#because my brain is wired funny

[arc-ada]

I hate that anytime I feel really exited/motivated I also get kind of anxious. Like it doesn't matter that energy is positive, the energy is high and that's all it takes.

[blueskittlesart]

i am not autistic but i do believe in their beliefs

[abbysciutosnumberonefan]

whoever decided that my school is starting on a friday i will find you.

[arolesbianism]

I don't play limbus company but I have been informed of the Don news and am now rotating her violently in my brain despite only knowing second hand information about her. Depending on how her story plays out I might have to read limbus story stuff because just the concepts behind her character is making me go rabid why must she be so good she's banana blond

[swallowtail-ageha]

In 2024 for some reason every time i have to go through physically demeaning trips (interrail, greece, now the route) my period comes which has made me master the art of cleaning blood stained underwear without leaving any traces in under 2 minutes

[afniel]

AH I REMEMBERED WHAT I WAS GONNA SAY EARLIER but it's kind of stupid, lmao.

So my partner is getting into brewing beer and I got them a Tilt, which is a Bluetooth hydrometer. It measures specific gravity and temperature, which are things you want to know so that you don't kill your yeast or whatever. Except the sensor's Bluetooth range is super short, and it basically runs via a phone app, and the temperature we're logging currently is the crawlspace, accessible via the staircase closet. So they were like, wait, what do we do about this, because I can't leave my phone in the closet, that's my alarm clock.

In a kind of ridiculous turn of life imitating art, I was like, hold up, I got just the thing right at my desk. Bam. Old phone. We just needed to scrounge up a charger because the battery is so dead that after charging just enough to power on it claimed it was at 53% (to be fair to it, there is a very real chance that it's correct, and it just holds no charge at this point so the capacity is just THAT low) and now it lives in the closet logging sensor data.

And I was like, you know...didn't I just solve a major story detail with a much larger version of this...yeah, no, this is all vaguely familiar somehow, power supply issues and all. Kind of cool that the concept works though. Kind of weird that it came up at all?

We are not gonna talk about the fact that I still have at least two more ancient-ass phones in a drawer where that came from because look, man, sometimes you just need a camera/mic/mini computer with Bluetooth and wifi that fits in a pocket, and people just get rid of these things, but not me. I actually could build a shitty security system out of them if I was reaaaally inclined. I mean. I'm not. But it's technically possible.

For real though, If I pick up any stupid maker projects I still high-key am thinking about slapping Bluetooth into a necomimi headset and running that through an Arduino and learning to code just enough to let me skip songs/change the volume on Spotify with my brain, because it's entirely doable, and I mean yeah I could do that on my phone remotely too, but that's not funny, now, is it. I'm just not sure it's $350+ of parts funny. Kind of a big investment just to prove the point that haha look I am the extremely ADHD type of lazy where I would rather solve a problem via the most convoluted and complicated Rube-Goldberg type ass machine way possible rather than just perform a single simple action.

YEAH I'VE BEEN THIS SCATTERED ALL DAY AND I REALLY SHOULD GO TO BED SHOULDN'T I. I started playing Satisfactory. Mistakes were made. I'm going to dream about conveyor belts again and I did it to myself...

[gibbearish]

like theres not a lot of games im REALLY good at so when there are ones i latch on super hard. and boy have i latched on to this one

[gregmarriage]

literally the biggest mood of all time, ms williams

[moongreenlight]

“Realistic Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley headcanons” and then it’s just the fun police.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

- It makes me want to scoop my fucking brain out with a spoon when people say that Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is some shy, anxious soft boy. I really do not believe he’d need to be coddled after a nightmare or babied when he’s feeling angsty. He is fine, y’all. Please don’t call paw patrol.

He is a soldier. He’s a war criminal. He is traumatized to the point of numbness. He is fucked up and weird and insane and honestly I think that we should all let everybody have their thing.

I cannot fix him. I do not want to fix him. I can only make him worse.

- Sorry but I just cannot write him having any kind of romantic feelings toward Soap. I like writing their dynamic more brotherly.

Furthest they’ve gone is ‘locker room gay.’

Like Johnny sends him dick pics on occasion because he thinks it’s funny and it pisses Ghost off.

That being said, I do read the occasional Ghoap fic. I’m not a perfect person. Sometimes it’s just yummy delicious.

- Feel like he’s the kind of freak to intentionally go to the gym without headphones. Something about discipline. Opting to just stare at the wall in front of him while he’s doing cardio or counting repetitions of exercises.

But on the rare occasion that he does indulge himself, he has a playlist of like 5-6 songs he likes and when it ends he just goes back to silence. Divorced dad rock. Chorded headphones only.

- Doesn’t have the debilitating commitment issues as people paint him out to have. Just commitment-phobic. Obviously stems from his past. He’s got that sexy deep rooted fear of abandonment or something horrible happening to people he actually lets close to him. But he’s not completely turned off by the idea of romantic attachments or close friends, just a little hesitant to open himself up to that kind of opportunity.

Probably very cagey about romantic partners. Doesn’t want the guys to know about you. Doesn’t keep pictures of you around his bunk or anything like that. He’s worried it’ll somehow compromise your safety. Worried about you getting swept up in his work.

- Women’s rights? Or Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley? I really do think he’d love to have a partner who lets him provide *everything* for them. He just wants to serve and protect. Wants his bird to be in a gilded cage all nice and safe and reliant on him for survival.

Doesn’t even really like the idea of you going to the grocery store by yourself. Would prefer if you just stayed put and tended his home and cooked him meals and let him dote on you and provide everything you could ever need.

- Has a really strange understanding of technology. He’s fine with the newer military stuff. That’s his element. He can do electrical wiring, set up a TV, install security cameras. That’s all whatever. But a cell phone? He doesn’t give a shit enough to keep up with the new updates and all the new things you have to learn when you get a smartphone. Wishes he would have kept a flip phone.

Texts like this: [OK. See youtonight.]

MAYBE has a private Facebook with no profile picture where the only things on his wall are Price wishing him a happy birthday every year.

His camera roll is like; 97 accidental screenshots of his Lock Screen, a few pictures of him and the task force boys, the inside of his pocket (another accident), a sunrise, a few cool things he found on missions, 34 pictures of Soap and Gaz when they took his phone.

- Insufferable in the early stages of trying to date him. Little to no communication other than basically demanding you meet him somewhere. Texting or talking on the phone? Like pulling fucking teeth. You think he’d rather be dead.

It was a headache getting him to go out in the first place. Maybe you worked at a bar where the guys would come to have a drink after a long day. He’s a little stand-offish but he’s handsome and he knows how to banter well enough for you to be persuaded by a coworker to slip him your number after you complained one too many times about a shit hookup or yet another terrible first date. It takes him nearly two weeks to phone you.

“Didn’t think you’d call.”

“Didn’t think I would either.”

He takes you out once, you think he seems sort-of interested, then he doesn’t phone or text you back for three days. You get over it. A few more dates in. You can tell he’s a bit more relaxed. A bit more open. You’re less worried that you’re a terrible conversationalist. Then he goes on a month long deployment without saying anything in advance. Radio fucking silent yet again. You want to tear your hair out. When he finally gets back, he’ll text you something like [Atthat pub you like. Drinks ?] completely out of the blue. You think you may actually go insane.

- Once he’s gotten used to you, it’s like the sole purpose of his life is to be your protector even if you’ve only recently convinced yourself he may want something casual. You’re small and grab-able. He knows how nasty people can be and what think when they see you. He needs to know that you’re taken care of, kept safe from such a scary world.

So he’ll just linger around you. All the time. Standing behind you when you’re at the till at the store, staring down the cashier who was only trying to be friendly when they asked if you had any fun plans for the rest of the day. Big arms folded over his chest. Looming so largely he threatens to eclipse you without taking a single step forward. Eyes burning a hole into the poor person who hastily finishes the transaction without another word.

Walking silently next to you in the evenings after you’re both off work; close enough to brush shoulders, but that’s about it. Listening to you chirp on about your day. Occasionally offering a small grunt of acknowledgement or a few words of interjection. Always walks on the side of the path that he thinks could pose you the most immediate danger. Shielding you from what may lurk in a darkened alley or a hedge or a small thicket of trees.

Scary dog privilege, but like… for when you go to fill your car up with gas in broad daylight in a good part of town and he insists on standing out there with you. ‘Just in case’ If he even lets you out of the car in the first place.

- AND OFF THAT POINT. I think once he’s decided that he’s actually fond of you, it goes from zero to a hundred so fast it makes your head spin.

Like the last time you spoke, it was still unclear on if you were keeping things casual or not and now you’re at dinner and the waiter just asked him if the two of you wanted dessert and Simon just grunts “dunno. Ask the missus.” ??? He sucks so bad I NEED him.

- As much as I love an overly possessive and jealous Simon, I saw this tweet that said “My girlfriend can wear what she wants because she’s a hoe and I knew that before we started dating” and it changed my life.

He’s secure enough not to need to cause a scene if someone makes a pass on you in public. He understands that you’re attractive and that other people are bound to find you attractive too. (Not that he doesn’t still want to pull their fingernails out one by one, threatening them and everything they love for daring to exist near you. He’s just got better control over himself than that. King.)

He knows he’s better than any of your other options. Nobody else could keep you as safe as he could. They don’t know the world like he does. They don’t know how breakable you are. How sweet and naive you can be.

Not to say he isn’t overly jealous and possessive, he just won’t pitch a fit in public.

LIKE dragging him to the bar with your friends and he sits at the table with all of your drinks. Him watching you dancing out of the corner of his eye, seeing some prat come up and grab your ass in passing. Or a group of guys dancing with your friends getting a little *too* close to you for his liking. He doesn’t do anything while the two of you are out- not wanting to ruin your fun. But that night after you’ve gotten back to his flat (He insisted. Closer to the bar. Uber was cheaper.) and he’s tearing your miniskirt off like it’s personally offended him. He’ll be a little rougher. A little more liberal with the marks his mouth leaves on your collarbones and inner thighs. His strong hands will grab at the fat of your hips a little harder than he should- leaving bruises where his fingers dug in. He’ll lean over you while you’re split open with his length, snarling down at you. “Had everyone’s attention tonight, didn’t you, pet?“ “You like havin’ eyes on you?” “Greedy fuckin’ slag.” “Can’t appreciate what you have.” “Need a reminder of who you’ve got to impress.” Maybe he’ll take you in front of a mirror, massive hand fixed on your jaw. Jerking your face up so you have to look at yourself being ruined by him. How pretty and slutty you look when your makeup is ruined by the tears he’s fucking out of you.

- He calls you ‘bird’ or ‘pet’ more often than anything else. A little on the nose for how he treats you. Like you’re some small, frail thing that can’t go a day without him. Stripped of your natural survival instincts and instead leaning on him for support and comfort and food and shelter. Just how he likes it.

GOD he’s a fucking freak. Gross and mean and fucked in the head. Makes my stomach hurt. I hate him. I wish I was schizophrenic so I could vividly hallucinate him.

