#but his bottom ambrosia can do no wrong

[ohkate]

My Spicy Vanilla- and AI Generated Gallavich Story, aka, why you shouldn't use AI to write.

So I've never used AI, but I've been curious because I see a lot of people posting about how bad it is to use these types of things. I kept thinking that maybe it wasn't so bad...I mean, what's the harm if it could help come up with a good title or a prompt or something? So I randomly googled 'sexy story generator' and found this gem of a site and put in a basic description of Ian and Mickey and asked it to write a smut story. Now... in order to access the full thing, I'd have to create an account which I'm not willing to do. But it gave me a short excerpt and I think it's honestly the *chef's kiss* of crack fic and I couldn't not post it.

Do NOT use fucking AI to write a story. You don't need to. Your writing is fine, even if it's not. Some of my stuff is shit and no one cares. And people will still tell me what a good job I'm doing even when I know they are like a parent putting up a crappy drawing their kid did on the fridge.

Seriously, this is hilarious and also horrifying.

-----

My Spicy Vanilla

I, Mickey, never thought I'd be the kind of guy to gush about love and all that mushy stuff. But here I am, head over heels for my husband, Ian. And what makes it even more surprising is that I, the tough, street-smart dude, am a total bottom for this man.

When we met, I was sitting at the counter at the bar, sipping my beer, minding my own business, when this tall, gorgeous redhead walks in. His vibrant hair caught my eye immediately, like a flame igniting in a dark room. I watched as he scanned the crowd, his green eyes searching, and I felt this weird urge to stand out, to be noticed by him.

Little did I know, he was looking for a hookup, a quick fling to satisfy his carnal desires. And I, being the confident bad boy I am, thought I'd be the perfect candidate. I approached him, my blue eyes daring him to reject me. But he didn't. Instead, he smiled, and that smile was like a key unlocking something deep within me. Deep within my ass.

"Hey, stranger," I said, my voice low and raspy. "Buy you a drink?"

Ian's eyes lit up, and he accepted my offer, sliding onto the barstool next to me. We chatted for hours, and I learned that he was new in town, looking for a fresh start. His sweetness and charm had me hooked, and before I knew it, I was inviting him back to my place to fill that hole in both my heart and my butthole.

In the dimly lit hallway of my apartment building, we kissed passionately, our tongues dancing wildly. I could feel his hardness pressing against my thigh, and I knew he wanted me. But something in his touch, gentle yet demanding, made me pause. I realized I didn't want this to be just a one-night stand. I wanted more.

"Ian," I whispered between kisses, "I want you, but I want it to mean something."

He pulled back, his green eyes searching mine. "It can mean whatever you want it to, Mickey. I'm not looking for a quick fuck. I want to take my time with you."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I knew I had to have him. But on my terms.

"Then let's take it slow," I suggested, my voice hoarse with desire. "Let me show you how it feels to be wanted, to be worshipped."

I took his hand and led him into my apartment, dimming the lights to create a sensual ambiance. We kissed again, but this time, I was in control. I pushed him gently onto the couch, straddling his lap, my erection rubbing against his through our jeans.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Ian," I whispered, my breath hot against his ear. "Let me make you feel good."

With skilled fingers, I unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his smooth, pale skin. My hands traveled down his chest, tracing his defined abs, before unbuckling his belt. I wanted to tease him, to make him beg for my bottom ambrosia.

As I slid his jeans down his long legs, his thick cock sprang free, hard and straining towards me. I couldn't resist any longer. I took him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the head, tasting his pre-cum. Ian moaned, his hands gripping the couch cushions, giving me silent stares of longing. The night held promises of fulfilled desire.

[smokeypeaches-and-honeyplums]

First i just wanna say your headcanons are seriously top notch, excellent work 👌. Ok now onto the actual request, could you do the NSFW alphaber for Macaque like you did for Redson? Don't forget to have a lovely day. 💙

What a way for me to return lmao. Thank you for the compliment, I tend to get self conscious about my writing.

You've heard it all before. Sorry for being inactive, I'm coming back, especially with the new specials coming out. I have more time on my hands. Gonna go through the box until I can start accepting again.

Edit post-s5: all is hell and I just need to cope atp what the FUCK was that season/pos

Reader is Gender-Neutral by default!

// NSFW!! MINORS DNI //

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I like to imagine Macaque is very cuddly for aftercare. Tapping into his primal side, he's more possessive and protective. So, he holds onto you, petting you as he whispers in your ear, helping you down from subspace if he has to (or domspace if you topped).

