure for him.

Maybe distracting him would help.

“I was telling Jamie Tartt about the conference I’m speaking at,” you tried again. “It’s this fantasy and pop culture thing. Kind of dorky,” you admitted. “But I’m really excited about my talk on Tolkien and his influence on modern cinema. My colleague was saying he really liked this one parallel I drew between Frodo and- well, I don’t want to spoil it.” You squeezed his hand. “You should come. I’ve seen you at work, now I want to show you what I do.” You shrugged. “Could even bring Jamie if you want.”

Roy nodded absently, not quite looking you in the eye. “Yeah, just make sure to get me a translator so I can understand what you’re saying.” His voice sounded like he was attempting to make a joke, but it fell flat. “Academics to neanderthal or some shit.”

That was enough of that, you decided. With a sigh, you leaned back, cocking your head at the gaffer and shooting him your sternest glare, the one you saved for students who didn’t know how to act like adults in your classroom. “Alright, Roy. What’s going on? You’re acting like you don’t want to be here, and, frankly, I don’t want to hang out with someone who doesn’t value my time.”

“I…” Roy let out a low growl and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re smart,” he finally blurted out. “Like, really, really fucking smart. You teach, and you’re published, and you speak in front of academic types who hang onto every word you say.” He released his nose and shook his head at you, embarrassment swimming in those brown eyes. “And I… played football. I coach football. That’s fucking it. I can’t stand the idea of you being embarrassed by the fact that I can’t keep up with you. That you’re going to turn around and realize I’m not smart enough for you.”

Your stomach twisted in knots as you took in the sight of him, looking devastated, like he was waiting for you to tell him he was right, he was a neanderthal, and that you didn’t think he was smart enough for you. If it wasn’t so sad, the picture of Roy looking so forlorn would be almost endearing.

“That,” you finally murmured, “might be the stupidest thing you’ve said since we met, Roy.” He nodded, a grimace covering his face as you went on. “Not smart enough for me?” you scoffed. “Roy, I think you’re brilliant.” You sighed and shook your head. “I mean, look at you today. I could never do what you do, managing an entire football team. And I’ve seen clips of you when you played, you were brilliant then too. Not just a skilled player, but a smart one. And from what you’ve said, you have great relationships with your players, with your niece and sister, hell even with your ex-girlfriend. That takes an emotional intelligence most people don’t have.”

“I mean-”

You shushed the gruff man. “’m not finished. And what’s this about you not being able to keep up with me? You read almost as much as I do, Roy. When you don’t know something, you immediately learn everything you can about it. You absolutely tore through ‘Le Morte d'Arthur’ after our first date so you could ask me about my King Arthur article.” A smile finally broke through your face. “So, unless this is some roundabout way of trying to say you don’t want to see me anymore, please stop insulting the man I’m dating and accept that there’s different kinds of intelligence. And I like your intelligence quite a bit.”

For a moment, you thought you may have completely overwhelmed Roy. He blinked at you with an unreadable expression before letting out a breathy chuckle. With raised eyebrows and something that looked close to a smile, he finally opened his mouth.

“I’ve just… never had such an intelligent girlfriend before,” he said slowly. “I’ve dated smart women. Driven women. But no one like you. It’s… a little scary, how brilliant you are.” That something close to a smile became a real grin as he intertwined his fingers with yours. “And really fucking sexy,” he added quickly.

Your heart skipped a beat with every word out of his mouth. “You’ve never had a nerdy girlfriend before, hmm?” you teased.

His expression was bashful, but absolutely pleased. “No,” he chuckled. “I haven’t.”

A smirk crossed your face as you batted your eyes at him. “Do you want a nerdy girlfriend?”

Those brown eyes were so soft, so full of affection as he nodded gently. “Yeah,” he breathed, raising those thick eyebrows at you. “I really fucking do.”

“That,” you hummed with a silly grin, “might be the smartest thing you’ve said all day, Roy.”

[proverbs31princesse]

A while ago, a cute girl came up to me in the cafeteria and complimented my outfit. We were chatting and I asked what she wants to be once she gets her degree and she said cheerfully, “a housewife!” I was really impressed by her bravery and honesty but I lost her Snapchat 🥲

I find it hard to identify as a traditional woman in my real life because I know people will label me as stupid, woman-hating, think I don’t believe I can make it in another career, etc.