[luveline]

Hi lovely!

Can you please do one where Hotch and Reader are in a fight and it gets heated and he maybe raises his hand just because he’s shouting and she flinches?

He would be prepared to FIGHT whoever made his honey feel that way 🗣️🗣️

💘

for you my sweetheart. fem, 1k

cw implied past domestic violence 

“It was right,” you're saying, on the defensive, your voice molten, “it was the thing to do!” 

“It wasn't.” Hotch closes the door. “It wasn't the right thing to do, it wasn't even close.” 

You realise, under everything, that he's right, but you couldn't help yourself, you had to try and save the day, had to swerve the SUV. Plus, he's done it himself, and you both know that. “If Monikie got out of that exit we never would've seen her again.” 

“There were roadblocks on the I–46, and I don't think I have to tell you that you could've gotten a lot of people seriously hurt–” 

“You've done worse,” you deny.

His expression, broadly furious, narrows into something sharper, “And that is my decision to make, but you report to me.” 

“You can't seriously want to act like a boss now,” you say. 

The room isn't overly large, and so you stand close to one another with no need for shouting, but your voices begin to overlap. Hotch is so angry. It isn't like him to yell at you, his voice strained. 

“You can't truly think that the decision you made today was the right one. You need to calm down, and you need to listen to me when I tell you that this was the wrong move. We'll talk about it more tomorrow.” 

“You're shrugging me off?” You could laugh. “You can't be serious. Every member of this team has done the same, or worse–” 

“But they're not you!” His voice peeks, his hand jolting out in front of his chest, flat-palmed in incredulity. 

You're really quite close to each other. 

It's not his fault. 

You step back, desperate to be away from the movement, the hand, because it doesn't register as his hand, only there's a chair behind you and a table behind that and you bump into the plastic with a creak and screech. You're righting yourself as quickly as you're tripping but Hotch is already moving away. Three steps that feel like a gorge. 

Your heartbeat soars. 

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly. 

“Of course.” You breathe out funny. It's not his fault, but there's something wired in your brain now, and it knows that the first strike isn't the last. Your hand shakes as you brush at an itch under your eyes. 

“I'm not mad,” he says. 

“You sounded pretty mad."

“I've changed my mind.” He gives you a long hard look, and then he moves to the office door to open it before returning to his initial position. He's given you an exit route. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he says. 

You put your hands on your hips and bend at the waist, breathing out hard. “Fuck, I know that."

“You thought I might.” 

“So profile me,” you say, panicking still, face hot and itchy all over. “Tell me why.” 

“Someone's hit you before. Enough to anticipate the second blow.” 

“But you knew that already, didn't you?” 

Your ears get cloudy like there's water in them and you can't stand the feeling of Hotch's gaze on the back of your head. You force yourself into a standing position and try to ignore what happened. 

“You're unfairly angry with me,” you say. 

Hotch just shakes his head at you. 

“It's… It's not a big deal,” you say, quieter. He already knew because of course he did, every member of the team gets checked. You have records, and he's in a position of power unlike most, he could've read them like the morning paper. 

“Why would you say that?” 

“I can still do my job.” 

“I wasn't going to suggest you couldn't.” 

Then why… why is he looking at you like that? You're humiliated enough, and his gaze is so… so soft. So sorry. Tears gather warm behind your eyes and your chest aches like you've been holding your breath. You frown, eyebrows lifting at the starts, not knowing if you should beg him to forget the whole thing or finally give in. 

“Come here,” he says gently. Completely optional, his fingertips twitching but stationery at his side. 

You stare resolutely at your shoes. 

“I'm sorry I scared you, it wasn't my intention. I can imagine how it feels. I'm not mad, honey,” he says. His voice drops to a murmur, “Come here,” he pleads. 

You take a clumsy handful of steps and he meets you in the middle, arms going carefully over your shoulders. You'd feel condescended by it if it weren't shockingly nice to be considered in such a way, or if the solid mass of his arms around you didn't soothe. You feel protected rather than boxed in, held, and not restrained. 

His hand slides open down the length of your back.

“I'm sorry I scared you,” he repeats, for your ears alone. 

“It's not like it was really you that scared me.” 

The memory scared you. The flinch was instinctive, less to do with Hotch and more to do with the connection between a moving hand and stinging pain. 

He hangs his head by your ear until his nose touches your shoulder, and for a few seconds, it's just you and him together, no fighting, and no fast-approaching hands. 

“You didn't scare me,” you mumble, hiding your face in his shoulder instead, forcing him to stand tall. 

Incoming footsteps cut your embrace short, but he doesn't pull away too swiftly. His hands grave the lengths of your arms, and he gives you a long, loaded look. Before you can calibrate the action to the man, he's chucking you under the chin, a stroke of his index knuckle, a promise of more to say. 

He catches Morgan before he can enter the room and directs him back out. “Take a minute,” he advises you. 

You sit in a chair and do as he's offered. Memory is a tricky thing. 

[noircheols]

🪓୨୧ — THE MONSTER AND ME . . . ♡

synopsis. scenarios of seventeen and their monster!s/o

genre. fluff, established relationship, horror (ish) prns. they/them cw. NOT PROOF-READ, gore (duh), death, being murdered (decapitation, fire), the ring movie reference, I PERCHANCE HAVE APPROPRIATED WITCHCRAFT IM SO SORRY TO ANY WHO PRACTICE, pet names (sweetheart), toxic relationships, cheating, allusions to suicide, GROSS!!!! in a sappy way

an. happy (belated) halloween!! I COULDNT COMPLETE THIS SMH CUS I HAD MEETINGS FOR A WHOLE WEEK

THE VAMPIRE. ⸺ seungcheol, mingyu, seokmin, seungkwan, chan

he thinks it's cute; your love of fashion. how every outfit you manage to coordinate is always so emblematic of your personality and the long life you have led.

"where's this one from?" he asks, gingerly twiddling the cool metal of the necklace dripping just below your chest. he could pretend all he wanted, but 400 years of living didn't fail you when it came to hearing the surge of blood pumping through his heart. and it certainly didn't help that he was slightly blushing. it makes you happy to know that even after three years of living together, you still had that impact on him.

"this one's from 1894!" you moved closer to him, wanting to feel his warm skin against your cold flesh. "long story short this random guy who stole from the nearby village came to my cabin to hide but i kinda-sorta-maybe decapitated him!!"

"that's nice sweetheart WAIT WHAT"

he also thinks it's cute how desperate you are for cuddles. he is more than aware that you love the sound of blood flowing and how much you love being pressed into him, because it meant you could hear it up close. he knows it has nothing to do with you viewing him as your next meal, but the reassurance that he was still alive. he was not gone yet, like all the others in your life. he knows you would never dare to go as far as graze your teeth against his skin. although... he wishes you would. what? he goes crazy for your teeth poking out every single time you smile. why else do you think he puts so much effort into being funny?

the most cute thing about you though? when you pout over pictures. what's the point of mirrors and phones if you can't see if you look good or not? if you can't record the most precious moments of your long life? how are you supposed to know if purple is your colour? but he simply laughs when he hears your complaints, kissing you deeply and telling you "you are everything i could ever have wished for."

THE GHOST. ⸺ jun, wonwoo, minghao, vernon

he knew something was wrong with his house the day he moved in. when the wires were still intact, the TV kept switching from his desired great british bake-off to the deluded brain-rotted show that was dance moms. what? can you blame a guy for wanting to see what they had in store for patisserie week? it only got worse from then on. he knew he had reached the boiling point when he had left for groceries, only for the magnets to be arranged ever so crudely.

TV

sorry, but he didn't have the budget to buy more magnets. in this economy too? whatever, maybe mindlessly scrolling through netflix would give him purpose. as he settled himself into his couch once more, he noticed another set of eyes. big, doe-like eyes, but haunting. his imagination, right?

another click, and he noticed an elbow tear through the screen, slightly distorting the actor's face. he wished he had the strength to get up from his seat, but something about you was pinning him there. you were like a predator staking out its prey, the way you focussed on him. but good lord you were hotter than anybody else alive. maybe everybody else unalive too. he knows now that he doesn't regret sitting there. legs began unravelling themselves as you slithered out the TV screen, crawling on all fours. you stood up as you unfurled your hand towards his chest, he braced himself, hands digging deep into the sofa. his eyes still remained trained on you. was it right to think you are attractive?

"chill out, i'm a ghost." you smoothly responded, trying to hide your smirk from the startled man sitting in front of you. "although... you don't seem too scared of me. what are you? are you also a ghost?" you mused, floating just enough to try and touch his hair. it looks so soft, you mused to yourself. when's the last time you played with somebody's hair again? he yelped a little, shutting his eyes for what was about to happen. to your disappointment, your hand went right through his head.

"so you're the one messing around with my TV- putting on all those trashy 2000s reality shows." he huffed, brushing himself off. weird. you put your hand threw his head but he doesn't feel anything.

"guilty as charged." you sighed, spinning around mid-air. you swirled around the man, fascinated by the newest tenant. "can you blame me for being nostalgic?" you explained how you had moved into this house with your then-boyfriend. things began to go sour and you never knew why. all you knew was that every single time he came home angry and slamming the door behind him, you knew it was time to turn on the TV and melt the world around you. soon enough you realized he was cheating on you, and when you confronted him about it, push came to shove. your last memories were the TV engulfed in flames, and you choking on smoke as the door quietly closed itself. "i used my ghost skills of manipulating electric currents for the first time by turning on the news and realizing that the police ruled my death as a suicide."

you have both developed a symbiotic relationship. he would let you watch your TV shows and re-introduce you to the joys of the mortal world, like reading books and making soup. he didn't banish you from your house, but looked after your every need (its shocking how many things ghosts need), and for the first time, loved.

as a ghost, you could touch whatever was important to you when you were alive. the TV, fruit tarts, and the magnets you would hang your to-do lists on. weirdly enough, you could touch your new roommate. "maybe i'm becoming super important to you." he teased. "would that make you feel weird?" you remarked, as you entwined your fingers among his. "no at all." he hummed, enjoying the way you traced the warm skin of his palm. peering up to look at him, you eagerly asked. "am i important to you, then?"

more than you could ever know.

THE WITCH. ⸺ jeonghan, joshua, soonyoung, jihoon

as a witch, the burning of incense and candles were familiar spells, intended to expel bad energy. but right now, you need more than to expel bad energy. you needed a guarantee from the universe that the life you lead now would be like this forever. being a witch was isolating, devoting time to a continuous cycle of researching and perfecting non-stop. like being a phd candidate, only minus the glory of being called "doctor." normally, witches have familiars, or "animal friends" as disney would like to call them that substitute the regular human's need for friends. but you didn't have one of those either. it was why it was such a blessing when he had entered your life by accident. all you remember is him asking for your number and the next thing you know you spent your days lounging in his studio apartment, with the coffee table scattered with copies of old esoteric spells from a bygone time.

as you heard the apartment entrance creak open, you knew your beloved was back. likewise, he knew you were doing well. the smell of cinnamon burning was comforting to him because it meant you were at your best condition and continuously experimenting with new spells. it was your way of saying "i've been thinking about you." that you spent hours concocting the best spells to guarantee your and his eternal happiness. it was an absured thought to him, for you to be slaving away when you already had what you wanted.