Given he has portals, shadow travel and clones, he can get all your needs met without leaving you. So, you get cuddles AND resources provided. The perfect aftercare.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Macaque honestly doesn't like much about himself. He can talk the talk, looking as if he has a healthy or overbearing ego, but get him alone for long enough? He'll be second guessing how he even blinks

Exaggerating, of course

Point is, there's not much. A lot of it has been marred as well, so it makes it worse. Though, he's come to love his face. With or without the glamour, you've gotten this far with him and loved him through his roughest time. And it's one of the things you seemed to fall for

Besides, he's gotta admit, he does look a bit on the good side.

On you though, if you're Masc leaning, he loves your arms. Shows your strength and capabilities, and their nice to look at. It feels nice to be vulnerable in them

If you're Fem leaning, he'll admit, he's a bit of an ass guy. Ass and thighs, specifically. Their nice to lay on. And they also feel so nice between his fingers, against his hips...

Ahem.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Leaning into that more primal side, Macaque likes to mark you now and then. He isn't very fond of making messes, borderline germaphobe if you asked me, but there's a part of him that likes to make a mess out of you specifically, in such a way no one else could, in such an intimate setting

It gives him a sense of control and possession of something intimate he's honestly been lacking for... however long its been honestly

However, if you make big messes/are a squirter, he's eating that shit up, figuratively and literally

It's like ambrosia on his tongue

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Believe it or not? Macaque doesn't really have a dirty secret. None he would consider one, anyways.

But, a secret at ALL would be how Macaque really wants to be cherished. He DOES want to give up control to a degree, he's just scared of getting hurt again. You can only do so much to heal his soul, so when he DOES bottom, CHERISH it. He doesn't do it easy

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Can I say no? Not really?

Okay, well, not completely, but he's a quick learner

Macaque has been dead for however long it's been. And in that time, he definitely kept to himself A LOT. Hard to make connections when you're supposed to be, ya know, DEAD. So he didn't pick up much. But he did pick up SOMETHING

But, he's a quick learner. So don't worry too much. He does ask that you tell him if he's doing something wrong though, he doesn't wanna hurt you

That's the last thing he wants to do

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Honestly, in contrast to Redson, Macaque hates any position where you can see his face in turn. Sure, he loves to see yours, but contrary to popular belief, he HATES how he looks.

He knows how to fake it til he makes it, so that confidence is very exaggerated

But hey, at least he still gets to have a good show as he has his way with you

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He'll pop a joke now and again, don't get me wrong. Macaque isn't AS much of a hardass about it in comparison to how Redson would be about the moment. Though he doesn't want it completely ruined

He won't hesitate to make you laugh though. Especially if it helps ease tension

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's a monkey. Hair goes crazy

Macaque never thought to really groom down there. I mean, why would he? He never expected to get to this point with anyone again.

So no, he's not really "well groomed," so I hope you don't mind fur in your mouth if you go to town on him in either regard on either side

He does develop a habit to get better groomed though.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Macaque is very intimate. He cherishes this, cherishes YOU. You mean so, so much. You've gotten this far with him, so he treasures you and whenever you guys get down and dirty, he does it with the intention of love making.

No primal urges

No biting (unless you want to, that is)

Just pure and utter devotion.

Maybe it's because it's all he's known, but it's how he shows his love to you. Praise and devotion.

uh- where were we again?

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Macaque only really starts to masturbate proper when he gets in a relationship with you and start to get intimate (or just, getting intimate in general if you're just fwb)

Don't get me wrong! It's not like he HASN'T touched himself before. He's a demon at the end of the day, urges happen

It just increased in frequency when he got tangled up with you

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Honestly? BDSM. Especially Bondage. Bondage specifically on you, though. For... obvious and not so obvious reasons

Roleplay! He's an actor, he's dramatic, he's a theater kid. He's gotta put it somewhere, right?

He's very partial to oral and might even have an Asphyxiation kink, in regard to both of you. Especially you though. And, in moderation so neither of you get hurt

Likes to use his clones on you now and again. It's fun to see

Would you believe me if I said he has a slight Exhibition kink? Listen to my vision-

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

As far away from FFM as possible /hj

Macaque prefers it to be somewhere he can have you to himself. In the future, or some point in time, he could entertain the idea of sharing. Maybe. But until then, no one gets to see the faces you make.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Macaque is a simple man/demon. Anything on average to get ANYONE going would get him going

Show a bit of skin in the right places, curve a certain way, bend over in front of him

He's a simple man/demon. He's allowed to give in to his vices when he's tempted by the likes of you