I was taking an interesting course about women’s lives in Ancient Greece and Rome. Women weren’t treated well then (neither were some groups of men, tbh). Discussion revolved around gender being merely a construct, claiming there’s no real biological difference between men and women or basis for having different roles. I’m ashamed of not sharing my views because I felt my feminist professor would give me bad grades.

From now on, I’m going to try to be true to myself 💗

Maybe simply doing that will inspire others

Maybe I’ll get to the point where I don’t care about defending/explaining myself and I’m cheeky like, “yeah, I love dolling up and getting a matcha with my hubby’s card and baking cookies for him! He thinks for me so I don’t have to!” Lolol

[11queensupreme11]

About the humans, how misoginistic would they be since they are from ancient periods (especially Adam) ? If Percy was raped by one of the gods, what would the humans do (especially Adam) ?

so for this question, it all stems down on not only what they believed back when they were alive, but how willing they were to change their beliefs after their deaths as times went on and stuff became more progressive

adam was the first ever human and since he got booted outta valhalla along with eve, he never got influenced by the gods' misogyny THANK GOD plus he's just too good to ever think of such a thing especially since his own wife was nearly sexually assaulted by that snake bitch. ALSO, since he was the first ever human, the concept of misogyny (at least for humans) didn't exist for him. misogyny only ever became a thing when more and more humans started popping out

unfortunately, all of the human fighters came from a time where misogyny was extremely rampant and in some cases (depending on countries maybe) before women even had voting rights 💀 the youngest is simo hayha (1905-2002) 💀💀💀💀

confucianism was already a thing before qin shi huang's reign, but thankfully he hated it so much that he had confucian scholars buried alive and their books burned LMAO (he was known as a tyrant just like a certain daddy we know) but it definitely wasn't because of how misogynist confucianism was. i'm trying to google some more stuff about him rn, but all i could find rn is that women still had shitty lives under his rule, and he had no wife, just concubines. not much info on how he treated women, but then again, in ror we know he loved and respected his mother figure, chun yan. but just because he treated one woman right doesn't mean he's like that with all women unfortunately, but lets hope chun yan can keep him under control 💀💀

then there's also leonidas. i can't find any excepts of him being particularly cruel towards women or saying anything crass, but he's from ancient fucking greece 💀💀

i don't have time to search up more about the others, but i feel like tesla's probably decent. he was alive between 1856-1943 which was also a very bad time for women, but i found stuff about how he has praised some women for their intelligence (though sometimes it could come off as patronizing but again, 1856-1943). for arsenic blues, i'm planning on writing him off as a very progressive and caring more about intelligence rather than gender. so he definitely won't be sexist.

SO ANYWAY, realistically, more than half of these people were probably sexist to various degrees in real life 💀💀 but i most likely won't write all of them like that in arsenic blues. the more ancient characters would probably be pretty bull-headed in their sexist views, but i'll just have them be more patronizing (especially since percy's not just a girl, but a CHILD in their eyes), rather than full-on spitting vitriol at her for her gender.

(they're basically picking favorites, like ppl in real life would do 💀 "yeah [insert marginalized group] are kinda inferior, but not you though, you're different!" 💀💀💀💀)

also, as for your question, ALL of them would be pissed. yes, even the sexist ones. percy is someone close to them, a child they all care about. so ofc they'd be pissed, and it doesn't help that they already HATE the gods for all the shit they've put humanity through over the millions of years 💀💀

[aoaaaoth-if]

Adventures of Aphrodite: an Affair of the Heart™

You are Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, the bad bitch every instagram girlie aspires to be, the flawless independent queen who don't need no filters. 

You are the ultimate trophy wife, but who do you truly belong to?

Play as a very attractive lady, because who wants to be ugli in the year of our lord 2023, amiright?

Experience firsthand what it means to be pretty, have your godtier looks be praised, your moisturized skin be acknowledged. Not like any other IF will ever offer you this. 

Customize your character to hell and back, be as detailed and precise as you wish, truly PANTONE® Colour Chart's the limit. Obviously none of it will be mentioned in the game, but what else is new.

Live, laugh, love your best hoe life... or die trying. Gotta shoehorn those skill checks somehow.

Immerse yourself in the world of Ancient Greece that has the historical accuracy of a 5 minute wikipage read, because research is hard.

-----------------THE PLOT:

Idk, who cares about plot it's all about the romance options anyway.

-----------------THE ROS:

(The image depicts ugliman)

The god of blacksmiths, metalworking, carpente- frankly, who cares. The important bit is that he's your husband. Your pesky husband. And he ain't even hot. How's a girl to hoe in such conditions? 