"i'm sure you don't need to worry, we're just fine without magic." he remarked, flopped onto the couch. he gazed into the kitchen, noticing you submerging a piece of paper in a bottle of water.

"have you ever thought that magic is what's keeping us together? and you're taking it for granted?"

"touche. but i still think-"

you could argue his spells were just as effective too, and that maybe he was a better witch than you could ever be. the way he brews your coffee just right in the morning, like an effective energy potion singing through you and keeping you awake. maybe that coffee also contains a love spell in it, because it makes you think about him non-stop. after all, the only reasonable explanation for the blooming feeling your chest had to be magic. "when will he come home?" "he's gonna be so excited when he figures out i made his favourite!" all those dumb, sappy, romantic thoughts plagued your mind. it's humiliating, but... maybe love is a force that not even the greatest of witches can control. wait- why did you catch him looking at your spells? did he take a peek at your notes?

@noircheols DO NOT RE-POST/COPY/TRANSLATE

[fortunelowtier]

Ok so for those who didn't see the news, recently 5 rich people went “””missing””” (they're totally fucking dead) in a “Titanic tourist submarine”, basically made as a way rich people can tour (what's left of) the Titanic's wreckage for a small fee of $250,000 per person.

Anyways, setting aside the horrific implications of dying in a submarine at  13,000 feet (~4km) below sea level, the more I learn about this entire situation the more I become morbidly...amused??

so for starters, the submarine was literally the submarine from Iron Lung. its a metal cylinder with one singular porthole at the front of the vessel that is bolted shut from the outside, and has no seats, its literally just a cylinder

the second thing you need to know is that this thing was wireless, as in it was being controlled from the surface and the people inside had no control, which is concerning in multiple ways because a ship this scuffed should have a safety cable leading to the “mothership” (basically if you've ever watched ocean documentaries and they always have that long cable attached to the sub, that's for in case the wireless control fucks up and they need it to be wired)

what makes this little fact so much more morbidly funny is that this thing was controlled using the remains of a Logitech Gamepad controller from ~2004/2005, a controller notorious for being one of the most clunky pieces of gaming equipment ever designed. so clunky in fact that few people even recognized it, originally mistaking it to be a combination of an Xbox 360 and a PS1 controller. estimated price of $30.

“but Fortune” I hear a very few of you asking, “it shouldn't matter what its controlled with, as long as the connection is good”

and to that my dear reader you would be correct! there are indeed submarines out there controlled with even simple joysticks, and using game controllers to control stuff like this isn't new (why do you think army recruiters prey on low GPA high school gamers to fly drones)

no you see the issue comes when you realize that what this sub was using to transmit controls. was fucking. STARLINK.

Yes, that's correct, Starlink, the service that can barely do its job on land was being used to transmit data through 2.5 miles (4km) of water, at a depth where anything that isn't highly pressurized is crushed instantly 

-----

And at the end of this, if some of you still feel bad for the rich people who spent a quarter of a million dollars to get bolted into a metal cylinder with no seats and a singular porthole that was being controlled by Elon Musk's barely functioning wireless service and one of the most notoriously clunky gaming controllers of all time that was probably bought from a thrift store, just know that it was most likely over quick. 

The likely thing that ended up happening was cabin depressurization, and at such a depth this means they were knocked unconscious by the rapid loss of pressure in the vessel almost instantly, and then shortly thereafter crushed by the weight of the ocean around them. 

Scientifically speaking, they were likely dead so fast that the brain likely couldn't even comprehend what was happening, the most they would've felt is a little pop in their ears for a fraction of a second.

[kitasuno]

( ᐢ..ᐢ )⋆.ೃ࿔*･ thank u guys for all the love on my writing recently <3 there is nothing i love more than reading ur comments and reblogs !! tysm !!!!!!

anonymous asks are now open too. i swear i had them on but i just figured out my inbox today!

i thought i would share some brain rot i still have from my last suna fic, to be loved is to be known:

in the fic, suna was so surprised when you mentioned that atsumu gave you the courage to confess to kita because… atsumu was his #1 wingman!!!!

he’s definitely not stupid, and also very aware of reading people (or maybe just reading you) but all his common sense flies out the window when u mention liking kita

but when u bring up atsumu… the little suna brain-cells in his head REVIVE. fucking EXPLODE and his cogs start to turn.. and he’s like… wait a minute….

i mentioned that suna smells like blackberries and i was specifically thinking about the blackberry and bay cologne from jo malone! here are the notes from the official website:

Childhood memories of blackberry picking...A burst of deep, tart blackberry juice, blending with the freshness of just-gathered bay and brambly woods. Vibrant and verdant

(it smells so good btw. trust. trust me. suna smells delicious. i swear)

suna doesn’t mind little spooning

mobile gaming degenerate. twitter degenerate. likes wearing slides out and oversized zip up hoodies, he finds regular hoodies kind of annoying

suna reminds me of the song, fukakoryoku by vaundy

still uses wired apple headphones 4 the aesthetic

yes the family mart that suna and you frequent is in the middle ground to ur houses… yes he likes famichiki… no he doesn’t like the sausages but you’re obsessed with them so he says he loves them

idk if u guys know but family mart on twitter has these giveaways where if you retweet their post you have the chance to win a coupon or a free snack/food. and they choose like 10,000 people for winners! so when family mart drops a chance to win free sausages… suna makes.. 100 twitter accounts… to join the giveaway…. (yes this means 100 emails) (yes he is crazy) (yes he is free)

and yes ur on his private twitter. and suna private tweets about YOU on his PRIV bcuz he’s a LITTLE SHIT. so when u check ur phone after he confesses to U and u had lied and said u liked kita he does the whole Going Dark thing on twitter. tweets shit like this and thinks it’s so funny:

thank u guys again for indulging in my writing<3

[jester-lover]

Dorm Leaders with a Girlfriend who wears Suits

Warnings: fluff, very flustered boys, insecurity (not from the reader), talks of gender roles/identity, whoever reads this is so cool, reader is so hot and confident (did I mention she’s so hot)

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle has grown up in a certain structure, men lead, women follow, women lead, sons follow

When he sees you, dressed to the nines, not a care for the stares of others; something in him snapped

Head over heels

Considering his rule following tendencies, he is immensely attracted to the rebellious flair of a woman in a suit

You tend to notice him staring at you whenever you wear your male uniform

You always wink at him, reminding him you can see him too

Strawberry Riddle

“Um- well I wasn’t staring! It’s just- you look really pretty…”

Leona Kingscholar

Yes.

PLEASE.

His familial structure is very matriarchal, so seeing you, a confident woman just hits something in his soul

Bro, if you wear the male uniform, he will (politely) ask you to model the Savannaclaw uniform

If you do he’s literally on one knee

Girlfriend? I think you mean WIFE

Also he’s a lil afraid of you considering your confidence, you have a lot of power over people

Trying so hard to be all suave and cool and still such a sucker for you it’s funny

“Woah. I didn’t think anyone could make it work better than me.”

Azul Ashengrotto

He definitely thought you were a competitor at first

Who else would have such smooth banter, such playful glances, than an enemy trying to hinder his business!!

You definitely ask him out because he’s so in his own head, when you do, it’s like the wires in his brain connect finally

Also has a staring problem, the way that you walk with complete confidence, absolute disregard for anyone who speaks ill of you; he dreams of being like that

You lovelovelove pulling him in by his tie for a kiss, because he definitely places his hands on your shoulders all startled

“That lipstick suits you… What?! You think it’ll suit me too?! Don’t just s-say things like that!”

Kalim Al-Asim

Wowie!

This is the best combo ever, smiley pretty boy and a woman with endless personality

He literally buys you anything you want, new suit? Down. Makeup perfectly matching a new suit? Amazing! New shoes with a new suit? Take his credit card!

Kalim literally wants you to have anything you could possibly desire, so

Will buy both of you matching suits for galas and other occasions, and if anyone has the GALL to look down in you for your clothes, he’ll just leave along with you.

The public disgrace that would happen to that person for insulting the s/o of a member of the affluent Al-Asim family would be TREMENDOUS

“You look absolutely radiant. We look so cool!”

Vil Shoenheit

Masculine Wife, Feminine Husband.

He is so down you don’t even get it.

You help him out of the car? It’s trending on magicam in seconds.

Put your coat on a puddle so he can walk past without damaging his shoes? The paparazzi is loving it.

He adores your dynamic, the confidence you have matched his, and it contrasts with the opposite fashion you wear

“Dearest, the rose pinned to your lapel is a perfect match for the color of my overcoat, we will look stunning!”

Idia Shroud

404 error

Idia saw you once and he literally froze on the spot, you walked around like you owned the school!

The crisp edges of your suit reminded him of the butler from one of his favorite anime, so he was immediately nervous to talk to you

When you start dating, he begins to wonder what cosplays you would look good in,

Spy, demon butler, vampire princess, the possibilities are endless with your androgynous fashion

This one time, you took off your blazer, so you just wore a button up and slacks, and you looked so domestic, so old Hollywood beautiful, he burst into red flames

“I can’t believe you settled for someone like me. WHAT-what??! Stop calling me handsome! You really mean it? Wow…I- “

Malleus Draconia

Malleus loves this so much

The sheer power you exude, walking into every room and demanding attention, feminine mixed with masculine creating beauty beyond mankind

He’s obviously obsessed

On your nightly walks, he notes how you choose to take off the blazer in preference of a cardigan, he loves looking at little changes in your wardrobe

Mal is an old being, he’s seen fashion evolve, but I love to think he enjoys 40s/50s era fashion, the way that you choose to portray that style, he loves even more

As you grow more comfortable around one another, more affectionate, malleus will enjoy fixing your tie and buttoning your vests, small acts of domesticity feel so meaningful

He is another who will buy you expensive clothes, his future queen deserves the best

“My love, your tie is crooked. Perhaps you simply wanted me to fix it hm? Such a sly move…”

Welcome back to J sucks at dialogue and cries over pretty women.

But honestly I wrote this bc I want to feel more confident, and I want you to feel more confident!!!! I see a good amount of insecure reader posts, which are very good and comforting! But I would love to see more confident reader inserts. Thanks for reading, women in suits are amazing, and goodbye.

[farfromstrange]

Just Let Me Love You | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (f!Reader heavily implied)

Summary: You're struggling with your body image and Matt notices

Warnings: Angst, TW: allusions to an ED, self-deprecating talk (Reader has internalized fatphobia toward herself), not proof red (I was too emotional for that)

Word Count: 2.1k

A/n: So, my body is changing and I hate it. As someone who was the Fat Funny Friend growing up, I got inspired by the song. Now I wasn't sure if to tag for a plus-sized reader because when I wrote this, I had myself in mind, and I'm not even sure what "category" I fall into, so this is pretty universal and I think any of you who are struggling with body dysmorphia might appreciate this. Heed the warnings before proceeding and don't forget to eat if you haven't already! (Also, I used my tag list to tag for this, but don't read it if this triggers you, please!)