If you're Masc leaning, he'll start to get going just from seeing your arms and muscles flex, even if you're doing something simple. He folds easy

If you're Fem leaning, anything that shows off your ass and/or thighs has him weak in the knees and absolutely unable to keep his hands to himself. He folds easy²

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Macaque absolutely REFUSES to be bound. He'll entertain the idea of holding himself back, but he REFUSES to have his legs and arms bound. For, again, obvious and not-so obvious reasons

Macaque REFUSES to hurt you in any way beyond the asphyxiation. He regards you in such a high light, that he refuses to purposefully hurt you. It'd destroy him, no matter how much you would tell him its okay, no matter the context. So no knifeplay, bloodplay, or anything of that sort.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Macaque's asphyxiation kink purely stems from oral, I am gonna be honest

He'dchokeonthestrap

He prefers to give than to receive, but if offered, he'll DEFINITELY take the chance. You didn't hear that from me though

He also likes the praise he gets from it too, but again, didn't hear that from me

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

If you couldn't tell from how much I say it, Macaque revels in you as a whole, so he likes to take it slow.

He tends to take things slow, no matter what it is, so you better best believe that he is taking his time with you. He'll squeeze in some teasing too to make you feel good

He wants to savour you

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Just because Macaque wants to savour you, doesn't mean he can't also have appetizers now and again

He'll have a quickie now and again, but don't be surprised if he asks for more. But it's also not impossible for it to be enough for him, so if he needs to get off, he'll settle

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If you can't tell, the answer is No. For most things

Macaque is still willing to experiment, don't get me wrong, but he has very set boundaries for what area he'll be willing to experiment with and what he won't.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Look at him. Look at him and tell me you don't think he wouldn't be able to LAST.

Macaque's capable of a lot of things in and out of combat, so he definitely has the Stamina to last. Honestly, I have a general headcanon that demons, especially more powerful ones, have tons of stamina.

Have fun walking if you teased him :D

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Toys are a possibility. Macaque doesn't own em, so you'd have to bring them into the fray first.

Tease him though, and watch him melt in your hands when you get him to bottom. He makes the sweetest sounds

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Macaque's only unfair if you're unfair. And he'll always return the favor tenfold, no matter how badly you teased him. It's only fair, right? And besides, it's not like he's the only one that makes such sweet sounds

But trust, if Macaque starts teasing, you're in for a LONG night

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Macaque has sensitive hearing, if you couldn't tell, but that makes it all the better to him

He loves to growl in your ear if he tops, hear his pants and moans as he makes both of you feel good, hitting that spot you told him felt so good that one time, feeling you cling to him

And when he bottoms? He goes the full fucking MILE

Macaque is LOUD when he bottoms. If he's being this vulnerable, he might as well go all out. So he WHINES, he CRIES and by the great sage, does he MOAN.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Macaque's a dom-leaning switch, if you couldn't tell by now from what I've been implying, only bottoming once he's comfortable enough to and with his initiation the first go around

Also, whenever he teases, I like to imagine he likes to use his shadow abilities for various ideas (with your approval, of course). This includes Bondage, his clones, transformation. I mean, shit, sky's the limit

I also like to think he's not very good with the usual things at first. Things like dirty talk, foreplay, stuff like that. He will ask for guidance. He doesn't wanna fuck it up with you

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I can FINALLY talk about it

Macaque's not some "well-endowed" sex master, so he's not gonna be packing some star-seeing dick either. Well, he could, when he knows how to use it

The guy's above average, at 7.1 inches and 5 in. in width lacking in curvature. He's never thought anything of it, since he never needed to use it often

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Demons have a naturally high libido, and Macaque is no different.

Same as I said with Redson, Macaque isn't some raging, horny demon just because of the type of demon he is. He can be primal, but he has control over it

Entertain it though...

Have mercy on your legs

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Once Macaque finishes for the night (or, however long,) he can be seen almost passing out. He'll make sure you're fine, hence why he kinda leans on his clones to care for you while he cuddles into you, but he kinda crashes out once he's officially spent. A bad habit of his