Well perhaps it's time to reevaluate your life choices and settle for a hardworking trustworthy man instead of chasing bdsm fantasies with shady men like you're the protagonist of a bad erotica book. Pursuing red flags is cute, but you're no longer 18. Learn to make good decisions with this wholesome man who'll treat you right, lord knows some of you need it.

(The image depicts angriman)

Being married is all nice and well, but is your marriage even real if you don't cheat? And who's a better candidate for a lover than the god of war and courage himself. The pinacle of brutality, the alpha man of your dreams, the undisputed 'TOP G'.

His violent outbursts may be concerning and his crippling jealousy slightly questionable but is that really going to deter you from pursuing this hunk? After all, if those aren't signs of true love then what are?

Put your rose-tinted glasses and 'i can fix him' badge on, it's time to go digging for the mushy center of this bad boi.

(The image depicts uwuman)

Hooking up with gods is all well and good, but the never ending drama of the Olympus gods gets old fast. Sometimes a palette cleanser is needed, but you won't settle for just any unwashed peasant. Even your magnanimous generosity has limits.

Fortunately for you, one individual stands out among the rest: Adonis.

Commit to this otherwise unremarkable specimen and prove to the world you haven't lost the common touch. Includes obligatory Poly with Persephone, because sharing is caring. 

The token woman RO, She's a woman, what more do you need to know? 

____________________________ DEMO: TBA (but like, let's be real, it never will.. has following 23092 nodemo blogs taught you nothing?) Pls like, reblog, follow and send asks, every Friday there will be a new RO reveal!

[aliciavance4228]

Finally Made a List With Modern Interpretations of the Greek Gods Which I Personally Dislike

Zeus is an incompetent asshole uncapable of rulling who took Hades' rightful position as the King of the Gods by cheating during the Division of the Cosmos;

Poseidon is just a cool funny chill uncle who likes swimming and probably smokes weed;

Hades is an emo feminist woobie who only wants to love his pastel goth wife and his beloved dog Spot;

Hera is only a victim of Zeus and every bad thing that she does is 100% because of him;

The polar opposite where Hera is a complete monster and a psychotic bitch who only cares about cursing and killing the women her poor innocent husband has slept with and his bastards;

Demeter is a Helicopter Parent/Overbearing Mother who still used to treat her daughter like a child before Hades kidnapped her and is completely horrible for standing against their pure and innocent love.

Hestia is a hypocrite lesbian (you know what I'm talking about);

Hestia who?

Athena is a shy, socially awkard nerd;

Athena is a feminist who only wanted to protect Medusa and hates love (and men);

Athena is a pick-me girl who never helped nor supported any woman during her entire eternity;

Hephaestus is an Incel who deserved to be cheated on;

Ares is the protector of women who is unfairly hated by the other gods, never raped nor abused any woman during his entire life and wants to overthrow his father for being a patriarchal figure;

Aphrodite is a brainless slut who only cares about herself, and the only way to redempt herself is being together with Hephaestus again;

Apollo is a piece of shit who thinks that he's better than anyone else and ruined Patrochilles FOREVAAAH!!!

Apollo is a bicon and femboy who never raped, murdered or cursed anyone.

Artemis is a lesbian misandrisst feminist icon;

Hermes is just the comic relief;

Dionysus is a dirty drunk old man;

Dionysus is an LGBTQ+ feminist icon ready to kill the bigots; (Yeah right, the LGBTQ+ Community of Ancient Greece...)

Persephone is an innocent flower girl who still looks and acts like a child and had no idea what sex is until she had her sexual awakening in the Underworld;

Persephone is a bad bitch, she's more dreadful and merciless than Hades, hates flowers or being a goddess of nature and 100% wanted to be kidnapped/willingly went with Hades;

Feel free to add anything else.

[milkywaydrabbles]

Flufftober 35 with Alucard? Maybe a chubby reader, everyone likes a soft pillow :3

A/N: This was nice to write, I appreciate this type of ask ;A; I try to keep it neutral when describing reader normally (outside of the fact they're AFAB and fem!bodied) but I love reading/writing about a chubby girlie!! I hope you enjoy it!