Our brains are wired to function in a certain way. But not every brain is balanced in chemistry. 

For the longest time, she thought there was something seriously wrong with her. She never fit in anywhere, so she tried to make herself fit. Change her attitude, change her behavior, change her hobbies, and change the way she looks. She did it so many times, she lost count. 

She relied on humor, telling funny little anecdotes to make whatever friend group she was a part of at the time laugh at her. But that was all she could do. Make them laugh. She lit up the mood, lit up the room, but she seemingly never lit up anyone’s heart the way her friends did. 

They talked about their relationships, talked about their families and friends, and she played along. She listened. When she talked about her likes, they pretended to care, but within minutes, they lost interest. She thought it just wasn’t that important. Not as important as how beautiful they all were, anyway. And they were striking, she thought. That’s why everyone always chose them and never approached her. But she swallowed it to at least be a part of something. 

She always helped everyone but herself. She was there when no one else was, but even when she was a part of something, she never fully fit in. There was an impossible standard looming over her head, and she couldn’t possibly reach it. 

Don’t be too loud. Don’t be too silly. Don’t say no. Don’t talk about your problems, only listen to everyone else’s. Don’t believe that he wants you because he is too good for you, and all he wants is your best friend who is ten times prettier than you. And don’t believe that personality and humor will get you anywhere; you will end up miserably alone the same way people who look like you always will. 

The same voice, over and over again. Word turning into knives. It was exhausting to fight against the demons within her because they just sounded so damn convincing. 

When she met him, the man who stole her heart, she never thought he would ask her out. When he did, she was dumbfounded. In every possible situation, he found himself assuring her that he wouldn’t drop her for the pretty blonde in the office, or his psychotic ex-girlfriend who just happened to have the most beautiful body known to man. To her, at least. Everyone around him was just so beautiful, and he was even more so–he was the prettiest specimen in the world, and everyone desired him. Of course, she grew insecure. She couldn’t help it. It was a reflex.

She fell in love with a man who finally saw her for who she was and he loved her despite—no, he loved her regardless. For who she was. He took her, accepted her, and began seeing her as the most beautiful person in the world. For the first time, she felt appreciated, loved, and not so miserably alone. 

Yet, the fear continued to linger. The fear that one day, he would notice that perhaps, a woman of average looks wouldn’t be enough for him anymore. That she was, indeed, as unconventionally unattractive as everyone said she was from the first day she actually understood what was being said to her. She was just a child then. 

The funny friend. The awkward friend. The weird one. The girl without real friends. The girl with the silly clothes, the silly smile, the slightly crooked teeth, the belly pouch… The girl who lost weight, the girl who gained weight, and the girl who shouldn’t be so proud of herself because she had nothing to be proud of. 

“Sweetheart?” he asked her, yanking her out of the downward spiral that only continued to get worse over time. “Did you have anything to eat yet?”

He stood in the kitchen, the sleeves of his dress shirt bunched around his elbow. It was hot outside, too hot for her liking, and even his clothes were slightly stained with sweat. 

She looked up from the couch, still wrapped up in a blanket despite the high temperatures, a book resting on her thighs. He met her eyes with a smile. 

“I noticed your leftovers are still in the fridge. Could smell them,” he clarified. “I was just wondering whether that was on purpose or not.”

Worrying fit it better, she thought to herself. He always worried too much. 

She closed her book. “I might’ve forgotten,” she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

His eyebrows furrowed. “You forgot?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but it never reached his eyes. 

“Yeah. I probably got too caught up reading or something. It’s no big deal. I’ll eat later. Or drink another latte.”

He hummed. “You know, iced coffee is not considered a healthy diet. Your body needs fuel.”

“Jesus Christ, Matt,” she raised her voice, “I’m okay!”

“You don’t look okay,” he stated as a matter of fact. 

“And how would you know?”

“I just do.”

He approached, his muscles straining against his shirt. It wasn’t fair, how good he looked. How well he carried himself. And he still had the audacity to look at her and tell her she had much more going for herself than just her humor. That she was beautiful. Pretty enough. 

“Hey,” Matt lowered himself on the couch beside her, “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, huh?”

“I forgot to eat, I told you,” she said.

“I don’t believe you.”

“But it’s the truth.”

“Not if you did it on purpose.”

The book landed on the coffee table and she got up, pacing the small space of their shared apartment in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen. He could hear her heartbeat pounding against her ribcage, the pent-up tears, and the tension, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out. But he waited. He gave her the space she needed to collect her thoughts.

“I forgot,” she repeated. “At first. And then I just happened to pass by a mirror and…and I looked at myself. I mean, really looked at myself.”

“Oh–” He sighed. “Baby…”

“I’m smaller when my stomach is empty, you know. And I thought it wouldn’t hurt me to, uh…cut back a little?”

He was about to respond, but she cut him off. “I don’t mean that I’m starving myself. I just…I forgot to eat, and then, when I remembered, I remembered what I saw and I was just…I’m not hungry anymore. I…I don’t think it’s a big deal. I’m not doing it on purpose, I’m just…”

She stopped pacing. She met his unfocused hazel eyes that held so much pain when he looked at her. He reached out, not saying a word, and she extended her shaky fingers toward the lifeline he was throwing. 

“Oh, God,” she whispered. She realized then why he looked so hurt. “It’s getting bad again, isn’t it?”

The question hung in the room as he pulled her toward himself. 

She didn’t protest when he pulled her back onto the couch, his arms engulfing her and pulling her back against his sturdy chest.

“What makes you think that you need to hurt yourself to fit some unrealistic beauty standard?” he asked softly, his voice merely a breath tickling her ear. 

She whimpered, not wanting to answer. 

“What makes you think that not being healthy is the solution to the way you see yourself? Wouldn’t that just make it worse?”

“I just…” She took a deep breath. “I just… I just want to be enough.”

“But you are enough,” he answered in a heartbeat, placing his hand on her neck and turning her face to him. He missed her face with his gaze, but she could still feel him in every fiber of her being as he sat there and felt her pulse, and she matched her breathing to his. 

A tear rolled down her cheek. “You don’t understand what it’s like,” she whispered back. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be only seen as the comedic relief in every relationship you have ever been in while your friends pulled the guys you wanted. Because they never wanted you, and they never saw competition in you either because you were just never the center of anyone’s attention.”

He was silent for a moment. The taste of her tears reached his tongue, and he visibly recoiled at the pain she held inside of her. Matt pulled her closer, holding her a little tighter. She melted. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of leaving her to deal with her thoughts, he placed his lips against her ear again. “You’re the center of my attention,” he said. “Of my world. My universe. And I couldn’t care less about the way you look.”

“That’s because you’re blind,” she shot back, a sob rippling through her body. 

He shook his head. “No. Those who reduce you to your looks are blind, and they don’t even deserve you in the first place. What matters most is this–” his large hand found its way onto the left side of her chest, above her heart. “What’s in here is what makes you beautiful, not what covers the outside.”

“But that’s not enough, is it?”

“To me, it is.”

“Not to me, Matthew. Like I said, you don’t get it.”

She struggled against his grip, but he wouldn’t let her go. “Then let me rephrase it,” he tried again, pressing his hand further against her chest. “I care more about who you are inside because I love you. But I don’t need sight to appreciate your physical beauty along with the sound of your heartbeat. Your breathing. Your touch. You know why?”

She shook her head. “Enlighten me.”

“Because I can feel you, sweetheart, and you are the most breathtaking human being I have ever had the pleasure of laying my hands on.”

If words were enough to make a person pass out, this would surely have been her breaking point. 

“You mean that?” She turned around, her tears now glistening with a taste of hope. 

He brushed them away with his thumb and nodded. “Every last word.”

Her eyes fluttered closed at the ghost of his touch. “I don’t like my body,” the admission came quietly.

In response, Matt nodded. “I know, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. That body deserves to be loved. You deserve to be loved.”

“I feel like…like I don’t deserve you. I don’t want you to leave me for…for Karen.”

The mention of her name caused him to frown. “Karen?” he asked. She nodded. He sighed, forcing her head to his chest, forcing her to listen to his heartbeat the same way he always did to her. “Don’t even think like that,” he told her. “I would never leave you for someone else. For no one, for nothing. I need you to stop assuming that, sweetheart. It’s not true.”

“It feels true,” she cried. 

His lips brushed the crown of her head. “But it isn’t.”

“But–”

“I love you,” he said, a bit more insistent this time. “Only you. I would rather die than never be with you again. And I mean that. Bring me the poison and I’ll prove it to you. I’ll get on my knees and worship the ground you walk on if that’ll make you believe me, but I won’t leave you.”

She clung to him, her nails digging into his shirt. Matt shushed her, his fingers brushing through her hair. The rhythm was soothing. 

She sobbed until she had nothing left to give. She cried because she knew he was right. She knew she was overthinking, but she was powerless to fight it. He was the only one who could open her eyes, and even then, she more often than not slipped away. She hated it. She hated the way her brain was wired, the things she was taught, and the things she continuously and wrongly kept teaching herself. 

Eventually, though, she slacked in his arms. 

“I don’t really like myself right now,” she confessed. “But I don’t know how to stop it.”

Matt chuckled softly, his chest rumbling. He tilted her chin up. “Then let me help you,” he said. 

“How?” she asked. 

He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a gentle kiss. “Just let me love you.” 

Tagging from Matt Murdock Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @ravenclaw617 @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten

[ameagrice]

Capsize

percy jackson x fem reader

chapter thirty-six | everything in its right place

It wasn’t a real spider. Not completely. But it moved like one over your hands, and so you’d thrown it so far away with one almighty shriek that the spider jumped—a tiny automaton thing, built by Hephaestus himself.

The whole thing felt like one, big joke on you.

It begun as a silver chain previously in Eurytion’s possession. He said he didn’t need it, and had no need to go into the Labyrinth or make contact with Hephaestus. If you needed to find the god, this would lead you right to him. At first, turning it over in your hands, you felt grateful that finally somebody was helping you properly. Until you pressed down on the tiny button in the middle, and it turned into a spider.

The good news: it led you straight to him. Right to Hephaestus’s doorstep. Or, entryway, for a better word. The spider had been scuttling and crawling along the tunnels for a good distance, enough so that you were starting to get tired. Percy had been nearly bouncing in place, both with anticipation for what you might find, and eagerness to get this over with; he wanted out as much as you and Grover.

If you weren’t so good at running, you might have lost the creepy little thing. By the time it finally stopped, all eight legs perched like broken wires, you were hot on its trail and pretty breathless. Grover slowed to a pace at your side, raising his hands to run over his sweaty t-zone from the exertion that was chasing the mechanical spider. Percy slid into your back, and brushed himself off like nothing happened.

You could have described it as developing a funny feeling that something was about to happen.