[happyk44]

hermes is on vacation so nico gets some mortal substitute familiar with demigods and the greek pantheon as his doctor and when he calls him up for a visit, dude's like "well hermes didn't really tell me what was up with you because. you know. doctor/patient confidentiality. but he did tell me that if my gut instinct is "you're too young to have that" i should remember that you are apparently over a hundred years old, and if i don't believe that, i should remember he looks like a 25 year old twink but is old enough that he can describe my great grandfather's penis to me in detail. so! what's up with you"

and nico just pulls out this binder from his backpack, slaps it onto the desk and opens it up. the first page is a print out from a powerpoint presentation, the title reading "What Is Wrong With Nico", a subtitle of "aka the old man bones are old man boning", with a smaller subtitle several spaces below reading "current as of: right the fuck now"

the next page is four tables under the title "Ways He Is Broken". the tables depict:

his current diagnosis and the date of diagnosis

his current medications, the amount, and to what problem they correspond

things he's already been tested for that didn't pan out and why he was tested for them

previous medications he was on, the amount and why he was taking them (also includes current meds where the amount was changed)

the next page is titled "How The Fuck Is He Not Dead" and then a bullet pointed list summarizing all his traumas and other minor shit he's been through that has been attached as the cause(s) behind his issues, so like sandwiched between "nearly suffocated to death while trapped in a jar" and "had to shadowtravel across the atlantic ocean with a giant statue and two other people (prior limit was myself going from new york to illinois)" there's a point stating "fell over on the crows nest of a flying boat and dislocated my wrist". next to each bullet point there are coloured dots going to the left. some bullet points only have one, some have two - they are all colour coded to correspond to the ailment(s) in which they apply.

the next page is called "What Is He Up To These Days" and it's just a long list detailing all his diagnosed symptoms - again little circles beside each point to colour code to the corresponding ailment. the column next to it is labelled "new symptoms" and consists of three bullet points: getting dizzy when i stand up, started two months ago once a week, now every time i stand; migraines are back, made me cry in the shower last night, need new meds probably; and, got hit in the rib by a hydra's tail last month, reset my rib myself and eating ambrosia squares, but still hurts really bad, don't think it's healing right

the next page is "What Could Kill Him So Don't Use It*" and it's just a few columns labelled "pet allergies" "food allergies" "drug allergies" "magic allergies" "other allergies" and the only one that has something included is food allergies and it's just the bullet point "garlic intolerant but he's fucking italian so he doesn't care". in the footnotes at the bottom of that page is the asterix relating back to the title saying "Don't fucking give him cigarettes. he is an idiot and he will ask but they do not work and they never worked and he refuses to listen to me when i tell him this. DO NOT LET HIM HAVE CIGARETTES"

it is very clear this page was filled out by Hermes himself

his interim mortal doctor reads carefully each page, glancing once at nico when he gets to Hermes' footnote, before closing the binder. "you're how old?"

"technically 17, chronologically one hundred and something, i dunno i can't do math and i don't remember what my dad put on my cake this year"

"Right. okay." the mortal doctor presses his hands together and to his lips watching nico carefully then lowering his hands to smooth across the desk "have you ever thought about maybe just sitting on a couch and never leaving your house again"

"yeah, i tried that but i get restless, and also i like helping people if they need it and they ask. hermes tells me i should be more selfish then locks me to a chair, but he's also the one who taught me how to pick locks so i can get out pretty easily. honestly don't know why he keeps trying. even if i didn't know how to pick the lock, i'm pretty good at dislocating my joints on purpose too so i can always just get out that way."

the increasingly stressed out doctor just hums quietly. then, "okay! first i'm going to check your rib, and then we're gonna talk about you getting a 24 hour caregiver because you clearly do not understand limits and need someone who does"

[twoidiotwriters1]

The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: I'm looking forward to read what you guys think of this one -Danny Words: 1,533 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Haunted' -by Taylor Swift

XXIV: I Use the Power of Love (Goes Wrong Too)

When they reach the bottom, Annabeth is staring down a ridge in the middle of the cave. Percy pulls her away from it and hugs her. Annabeth sobs against his chest. 

"It's okay, we're together," he eases her.

"Annie," Ara reaches for her T-Rex. "Your leg..."

Ara gets to work quickly while Leo follows her instructions and takes the Athena Parthenos. Hazel and Piper come down with Nico as well, and Ara wants to yell at them to go back, but she keeps it quiet, they're trying to help them get out of there faster.

"Your leg," Piper crouches next to Ara. "Oh, Annabeth, what happened?"

Annabeth starts telling them about her quest, and Ara half-listens, her heartbeat so loud she can barely focus on fixing up Annabeth's ankle. Jason joins them while Leo lifts the statue into the ship.

"Gods of Olympus," he says, listening to the final parts of Annabeth's story. "You did all that alone. With a broken ankle."

"Well... some of it with a broken ankle."

"You made Arachne weave her own trap?" Percy smirks. "I knew you were good, but Holy Hera—Annabeth, you did it. Generations of Athena kids tried and failed. You found the Athena Parthenos!"