"You're my new pillow" x Alucard

It didn’t take long for you and Alucard to become an item. He really couldn’t keep his eyes off of you for longer than two minutes whenever you were around (and that already was pushing it. Trevor would know, he actively counted so he can prove a point.) He tried to stay ‘mysterious’ and ‘alluring’ – but that was hard to do when all he wanted to do was talk to you about anything and everything that came to mind. Whatever would occupy you enough to not leave, to stay with him. It was embarrassing–Or so he would have thought if he wasn’t too enamored with looking at you and your soft figure. It was a breath of fresh air, he thinks, seeing your curves soft and round, fats of your hips squishing from the edges of your pants. He wonders if you realize you would be revered as a goddess in ancient Rome and Greece–he hopes you do. He’d even dare say that the goddesses don’t hold a candle to you, round face with cheeks that squish up when you smile at him so sweetly, chubby fingers that fiddle with the edge of your skirt when you’re picking dirt off it after dragging too close to the muck. His hands itched to simply hoist you up himself so you didn’t have to walk around the mud. Whatever to make your life easier.

Trevor and Sypha were starting to feel bad for him–it was so obvious that he had fallen so deeply in love with you over the last few weeks and yet wouldn’t do anything about it (something about being a gentleman, whatever.) So without his knowledge, Sypha started having ‘girl time’ with you, trying to push you into asking him, even if just out to dinner. Literally anything to get you alone with him. You were terrified really, but decided to take the jump and ask Alucard out on a date, just a simple dinner at your place–you promised you cooked well (and you made well on that promise! He thought it was delicious!)

Alucard asked for your hand in courtship that night.

And here you both are, however many years later in the castle you’ve come to know as your home, cuddling on the love seat in the study that you begged him to bring in, you wanted to press yourself up close to him as he read (of course the big sap did exactly that). And Alucard still looked at you with the same adoration as he did the first time he laid eyes on you–with hearts in his eyes, hands squeezing the chub of your hips and roaming your soft belly–he wouldn’t have you any other way. He decided he wanted to get more comfortable after feeling your soft and warm skin–

“Adrian, what are you doing?” You couldn’t help but giggle, hands moving away from your lap to give the grown man more space (his legs were hanging off the loveseat) before running your chubby fingers through his blonde curls. The dhampir simply smiled, fangs poking out the sides of his mouth as he closed his eyes. “You’re more comfortable than the seat–so I’ve decided you’re my new pillow.” You laughed again, rolling your eyes playfully at your loving husband. There were days that you couldn’t look at yourself, wishing you’d be able to lose the extra fluff that you had–thinking that Alucard deserved someone more...fit. Skinnier. Prettier. But he always made such an effort so that you’d understand he’d never leave you for anyone else, that he loved you so much for who you are, and that the extra fat was just more for him to love. He reminded you every day in different ways of that. And you figured that right now, might be one of those ways. You did love seeing him so comfortable in your lap... “Hmm..” You hummed, looking over to the crackling fire in the hearth scratching at his scalp. “You seem a bit too long for my lap, dear.” He cracked an eye to look at you, knowing you were already poking fun. And he loved the apples of your cheeks rounding up on your face with your smile.

“But I’d rather be nowhere else, my love.”

[curtwilde]

Henry vs Julian

I have been thinking about this a lot. While Henry clearly admires and models his scholar self on Julian, their essential difference is in how they perceive the Ancient Greeks.

Julian's interest in the Ancient Greeks is true interest, he admires their high and exalted values. For him, the Greeks were the highest point of human civilization, and the closer he comes to his own time the more his disdain increases - the Roman Catholic Church he holds in contempt but it's still a 'worthy enemy' not as bad as the Presbyterian Church. It isn't mentioned but he must hold modernism and it's philosophy with disdain - modernist moral vacousness being a direct contradiction of the idealist values loyalty, honor, chastity etc. that were so exalted by the Greeks. Which is why he is always cherry picks, sees only what he wants to see, and invents what he can't - both for himself (his ambiguous involvement with the Isrami government) or for his students (encouraging Richard to lie about his life in California). Since he can't time travel back to Greece himself, he must try to live that life as much as he can and believe himself a character in a Greek play. But it comes, not from a place of wanting to escape his current reality, but true admiration of the ancient Greek way of seeing and doing things.