You stopped only because of one thing.

The giant cave, a spectacular hole in the ground inches away from the tips of your Converse. You watched from the corner of your eye Grover settling back from the jagged edge, and became aware of Percy’s fingers winding round your backpack. Human nature or stupid curiosity, you dug for your flashlight in your pocket, and leaned forward over the abyss. Percy tugged violently on your strap.

“Hey, come on, dont.” He sighed. “If you fall down there—”

“I’m not gonna fall down there!” You protest.

“Do you see with your own eyes right now? You’re literally leaning over a cavern.”

“I’m not gonna fall. But if I did I’d just take you down with me. For company ‘n all.” You drawl, turning to face him with a sly smile. Your brows jump, and Percy huffs, giving your bag one last tug until you avail, and step back.

“How kind,” he deadpans.

“I try my hardest.” You shrug.

“I think we have bigger problems than falling right now,” croaked Grover. He raised his flashlight and flicked it on and off to highlight the problem: a series of metal bars strung up to the ceiling, half-corroded.

You bark a sudden laugh at your luck. “Hope everyone’s had their tetanus shots!”

Between the rotting bars jammed into the cave roof, the tiny spider was swinging across with its strange silky webs, and crawling with its sticky feet across the ceiling. Unless you wanted to stay stuck down here at this junction, you’d have to follow it. And heights were not your speciality.

You clap your hands together; it echoes in the vast space. “So, any first takers” Neither boy answers you. “Brilliant. So, the thing is, I’d rather die than do the monkey bars. Do you guys see my arms? They weren’t made for this shit.”

“Have a little faith,” gulped Grover. “If a mechanical spider with no physical brain can do it, we totally can!”

“I like your enthusiasm!” Percy snapped his fingers. “It’s just the kind of leadership style we need!” He leaned forward and clapped Grover on the shoulder. “Onward, my friend!”

Grover tittered on the spot, and a nervous belch boasted loudly in the air. All the while he argued back and forth with Percy over how he should go first, you decided that it was best to shove down your nerves for the sake of the ever-furthering spider, and stepped back twice. The boys hardly noticed, caught up in their silly back-and-forth debate. You made your choice, and decided to make a run and jump for it.

The second your hands touched the first metal rung, they stung from the impact. You couldn’t prevent the shriek escaping your throat, but everything after that was blocked out. The brain has a funny way of focusing when it senses danger; it blocks out everything it deems unneeded. In this case, you knew though you couldn’t hear them that the boys were probably yelling something. You focussed on the strain in your shoulders, reaching forward for the next bar with halfway decent momentum. Halfway across, your palms started to sweat, and the panic set in even further.

“Guys—” you swallowed, choking on it. “What are the chances I die on impact? Don’t answer that—I already know the answer. It was in this book I read a while ago. It was 31,000 people in 2000. That’s the last time they looked at the statistics. They’ll probably go up—”. Your hand slipped from the bar, and you wiped your palm on your pants before reaching for the next one. You take deep breaths as your body is suddenly hit with panicked sweating and heat, and you know you’re not too far from a panic attack. There’s nothing anybody can do to help you here—it’s all on you. And it’s a horrible feeling knowing that.

It’s hard to move when your fingers start to tingle and grow stiff, another oncoming sign that your body has had enough, it’s working too hard. The brain works in tandem with the limbs—the control centre tells everything else what to do. If it says calm down, it’s going to calm down everything else; even hundreds of feet above a plunging cavern.

When you touch the ground again, you feel rather shaky. But there’s no proper time for rest, or to wait for the boys. The spider is scuttling further away, and it’s literally a race against time to catch up to it. With legs like jelly, you bolt as fast as you can after the spider, the tiny clicking of its mechanical legs sounding through the narrowing tunnel. It’s dark and damp, and your flashlight is beginning to flicker as the batteries run out. You lose all sight and sound of Percy and Grover, and your chest screams with the exertion of holding yourself above ground for so long and then moving instantly into a sprint.

The spider really doesn’t care, though.

You run and run, until something crunches under your feet. You ignore it until you can’t anymore, and gradually slow down, as the crunching becomes too loud. You bend down to inspect the pieces: wood chips, like from…pencils? There’s a shard of lead from the end of one just laying around, and another a bit away from it. Who the hell needs pencils down here? Is somebody else lost, too? The pieces slip through your fingers as you get to your feet, falling back down.

You pick up your flashlight from between your neck and shoulder where you’d been holding it, and twist it in your hand. The light still flickers, except this time it has enough of a glow to show you just who left the pencil scrapings.

Skeletons. Dead, very dead skeletons.

And they look a little different to the ones in gothic movies.

Some are white, like they’ve been bleached, but mainly they’re a weird yellow-brown and mottled, rotting away. They don’t smell, weirdly. They could almost be props. You’re not naive enough to believe that though.

A set of footsteps is growing louder nearing your position. It’s Percy, calling your name. And when he falls to step next to you, a hand on your shoulder, you can’t help but nodding grimly to the skeletons he hasn’t seen yet. You flash your light on them, and he gags.

“Let’s keep going,” you say, and nod to the literal light at the end of the tunnel. You can already see it opens into a big room. “I don’t wanna meet the thing that left those.”

You wait for Grover to catch up before you move on towards the bright light at the end of the tunnel. It feels weirdly intimate, all quiet and settled as you near it.

But…yeah, you take that back. Because you meet the thing that left those skeletons pretty quickly. Just when you thought things couldn’t get weirder down here.

You stop short, and can’t help your jaw dropping in disgust at the creature perched on the glittering dais on the far side of the room. With the body of a lion and the head of a woman, you quite honestly feel like vomming. She wore makeup like a clown, and her stringy hair was tied back way too tightly—how the hell did she even do her hair, with paws?

Grover gagged. It echoed. “Sphinx.”

You scrunch your nose in response. “Ooooh, are we talkin’ that weird thing that does riddles?”

“Funny way of putting it, but yes.”

You want to reply to Grover, but you’ve lost sight of the spider, your only way forward. You can hear it in the quiet, tapping away down the only exit: right next to the Sphinx.

You try your luck; you suck in a deep breath and make a run for it, but the creature is quicker than you are, and it dives down to block your path, roaring in your face with such ferocity that you’re left only with shock. Your face stings with the heat. You gag, and step back. Metal bars slammed down across the exit, and the way you’d come in, blocking your way out indefinitely. Looking longingly through the bars, you lost sight and sound of the spider, heart sinking.

When the bars were settled, the creature smiled. Somewhat horrifying, the voice to leave its mouth was on par. “Welcome, lucky contestants! Are you ready to play…GUESS THE RIDDLE?!”

Spotlights cranked into place and blinded Grover, who slapped a hand over his eyes. Canned applause blasted like there were a dozen soundbars in the room. Something popped from the ceiling, and glittering rained down, sparkling purple, pink and silver in the spotlight.

The Sphinx prowled the room and flicked back her head like you would tossing your hair over your shoulder. “Pass the test, demigods, and you get to advance! Fail, and I eat you for dinner! So! Who will be our contestant tonight?”

“Grover,” you point instantly, and then feel terrible because he looked rather sick. Coincidentally, both boys looked at you. “What, you think I’m smart enough for this shit?” You hiss.

“Absolutely!” Percy encouraged. “And we’ll be right here to fight for you!”

“Totally!” Nodded Grover. He reached into his pocket and produced a stick, and began munching on it instantly. A nervous habit, you’ve come to realise.

“How romantic,” you roll your eyes to Percy, but inside your stomach says SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! You deflated at the shoulders, and squeezed your flashlight between your fingers. Approaching the CONTESTANT podium, it wasn’t difficult to notice the dusty skeleton in a school uniform still leaning over the platform, jaw hanging open.

Holding your flashlight by the very end, you gave the skeleton a shove, and then a kick for good measure. It toppled off the side and clattered to the ground, bones rattling. You side-eyed it and quickly looked away. “So sorry, man.”

“Welcome, daughter of Athena!” The Sphinx cried in a cheesy, televised tone. “Are you ready for your questions?”

You point your flashlight at her. “Uhhhh—no.”

“I need an answer!”

“Sure, yeah. Give me the question, then.” At the side of the room, Percy sends you what is supposed to be an encouraging set of a thumbs-up, and a large smile, nodding his head.

“Riddles, actually, get it right dear. Anywho! Twenty riddles coming your way!” A drumroll sounded overhead, rattling your organs the bass was so deep. There may as well have been a band up in the ceiling. Hell, maybe there was. “What is…the Capital of Bulgaria?”

Embarrassingly, you almost fall flat. “Pffttt, I know this.”

“You know this!” Encouraged Percy from his place, except when you turned to look at him, he was leaning against the wall and sweating. Very encouraging. “You’ve got this, B!”

“Isn’t it, like Sofia, or something? And that isn’t even a riddle, that’s just basic knowledge—”

Applause screamed above. The Sphinx smiled too sweetly, and her sharp canines showed. “Correct! Now, mark down your answers in the booklet with the yellow pencil.”

You eye your empty hands. “What pencil—?” With a solid POP! the pencil, sharpened to a point, appeared on top of the little booklet like magic.

“Now,” said the Sphinx. “If you need to erase an answer, be sure to do it COMPLETELY! Or else the machine is unable to read the answers.” She smiled with closed eyes. A horrible sight, really. The nightmares will be anticipated, when you’re out of here.

Waving around your pencil, and growing slightly annoyed with the creature, you huff. “What machine?”

With a large paw, the Sphinx made a pointing movement to the giant bronze thing situation to the side. It had appeared under a spotlight, and was covered in the Greek letter Êta. If you weren’t wrong, that was Hephaestus’s mark.

Another nail in the coffin of life being a total joke.

“Now!” The Sphinx clapped her paws. “Next question!”

“Shit question,” you mumbled. You set your hands on either side of the podium and waited.

“I beg your pardon?” The Sphinx grew still instantly, clearly annoyed.

“Nothing. Continue.”

“What is the square root of sixteen?”

“Oh. I cant do math. Uhm…”

“Ten seconds on the clock!”

A loud and irritating ticking began with an audible countdown from invisible voices, making your eyes ring. Suddenly uncomfortable, you dip your head and discreetly look at Percy, whose hand moves at his side.

“Four?” You frown.

A bell rang off. “Correct! Which United States president signed the Civil Rights Act?”

“Lyndon. B. Johnson? I th—”

“Correct! Which planet spins clockwise?”

“Venus?”

“Which part of the human body is incapable of healing itself?”

“I think it’s your teeth?” You shift on your feet, feeling way too under pressure.

“Need a definite answer!” The Sphinx pointed to the ceiling with a paw, and the countdown began.

Tiredly, you drawl, “It’s your teeth.”

“Correct again! What comes into the world with more bones than the adult human?”

“A baby?”

“Correct!”

The questions go on, and on until your mind feels like a battered sieve, bent out of shape and a little corroded. You passed twenty questions, and stared at Percy, unimpressed, as a dozen layers of glitter and confetti rained down upon you. A techno electric song began blasting over the invisible speakers in celebration. Grover was taking deep breaths, mumbling under his breath, probably thanking the gods. When you found your place next to Percy, he huffed a laugh, and glitter shifted from your face as he did.

“Oh, you did great!” He offered. The metal bars ground out a horrid noise as they rose back to where they came from. “I knew you could do it.”

“You offered me up like paint at an artist’s house.”

Grover, still praying, took off with his eyes closed, doing a little jig. The Sphinx took a seat at dais, eyes closed. She looked somewhat frozen, barely breathing. When Grover passed on by, it was as if she’d never moved at all.

Clapping a hand down on your head, Percy shook the confetti and glitter like dust from your hair. “I’m sorry,” he said, though he said so with a humoured smile. “I’ll never do it again. Friends?”

“Suppose so,” you shrug, and glitter dances to the ground.

“Let’s go, disco ball. We need to find that spider.”

You skedaddled past the Sphinx whom paid you no mind, and out the tunnel way, leaving a trail of glitter. After a few wrong turns, and following Grover’s voice, and finally managed to locate your friend and the spider, which threw itself at a metal door, a little bit of light spilling out underneath it. In the middle of the door, old and creaking despite not touching it, was nailed a big sign, wilting like it had been melted, dashed with the same sign as the answering machine ten minutes ago: the Greek Êta.

“Are we ready to meet Hephaestus?” Grover asked nervously.

“I’m ready to ask why he spends his time down here,” you grumbled. “Why not somewhere nice?”

Deciding you’d done enough today, Percy reached out around you for the door handle, and gave it a good push. The door screamed, slowly opening, revealing all inside.

The room was bigger than words could describe. It was filled to the brim with machines and makings, some working, some not. There were cars, half-built just lying around, and bits of mechanical animals waiting to be put together. A fire burned in the corner of the room, not tended to though. A dozen tools hung from the walls and were splashed across work tables.

Nobody noticed him until the door slammed shut, you screamed, and he shifted out from underneath a car. A giant man in dirty work pants, and a leg in a metal brace.

“Well, what do we have here?” He boomed. Maybe it was wrong to be so terrified, but you were, and you found yourself shifting slowly, subtly, taking your place beside Percy.

Unfortunately, your slinking act didn’t last for long. When Hephaestus stood properly, he towered way over the three of you.

“I didn’t make you demigods, did I?”

Percy coughed. “No, sir.”

He was tall, and his beard was smoking. The metal spider perched on his head.

“Good. Terrible workmanship.”

“We’ve met, sir,” said Percy.

“Have we, now?” His tone indicated that he couldn’t care less. “Well, if I didn’t get rid of you the first time I won’t need to now, I suppose. And a Satyr. Wow. You’re all far from home. There better be a good reason for disturbing me.”

“We’re looking for Daedalus—”

The god’s beard flickered ten times brighter, and he seemed to get taller. “Daedalus?” He roared.

“Yes, sir, please.” Grover pleaded nervously.

“You’re wasting your time.” He stomped over to the corner of the room, and began to tinker with some pieces of metal. “I understand you met my mother.”

“Yes, sir,” Percy nodded.

“What did you think of her, daughter of Athena?” You jolt at your place, and wish the ground would open up and take you. Side-stepping, you remain half behind Percy, grimacing. “She’ll smile to your face and talk about important values, family values. Didn’t stop her pitching me off of Olympus.”

Why me? You wish you could ask. Why are you asking me?

“I thought that was Zeus?” Percy tries to deflect.

Hephaestus spun on his feet like a top, facing you. “She likes telling that version. Makes her more likeable doesn’t it? The truth is, my mother loves families, but only certain types of families. She influences, and she lobbies. She likes to get involved.”

Finally, he looked up from the metal in his large hands, and focused on Percy. “Oh, this one doesn’t like me. I’ll bite, demigod—what do you want?”

“We told you,” Percy snapped. “We need to find Daedalus. It’s important. There’s this guy, a son of Hermes, and he’s working with Kronos. They’re trying to find a way to navigate this maze to take over everywhere. If we don’t get to Daedalus first—”

“And I told you, son of Poseidon—you’re wasting your time. He won’t help you.”

Hephaestus shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Some of us are thrown off of cliffs and some of us learn not to trust people. Ask me for gold, or a new sword. I can grant you those things. But a way to Daedalus? Well, that’s an expensive favour.”

“So you know where he is?” Asked Grover. “He’s down here at least?”

“It isn’t wise to go looking.”

But isn’t looking the nature of wisdom?

Hephaestus made a deep, rumbling sigh. “If I help you, there will be a price. I need a favour, too.”

“Name it,” demanded Percy.

“You heroes! You like making your promises. How very…refreshing.” The god reached out with a giant hand to push a button in the wall, and it instantly changed. The concrete and metal combined twisted and glowed until it became a television screen, showing mountains, and a forest. Smoke bellowed from the background.

“One of my forges gone, but this used to be my favourite.”

“But that’s Mount St. Helens!” Pointed out Grover. “But you said it used to be your favourite?”

“Well, the monster, Typhon, is trapped there.”

“What do you want us to do? Fight him for you?” Ah, Percy; ever the brave.

Hephaestus snorted meanly. “Well that’s suicide. Someone or something is using my forges there. They sense me coming, and they go, when I try to search it. There is something ancient and evil waiting there, and I want to know who has invaded my territory.”

“You want us to find out who it is.”

“Correct!” Your brain aches, thinking back to the Sphinx. “Find what you can and report back to me, and then I’ll tell you everything I know. Promise.”

“Fine,” Percy nodded. “How do we get there?”

Hephaestus clapped his hands together, and the mechanical spider fell from the rafters, right at your feet. You jumped about ten feet in the air, and screamed so loud it was bolstered by the metal walls. “My creation will show the way. Try to stay alive, young ones. Humans are much more fragile than automatons.”

For a while, you followed the spider without any trouble. The paths seemed unusually normal, just straightforward tunnels of concrete, or metal park slides the whole way down. But the ground began to change to dirt, and trees sprouted in the darkness, and a singular tunnel led away from the original path—Grover was headed straight for it, as if in a trance. He slowed, and slowed and stopped, just before the entrance.

“Come on,” you groaned. “Let’s go, man, It’s not far.”

“This is the way, guys!” Grover mumbled. “This is it! I can feel it!”

“What way?” Probed Percy. “You don’t mean…you know he’s there? Pan? Really?”

“Yes!” He exclaimed, suddenly reinvigorated. “This is it, guys!”

You followed after the spider, intent on not losing it, but held back when neither Grover or Percy followed.

“I have to follow this. I won’t get this chance ever again. You know that, right?”

On the one hand, you wanted to tell Grover to not be selfish. This was the original quest and it was important. But on the other, saying that would mean you were being selfish, holding Grover back from the only thing he wanted. He’d gone along with your plan for a while now, and outwardly telling him that he shouldn’t be doing the one thing he’d ever wanted would feel like stabbing him.

“Percy,” said Grover, “we will find each other again. We have the empathy link, remember? I have to do this. I have to; he’s…so close!”

Because, at the end of the day, this was all Grover had wanted for so long. Really, it felt cruel to tell him no.

Percy sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I hope you’re right.”

“I swear it, I am.”

“Just be careful, yeah? And find us, afterwards.”

Maybe it was to be your last sight of Grover. Perhaps you’d never see him again, although you really didn’t want to think so. You looked after him, as he wandered into the tunnel surrounded by darkness and tree roots winding from the ground until finally he’d gone completely.

It left a strange feeling that something was going to happen.

“We shouldn’t have split up,” you shake your head. “This is a horrible idea!”

“We’ll see him again…” Percy tried to sound confident, but even he fell a little short. He chewed his cheek, still looking at the tunnel Grover had left through. “Don’t worry. Come on, let’s catch up with that spider. It won’t wait for us.”

And it didn’t. The tiny spider scuttled through tunnels and tunnels, down slopes and up them. They grew tighter, and hotter, until your face dripped with sweat. The flashlight slipped in your hand, and you’d been forced to put away your dagger for fear of it slipping away.

More than once you had to stop in place and wipe the sweat dripping into your eyes, sticky and slippy. Your hair grew damp, uncomfortable around your face.

Percy seemed to be struggling the same way. When you turned back to him, his cheeks were bright red like cherries, highlighting the green in his eyes. Somehow, he managed a smile, nodding encouragingly. You swallowed hard, throat as dry as anything.

“Keep going!” He urged. “It’s not far, now, I know it.”

You didn’t want to tell him that he was a little too optimistic for it to be true, but who were you to burst his bubble?

It realistically didnt take a long time, but it certainly felt like it did. Eventually, the spider stopped short and curled into a ball, rolling down a little decline before it popped back open, and crawled a small distance. At last it waited for you and Percy.

The room before you now was the size of a large football stadium, times two thousand. It was so big you could scarcely see each end. The worst part, when you pushed aside the fact that you couldn’t really see properly, was the fact the floor was not floor at all but a plaza of bubbling lava, and your only way to get across should the need arise was two lengths of metal bridges, which ultimately, if the pool of lava was anything to go by, would be too hot to walk across for human beings. Here and there on little platforms were machines bigger than you, rumbling, whirring. Perhaps they weren’t the weird things though—the creatures, dark and shapeless and moving around the solid concrete platform around the lava, paid you no mind. Maybe they’d yet to see you.

“Let’s go, while they’re not looking,” hissed Percy. He snatched up your hand and pulled you along, despite how sweaty you were.

“Hold up!” You pulled back on him, but he persevered. “Percy, wait! We need a plan.”

“We don’t need a plan. We just need to get some information and get out of here.”

“Exactly why we need a plan!”

Your eyes began to burn from the heat of the lava, and your lungs ached from the smoke. It became difficult to even see, so it didn’t take long at all for something to go wrong.

“Agh!” Percy screamed, and you reached out blindly in the smoky haze to slap your hand over his mouth—you missed, and your palm found his eyes instead. “Ow!”

“Shut up, idiot!” You couldn’t help but laugh. “What did you do?”

“Kicked a cart by accident. I can’t see a damn thing with all this smoke.”

Near enough four years ago, when you met Percy, you wouldn’t have thought you’d be creeping around a pit filled with lava and carrying a deadly weapon in your backpack. At most, you’d believed you’d go through high school and eventually Percy would find other friends. You would see each other in hallways in brief glances and walk on by. Maybe in another life. In a normal life, if you’d been born to both mortal parents. You might have even had a dog in the mix. It was strange to think about, as he pulled you down behind a crate, not caring even a little bit about your sweaty palm, or the fact that you’d accidentally slapped him in the face. Life worked in funny ways. The Fates certainly chose you two for a reason, though you couldn’t be sure what that reason was, yet. Maybe, when you’d asked to be born again, the Judges in the Underworld decided you needed some more excitement in your life. Or maybe they hated you, and you’d done wrong before, whoever you were before, because to be here now you’d have to have been here once—after seeing the Underworld with your own eyes, there was no more questioning life after death. Did you reach Elysium? Were you a nice person?