Henry is a true modernist. The monologue about feeling dead is central to his understanding his character:

Maybe it stems from his near death experience but he sees the world as inherently meaningless, God is dead and heaven and hell have been revealed to be man-made constructs, there is no punishment for evil and since there is no moral line. I think he subconsciously realised all of this before coming to Hampden, but to truly accept it would have been soul-crushing. So he tries to escape it by immersing himself in the Greeks, I imagine the absolutist values, vague representational ideas pertaining to each god might have interested him but really, it could have been anything else, the Medieval Age or the Victorians, anything. He just needed something to be obsessed with, to give meaning to his existence which he subconsciously knew to be meaningless. So is his adoration of Julian, he admired and wanted Julian's ability to almost half-live in another time when, in his view, things mattered more (we have divinity in our midst). It also explains the Bacchanal which is otherwise so out of character for him. The appeal was to escape the soul crushing knowledge of meaninglessness - even if for a while. To worship and call on Dinosiyus with the blind belief of the Ancient Greeks, a kind of belief that simply cannot exist anymore in the postmodern, post-Neitzche world. His harebrained plans also came from the same impulse, including the poison plan, and the one way ticket to Argentina.

I suspect that what subconsciously drove him to murder bunny, aside from the obvious fear of getting caught - is the same thing that drove Mersault to murder the Arab - it's the old existentialist question, if good and bad are relative and there is no punishment for evil, how far can one go? Bunny's murder was Henry's existentialist experiment with himself. And, I think in a way it confirmed for him what he already knew, they escaped unscathed and he didn't feel any of the fear or remorse he expected to feel. While it did give him the momentary sense of power, the feeling that he could now do whatever he wanted if he can be clever enough to not get caught, since he won't be punished for it otherwise. While it gave him enough courage to go get the girl he always wanted - it did confirm for him the inherent meaninglessness of the world. Also, conversely, Camilla could have been another experiment - something must matter, was it love? Camilla was the only girl he knew and he was fond of her - he may not even have thought of her romantically before considering he never cared to act on it in all the time he had known her. But either way, Julian's abandonment broke him.

Coming back to Julian, Julian's abandonment omakes perfect sense to me - he was disgusted by the modernist moral vacousness in his students. He himself was a moral man, but his morals operated on his own standards. He based it on the Greek sense of Honour, not the more modern sense of Justice. His basic instinct was the preservation of his own purity - he couldn't possibly keep on as their teacher. But also, to turn them in would be against his sense of honour - he must have very little respect for the police and law enforcement as institutions being the kind of person he is. Not to mention it would mean his having to be in frequent contact with the police and court. From his point of view atleast, leaving is the only thing he could have done, really.

For Henry however, he sees that his obsession with the Greeks as well as his admiration for Julian as the sham that it really was, is disillusioned with the world, shattered. Except for his fondness for Camilla he didn't really have anyone he loved, he saw his friends as pawns, wasn't close to his family, didn't have any goals in life with everything in his reach with his father's money - the only person he had really loved was Julian, and there he was betrayed. His obsession with the ancient Greeks was also thus tainted with Julian's betrayal - since it wasn't true interest at all, only a disguised attempt at escapism - it wavered and fell apart, and he didn't have a reason to live anymore.

.

Side note : Richard falls between the two. Like Julian, he had a real interest in the ancient Greeks, but he didn't put them on a pedestal like Julian did. He realised that like his own time, and like all other times in history the Greek civilization too had its own good and bad aspects, and he wanted to learn about it for its own sake. But he doesn't make it his life, or use it to escape his own reality - outside of his classes he was very much rooted in his own time.

[charlesoberonn]

Idea: Time travel episodic adventure, but in a fantasy world.

Basically Chrono Trigger meets Doctor Who.

Protagonists:

History student from the “present day” steampunk era

Knight girl from the medieval era, aka typical fantasy setting

Legendary hunter from the ancient era, resembling ancient Greece/Egypt/Rome/Mesopotamia

The Chronomancer, the old wizard who sends them on missions throughout history.

They live in a weird sanctum outside of normal time. They help fight aberrations in history, rogue time travelers, and an evil organization trying to bring about the end of the world.

Episode ideas:

Bad guys mutate a Hydra so its heads never stop splitting and growing, creating an alternate timeline where the Hydra covers the entire world

In the dawn of time when gods, spirits, and mortals walked freely, something is killing all the gods ahead of schedule

Knight girl’s dad is implicated in the assassination of a king as a young man before he met her mother. The other two must clear his name and make sure their friend gets to be born.

In land inspired by Feudal Japan, somebody introduced future technology several centuries early and it’s upsetting a delicate political balance

The sanctum has been corrupted, trapping everyone in a time loop. The only way out is through cracks into random points in history. Hopefully there’s something helpful there.