Being a demigod had its pros, its cons, and its questions. It enabled deep thinking.

“Come on, just go around it,” you nodded to the sight up ahead. Percy went to climb to his feet…

That was when you heard the voices.

“Shit! Get in the cart!”

Pulling back the tarp, stinging your fingers, Percy clambered over the edge and into the pile of metal pieces, flat and smooth between the hot cart. He raised his hands, holding up the tarp as you shot a hasty look in the direction of the voices; shadows were growing bigger on the wall. You flopped into the cart in an uncomfortable position of squashed-up legs, Percy’s longer set digging into your side. You tried to move over as far as you could to make room for him but really there wasn’t much point. He flipped the tarp over your heads, and together you held your breath.

It turned red. With the tarp now covering the pair of you, light from the flowing lava pit illuminated the red tarp, casting an amber glow.

Riptide? you mouthed to Percy. Your dagger sat in your backpack, crushed under your weight and between the cart.

He raised his hand ever so slightly, and twirled the pen in response.

“Bring it in?” One voice asked. It was deep.

“Yeah, movie’s just finished.”

Lowering your gaze from the side of the cart, you meet Percy’s. Movie?

Suddenly, the cart jerked, and tipped forward. You jostled into Percy, and thrust your hands out to either side of the cart. The metal was warm. You slammed your mouth shut, hoping nobody heard the surprised squeak.

“Hey! Thought you said this was a small load? Thing weighs a ton!”

Rude.

“It’s celestial bronze, idiot,” the other voice laughed. “What did you think, it’d be light? Hurry up and set it in the back, for crying out load. Hey, younglings! Watch the damn movie. I’ll answer your questions later.”

Had you found some secret school? Were people living here? Younglings didn’t sound very human, however. Nobody in their right mind would use that language.

But a movie did play. You strained your ears, trying to make some sort of sense of where you were. Growth spurts, and hygiene working in the forges.

“And lastly, don’t neglect your flipper hygiene!” The soapy voice rang over speakers. “Good flippers equal good mind!”

Percy spun Riptide between his fingers, dashing back and forth and swapping hands. His dark brows furrowed in concentration, tired eyes pinned on nothing in particular. They seemed brighter in here, somehow. More ‘calm before the storm’ rather than their usual ‘storm’.

“So, younglings, what is the correct name of our particular species? You, at the back!”

“Sea demons!” A voice cried.

“No,” the ‘teacher’ flatlined. “You?”

“Telekhines!” Another voice grumbled.

“Brill! And why are we here, guys?”

“Revenge! Revenge against the Greek god Zeus, for casting us down to Tartarus!”

“Indeed! And only after we created their weapons, might I add!”

So, you were dealing with a bunch of salty monsters. Great.

“Zeus cast us away,” the teacher continued in a mocking, sad voice. “Down to Tartarus. We had no control in this, young ones, no choice! Which is why now is our perfect time for a takeover! We will start here, in the very forges of Hephaestus! And soon after, the undersea furnaces, too!”

There was a huge uproar of applause and yells, some barking, some screaming. Terrible noise, honestly. And that was only the very tip of the iceberg.

You’d done your research after being at camp for so long. You’d come across their names, the Telekhines, but the gross result of the previous Titan takeover remained a subject to be avoided. To you, even reading about the ugliness of that period was enough, never mind looking at pictures of the creatures produced then. Maybe Ares was right, so long ago—you valued prettiness and vanity so much that you may as well have been a daughter of Aphrodite rather than Athena. Is that why your mother wouldn’t connect with you? Did she see her sister, rather than her daughter? Brains and beauty go hand-in-hand, but the Gods have their own set of values and expectations. You didn’t live up to too many of them. Maybe you were vain—perhaps a little too much. Probably ignorant, too.

On your head it was, then, that you had clue what you were up against.

“Who do we serve, Telekhines?”

“Kronos!”

“And when you all grow to full maturity, who will you serve? Whose army will you fight for?”

“Kronos!”

“Lovely. Now, at the back we have brought some scraps for you to practice making weapons with. Go ahead and take a look—but share! We don’t need any arguments today.”

You scrambled in place. Percy’s elbow kneaded into your stomach as he tried to set up Riptide early. Reflexively, your foot shot out at the feeling, and booted his knee cap. Your hand fell to his shoulder, urgently whispering, “backpack. Open my backpack!”

Alas, you both prepared too late. The tarp was thrown away by…human hands. Except the creatures they belonged to one-hundred percent were not human beings. A dozen faces looked in, with snouts like dogs, wet and slimy, and bodies of sea lions, all black and shiny.

“Demigods!” One growled.

“Eat them!” Cried another; from the back of group, there was a sound like nashers clashing.

Fortunately for you, they had also prepared too late. Riptide appeared in full form, and in one strong swoop, Percy decapitated the whole row. They disappeared in puffs of dust, sent straight back to where they came from.

“Back off!” Percy yelled, jabbing at another one.

You swung your arm back with your torch still in hand, and swatted one on the snout. It barked, but retreated, giving you the room you needed to clamber out of the cart.

You came face-to-face with a hunched over, crouching Telekhine with the features of a Doberman, snarling. Your shoes squeaked the further you backed up, right to Percy’s back. The back of his head very briefly knocked the top of yours. He had your back, and you most definitely had his. Very slyly, his free hand rose and made contact with your side, following the strap of your backpack and skimming across it blindly. What was he doing?

“New lesson, class,” said Percy. You clutched the flashlight harder, as the six-foot Telekhine began to advance, its fangs making an appearance briefly. The zipper of your bag jingled, and—ah, Percy was trying to get your dagger. “Monsters tend to vaporise when slashed with a celestial bronze sword. Just like this—!”

The Telekhines dove, driving Percy into gear. He abandoned your backpack, taking one firm swipe to the next set of monsters. They dissolved instantly, little clouds of ash and dust sending puffs in the air. The warm handle of Riptide was pressed into your palm straight after, and you dropped your flashlight. With both hands around the hilt, you swung the sword over your shoulder and back again like you would a baseball bat. The speed at which you did so enabled you to get a surprise hit on the advancing, taller monster, and you split him down the middle. Its essence went up like a bomb. The rest of the monsters were backed up, but you didn’t have long.

You threw the sword back to Percy blindly. Turning, he reached out a hand for yours. “Let’s go!” With eyes wide in anticipation and adrenaline, still furiously red in the face, he pulled you along. In tandem, you made a dive for the exit tunnel, where a door had been placed.

Bingo. Sliding into the safe space, you threw your body back against the door and held it in place while Percy’s deft hands made quick work of the wheel handle, spinning it until it locked. Monsters thudded on the other side, the sound like thunder in this winding tunnel.

Back in the open lava room, you noticed a couple of things that weren’t there before: one, four sea demons even taller than the rest, at least nine-feet; two, the statue and work of which they hammered away at in the middle of the room by the first bridge; three, the harsh language they spoke did not register in your mind. An old language, then. Old as hell.

“What are they making?” You muttered, trying to get a good look without exposing yourself. Sparks flew from the large piece of metal between them.

Percy sighed. “Whatever it is, it isn’t good. They were banished to Tartarus by Zeus for a reason. Now, I don’t like the guy, but I’m pretty sure he’d have a good enough reason for doing something like that.”

You’d nearly forgotten about the locked door at the end of the tunnel, until the creatures came falling through. Crawling over each other, they began to run towards you.

Percy grabbed you by the shoulders, sword dangerously close to your face. He’d never let it touch you, you trusted, but even the aura of it was unsettling so close to your skin. “Start running. Get a head start.”

You shook your head and scoffed. “Ha, no. We leave together.”

“We don’t have time to leave together!” He exclaimed, “I’m gonna hold them back while you get a head start. If you get to Hephaestus first, he might help us. Tell him what we found out, and I’ll be right behind. Got it?”

You liked to think, later, that the final look in Percy’s eyes was determination. It certainly seemed that way, storming bright, his mouth set firmly. You weren’t to fight a whole army with a flashlight and a dagger stuck deep in your bag with no time to grab it.

“Just go!” He ordered. You took a single step back, unsure, until he reached out with one strong hand and gave your shoulder a confident push. “I’ll be right behind you. I promise.”

The army advanced and by this point, the taller, grown ones had taken notice of what was happening. More of those came out of the walls, too, and the dark shapes from earlier finally paid attention to the two of you.

In one movement, not thinking at all, you threw yourself forward, and threw your arms firmly around Percy’s neck. He smelled like sweat and boy and dirt from being down in the maze for so long, but you didn’t care one bit. He was warm and solid and sure and here, and his free hand touched your back, before tugging on your shirt. You moved away, to see something not unlike real desperation on his face.

“Now go,” he ordered, one last time.

And you listened.

You made a run for the way you’d came, and the sounds of the forge were drowned out the further you ran away. At first, it was fine—lights like the metal ones of an old Cold War bunker lit your path. Nausea reigned, until you and your heaving chest took a break against a wall just for a second. You hadn’t gone too far, but the Telekhines weren’t here yet. Percy said he’d be right behind. You’d wait here for him.

Or you could go back.

Kneeling, you slid your bag from your back and unzipped it. Percy had moved the zipper not even halfway in his mission to get your dagger for you. It sat between your jacket and your packets of food. You pulled out a water bottle and sipped slowly. Shrugging your bag back on your shoulders, you waited a second on weak legs, trying to regain some strength.

The tunnel remained silent if you excused your laboured breathing. The lights on the ceiling began to flicker, dimming and brightening again, probably trying to move you along and change itself. It wouldn’t have been unsettling if Grover and Percy were with you, but they weren’t, and you felt completely alone in this maze despite knowing they were still down here too. You laid your hand on your forehead and ran it through your sweaty hairline, trying to wipe the remains of your overheating from your face. As you did, and slowly got to your feet, the lights flickered even more intensely.

That was just before the ground began to shake. At first it was a tiny amount of trembling, and soundless, beneath your feet. Its intensity grew in size pretty quickly, from a little shaking to full-blown rumbling, like an explosion was popping off and heading your way. You stepped back once, trying to make sense of the direction, and only looked up the way you came just as the lights went out silently. It was like a bomb exploded, or some part of the tunnel had blown apart. A fierce gush of wind blew, so forceful you had no choice in being shoved to the wall, hot air hitting you square in the face. Bits of debris and dirt were blown in your eyes, gritting and painful. Just as it began, it ended, and the sound of the maze changing again came through loud and clear.

Which left you with two bouts of knowledge:

One: Percy had definitely just been killed.

and Two: you were totally, utterly lost, without even a flashlight.

Standing in the aftermath of hot, diffusing air from the direction of the forges, breathing in bits of explosion, there was absolutely no denying that your best friend had just been blown to smithereens. Nobody survived an explosion like that. Nobody.

Even so, your mind turned on autopilot. What happened after the explosion was numbed and distorted, like looking through murky water and only half-awake.

“No,” you mumbled, “no, no, no. Not happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.”

Horror began to sink in, and you felt suddenly extremely, permanently wounded. Percy was, without a doubt, very, very dead. You scarcely moved, scarcely breathed. Staring at a wall replacing what you thought was where you came from, but now couldn’t be completely sure, because you’d dropped your flashlight back in the blown-up cavern, and your best friend was lying in bits and pieces of body somewhere you couldn’t reach. The mind runs rampant in panic. All you could think of was blood, and bones.

You might have screamed. You thought you did. Your throat turns sore and raw, and you figure you’ve been screaming for a while in the darkness on your own.

How strange it was that Percy had been the only thing keeping you safe this whole time. Without him, you feel exposed even when nothing can see you. They can definitely sense you. You hear something coming, like a body being dragged along the ground, and decide now would be a good time to get up and go. But your hands and feet are numb and tingling, evidence of a panic attack. Your head swims without sight, and you can’t feel the wall when you touch your fingers to it.

Your feet hurt when they take step after step until you’re running, dragging your fingers blindly along the dark tunnel as some semblance of a path finder. The walls change, and twice you fall. It’s embarrassing, scraping your chin on brick, eating dirt. You stumble up stairs, walk through cobwebs and feel things crawling up your neck, and scream now and again out of sheer annoyance, sheer exhaustion. You begin to pray, muttering insanely under your breath to anyone who will listen: first your mom, and you beg her to forgive any doubts you had. Then you beg Hermes, the patron of travellers, to at least give you direction here. And finally Ares, because the only thing fuelling your body is determination to not die down here.

Someone has your back.

Just as you’re beginning to freak out again, you feel the wall begin to curve around, and dip. And…grow…lighter? And it is, growing lighter. There’s a glow coming from a door at the end of the tunnel, and you’ve seen this door before.

You’ve made it back to Hephaestus’s workshop in one piece.

You think about knocking. And then you realise how stupid that idea is, and burst right in.

Heaving, sweating, and rubbing your sore chin, you stand wilting in the doorway of his workshop. He’s hanging from the ceiling on some sort of platform, but jumps down when he notices you.

“Ah,” he cleared his throat. “It’s you.” Hephaestus raises his hand to his beard and pats at it, putting out a great deal of fire burning there.

“Percy’s dead. And Grover is as good as.” You swallow, and kick the door shut blindly. “I want a way out of here, and you’re going to help me.”

“Look at you, making all the demands!” He laughs. It’s bellowing, and it rumbles the room. “Little demigod. Get a hold of yourself. You’re getting tears on my floor.”

You flinch in place at his cruelty. “My best friend just died!” You yell out. “Percy’s dead, because you told us to do something. This is your fault.”

Hephaestus looks up from the screwdriver in his hand, to meet your eyes head on. It’s like tiny fires are burning there. “Hold your tongue, daughter of Athena. It’s unbecoming. And I didn’t kill the other one—whatever was in there did that.”

“Telekhines,” you spat. A gritty tear rolls down your cheek. “That’s what’s in there. Or, was. It’s all blown apart now. So we went there for nothing. I hope you know they’re all against you. Kronos’s army is rising, and they’re coming for you.” And I can’t say I blame them.

He paused, raised a brow briefly, and scoffed. “Demigods don’t scare me.”

“No, but Kronos does. And he’s still coming whether you like it or not. You killed my friend. So I have a request.”

Hephaestus threw down the instrument in his hand, colliding with a metal worktop and echoing somewhat off the walls. You cringe, but refuse to back up. “Look at you, demigod, making all the requests.” He pauses for a moment. “But I cannot deny you, I suppose. You did as I asked. You want a way home.”

“Of course I want a way home,” you seethed.

He cocked his head and huffed. “Go out of here. Follow the tunnel left, and all the way down. You’ll find your way home, daughter of Athena.”

Without a ‘thank you’ you find yourself marching out of his workshop, abandoning the door. You do as he says, and it feels ridiculously easy, hand on the wall again and sliding your fingers across to follow the way it bends. Left, and all the way down. Your fingers hit a bump in the wall, and that little bump instantly begins to glow dark blue.

It makes you think of Percy, but you have no energy left to cry with.

Hephaestus wasn’t misleading you, then. Stepping away from the hole opening up over your head, dirt caves in and crumbles around your feet. A dirty ladder begins to shake its way out of the dirt wall, all the way up to the new gap in the earth.

You hear voices, as you heave up the ladder. It’s short, and doesn’t take long to reach the opening at the top, where a hand has reached down to help you up, a face peering in—Clarisse.

Her expression is one of apprehension, and it’s as serious and firm as ever. Her muddy eyes flick over your face, and you imagine you must look a state. Your chin still burns with your ground collision, cheek smarted.

For a second, as she pulls you with a strong hand from the Labyrinth, she doesn’t say anything. You barely look at Clarisse, crawling out of the hole. A distance away you can hear voices.

“They’re all patrolling that way,” she grumbled. “Bit of a stupid move on our part. You’re lucky I was here, and not…” she trails off. You’re not quite short who you were lucky she wasn’t to be, because you can’t find anything in yourself to question her.

Instead, you shake your head. Clarisse pulls you to your feet, and you’re vividly aware of the smell of camp, strawberries and the smell of the trees. The air is a cold shock above ground.

Finally you look up. You meet Clarisse’s somewhat concerned look. She stares expectantly.

“Percy’s dead,” you swallow. Clarisse’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, then everything falls from her face. “Grover’s gone. And I need to talk to Chiron.”

“Wait—” you stumble past her, tearing your arm from her grip. The world feels blurred. “They’re—they’re both dead?! They’re gone?”

“That’s what I said, Clarisse!” You snap, raising your arm to wipe your eyes.

“We all thought that you’d be fine down there!” She follows after you. “You’re—capable, at the least! I don’t understand!”

You walk quickly through the woods, tearing past groups of people on guard, and some kids playing by the cabins. Up ahead is the Big House, your destination. People call your name when they see you, but there’s nothing left to answer them with.

You wished you could smiled, walking into the house. You wished Grover and Percy were right behind you, laughing at something stupid as usual. You might have been greeted by your friends with cheers, quest completed successfully.

Murphy’s Law says anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. If you have a handful of opportunities of things that can go wrong, the one most likely to cause damage will occur. You’ve deducted that Murphy’s Law is charging your life.

So, you walk the creaking, fading steps of the Big House and along the porch. You thought of Percy at the very beginning of all of this, recovering on this porch. It made you think of returning here after Bianca passed. You throw open the door, bordered by white drapes, met with silence.

“Hey,” calls Clarisse. “Hey, look, I know how you feel. But we should get you to the med bay first. You look about to pass out.”

And you feel it, too. But you can’t rest until you’ve settled this.

Chiron’s face lights up when he hears you, standing in the doorway. Brown eyes warm and welcoming sadly fade, like he knows.

You choke on a sudden flow of tears, the back of your hand flying to your mouth. “He’s dead,” you tell him outright. “Percy’s dead.”

That’s the most important thing to tell. Not that you didn’t find Daedalus, or that you insulted a god down there, nor that you abandoned Nico. After all, it is the worst thing imaginable, in your eyes. All-consuming horror, taking over every inch of you. Your best friend, your longest friend, is dead.

“He saved me,” you whisper shakily.

There’s a lot of hush on camp, after that. The daylight was already fading when you came up above ground again, and it’s nearly gone now, the sky a dull, sad shade of dark-blue. Clarisse declared the time to be six o’clock in the evening exactly when you climbed out of the Labyrinth. You spend two hours going over everything in excruciating detail, from the second you stepped foot in the maze and the meeting with Hera, the blown-up forge, and what you saw. Everything feels strange after spending, as Chiron tells you, a week in almost complete darkness, with no way to tell time, in a setting altering itself every few minutes. The distant sound of laughing campers and the kids playing by the lake are long gone, as if the whole camp knows what has happened—maybe they do know. But nobody can feel the grief you feel, the struggle to really accept what happened. Logically, Percy is very, extremely dead and gone. Your heart is beginning something to change.

You don’t sleep well that night. Chiron writes down every little thing you say, and has Clarisse bring up some food for dinner for you. It’s kind, and unusual for her. She keeps her gaze lowered the whole thing you’re there, but she isn’t mean, so that’s something.

It’s nearly nine o’clock, and you’ve washed and dressed, ready for sleep in the spare room on the third floor of the house. There’s absolutely no way you can face company tonight—you’re drained completely, and know the second you hit the pillow you’ll be out. Nursing a cup of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows per Chiron’s sympathy, you settle at the table, swirling around the pink and white delicacies in your mug with a teaspoon. It’s a kind thought to make it for you, but you don’t need hot chocolate; you need to scream. You need to grab the nearest bat, and smash up the kitchen. You notice a rolling pin hanging from the wall…

“We need to talk about the maze,” says Chiron in a low tone.

It’s late and you want to sleep. “We already did.” You clink the spoon against the mug.

“It’s just…my dear, nobody navigates the maze like that. The way you described, coming back in the dark… Chris Rodriguez and Clarisse were down there for weeks, separated, and neither managed to find a way out alone. Someone found them. Alone, they might have been stuck down there for a lot longer than they were. They were the last people to go down before yourself, Percy and Grover. You walked alone, and found your way not only to the workshop, but back out of the maze again in one short go.” He pauses. “How did you do it?”

You swallow and breathe in order to ebb away the annoyance you’re feeling a lot of. You shrug. “I uh…I just knew what to do. Hephaestus told me which way to go before Clarisse found me but—well, I just walked the rest. Couldn’t see a damn thing.”

“You just knew?” He repeats. Raising your head, Chiron is frowning deeply. “To me, it doesn’t seem right. Put it this way, my dear—nobody has been able to navigate the maze like that since Luke.”

You slam down the mug in an instant on the hard wood table, spilling the contents all over the table, dripping to the floor. “Alright, so you think I’m working with Luke? Because I walked a couple of tunnels alone? If you really believe after my best friend was killed by the very people Luke is working with, that I’d work with that guy, your head needs a good tap, no offence.” You stand up swiftly, knocking the chair back. He calls your name but you ignore it and stomp up the stairs to your temporary bedroom.

In there, you lock the door, get on your knees, and pray. Your tears soak your clasped hands at the side of the bed. You get on your knees, and you beg.

I’ve added the song ‘everything in its right place’ by Radiohead to the capsize playlist on Spotify if you want to give it a listen! Figured it worked well with the end of this chapter. After all, these things are Fated to unravel whether our main gal likes it or not ☺️ the song absolutely hits me in the gut. It’s the epitome of ‘oh, it didn’t go the way you planned? tough. it’s meant to be this way’ and the realisation that things are falling as they should.

taglist:

@bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @lantsovheiress @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky @emu281 @charlesswife @jessiegerl @tojismassivemantiddies @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @nothankyou138 @obxstiles @mxltifxnd0m @cxcilla @itzjustj-1000 @sp00kcanwrite @randomesthings @fratbrochrisgf @prongsflower @bugszi