[red-moon-at-night]

Not me getting all sad and sappy last night about Paris' life as a shepherd, as a slave, pre-discovery of his royal family and him being a prince of Troy, pre-judgement, et cetera et cetera. Especially how much more meaningful it is that Paris plays the lyre, owns a lyre, prior to all of these events.

I have done a little cursory research trying to find out more about the likelihood of slaves in ancient greece having any musical education, and apart from the girls who would play the aulos at symposia, I really haven't found much at all. So I'm going to make an educated guess and assume that someone in Paris' position as a shepherd/cattle herder isn't going to be formally educated nor given the resources to learn an instrument. Therefore him owning a lyre has to come out of his own volition, his own desire for music.

There's something to be said about Paris as a pleasure-seeking character, in contrast to the numerous extracts of Plato or Aristotle discussing the dangers of music being driven by pleasure and pleasure only.

"But later, an unmusical anarchy was led by poets who had natural talent, but were ignorant of the laws of music ... Through foolishness they deceived themselves into thinking that there was no right or wrong way in music, that it was to be judged good or bad by the pleasure it gave. By their works and their theories they infected the masses with the presumption to think themselves adequate judges." — Plato, Laws 700-701a. cited in Wellesz, p. 395.

This passage is talking specifically about the issue of 'new music' during Plato's time, but this sentiment of 'incorrect' forms of music certainly feels relevant to the matter of a slave informally playing an instrument for their own enjoyment.

So much of Paris' character comes back to this idea of his authenticity to himself in the face of societal expectations. His lack of masculinity, breaking xenia, and now doing activities that a slave really ought not to do.

And yet he plays his lyre anyway. For himself, for his own pleasure. At this point in his life, with no knowledge that his world will be turned on his head, that the rest of his life won't be working on agricultural land as a slave — he has his lyre, and that will be enough.

I don't know, the whole thing makes me feel a little emotional.

[genericpuff]

Tbh Sicily and Italy in general are actually mentioned quite a lot in Greek texts, including mythological ones, and that's because South Italy was FULL of Greek colonies. To the point the Romans even called it Magna Graecia, that is "Big Greece". There are literally modern productions of Greek plays still held in the ruins of Greek theatres there to this day in memory of that heritage.

And while Ancient World colonialism doesn't always correspond exactly to later examples, if RS had actually developed her idea of having P and H bond over being originally from Sicily and P being ashamed of it, she could have easily found a way to use that to her advantage. P was supposed to be the naive country bumpkin coming to the big city and coming into her own there, anyway. Why not combine the two things?

She could have used the existence of different dialects of Ancient Greek to add a panel of Minthe and Tethys laughing abt P's accent and calling her no better than a barbarian (a "barbarian" was originally someone who clearly showed they were foreign bc they didn't speak Greek fluently) behind her back, high school mean girls style. Or toxic suitor Apollo mansplaining Greek traditions to her which she keeps trying to tell him she's already familiar with. Or heck, H showing an interest in P's life in Sicily and P thinking he's gonna make some rude assumption or lame joke but instead he just geeks out like "you ever met Archimedes of Syracuse? I heard abt that thing with the lever and I love it"... timeline's fucked enough for it anyway, and it would have been better than the pity part we got. Also RS seems to want a lil nerdy charm for H sometimes when she draws him with glasses, and what's nerdier than geeking out over famous mathematicians.

But obv, RS being RS, we only got said pity party and people making "mamma mia" jokes in response. Oh, and this post I remember reading somewhere were people were whining that Sicily shouldn't be mentioned in media abt Ancient Greece bc the poor, poor Americans only know it bc of Mafia so it makes the tone too confusing. Bc that's totally an ok thing to say. Also Americans should never be forced to check Wikipedia ig

Oh absolutely, I don't doubt that Rachel made Persephone Sicilian in an attempt to reference this, it's just really, REALLY funny out of context. Her being Sicilian really has no bearing on her character writing, it seems more like it's just an oddly specific thing thrown in about her and Hades so that they can have something to bond over (because they barely have anything else). Like that one time she anxiously twisted a napkin and Hades remembered back to the one time in the comic we saw HIM twist a napkin and he was like "omg she's just like meeee!"

Her being Sicilian wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing if there was actual effort put into writing her as a Sicilian woman. But there isn't so it comes across as really random (and ripe for meme'ing on, even from people who are Sicilian themselves).