"Yeah, good job—now eat," Ara places a piece of ambrosia in Annabeth's mouth. "How're you feeling?"

"My ankle isn't throbbing anymore," she gives Ara a teary but grateful look. "Mike would be proud."

"You have no idea..." Ara strokes Annabeth's cheek, pulling most of the anguish out with her empath touch. "Percy, help me get her out of here."

"On it."

"We have to take her with us to Greece," Annabeth points at the Athena. "The statue is powerful. Something about it will help us stop the giants."

"The giants' bane stands gold and pale," Hazel hums. "Won with pain from a woven jail... It was Arachne's jail. You tricked her into weaving it."

"What about you guys?" Annabeth looks around, still covered in cobwebs that she doesn't seem to mind at the moment. "What happened with the giants?"

"You can talk about that on the ship," Ara urges them. "Get up!"

Percy pulls Annabeth to her feet. "Maybe you can talk some sense into Ara, she's been—"

The floor cracks, reminding the group they're not in a safe place. Jason takes Piper back to the ship, and Hazel holds Nico. "This floor won't last! The rest of us should get to the ladder."

"Great idea," Ara replies. "Nico and you first. Percy—take Annabeth."

"What about you?" He frowns.

"I'll be right behind you," she lies.

"Do you promise?" Her brother presses.

Ara can't, of course, and she doesn't get the chance to, because Annabeth gets yanked away from them screaming. 

"Annabeth!"

The cobwebs are dragging her down, probably stuck to some debris that's fallen into the pit. Ara pulls Almighty out of her pocket and runs to her friend.

"You catch her!" She yells at Percy.

The boy throws himself and grabs Annabeth's hand, Ara slashes across the floor and cuts the cobwebs, but her sword cuts through the ground as well, making it more unstable. The girls lock eyes, and Annabeth sees right through her just like Lily would. Her expression shifts into one of pure panic. 

"Ara—"

"Leave." Ara sprints towards the pit and Annabeth, charged with adrenaline, gets up and runs, seemingly not in pain as she quickly catches up to Ara. Both girls hear Percy scream at them to come back.

It happens extremely fast. Annabeth seizes Ara's backpack and yanks her back, the girl falls sideways and her elbow explodes in pain, leaving her unable to move for a second... and a second is all it takes for things to go south, quite literally. Annabeth screams, and Ara rolls over just in time to see her and Percy slip out of sight. 

"NO!" She rashly crawls to the edge.

Percy and Annabeth had always been there to protect her, and she'd always been thankful for that... but she should've never let them get used to it, cause it has led to this: her brother holding onto a ledge, where Ara cannot save him. 

The boy is holding Annabeth with his other hand, and Ara realizes the girl is hugging the T-Rex, the strap must've broken when Annabeth pulled her out of danger.

"You should've left!" Ara desperately tries to reach her brother even though Percy is more than ten feet below. "You never listen to me!"

Percy screams back, sounding as scared as her. "Why didn't you listen?"

Deep down, she believed Annabeth and Percy's love had limits, she convinced herself that even if they cared about her, their resolve would break and they would back off just like Lily did. This is not how she wanted to find out she was wrong.

Nico speaks next to her, sounding shaken. "What did you do?"

Ara whimpers with frustration, none of them should've been there.

"Percy, let me go," Annabeth speaks hoarsely. "You can't pull me up."

"Never," Percy growls. His eyes go back to Ara and Nico. "The other side! We'll see you there. Understand?" 

Nico's face gets even paler than it already was. "But—"

"Lead them there!" Percy urges him. "Promise me!"

"I—I will," Nico gulps.

Ara's knuckles are white from holding onto the edge. This is not how it was supposed to go. It was her sacrifice to make... "No." Nemesis speaks in her head. "You don't value yourself, which makes you a poor sacrifice. These two, they are your offerings."

Ara's commitment to the cause runs deep, she's willing to give up her life with Leo, but only because it's her the one stepping out. She doesn't want others to be taken so she can remain. Percy and Annabeth should have never been hers to give away like this. It's unfair, as all her life has been.

Percy starts to slip, and the chamber crumbles down faster, none of them is going to survive if they stay there. "The T-Rex!" Ara shouts. "It's got supplies and my blessing! Love will keep you safe!"

Those words saved Percy's life once, they can do it again. Her brother's eyes burn with anger and something else she doesn't recognize, he realizes Ara had prepared for the fall and it doesn't make him feel better. 

That look being the last one he will ever give her is not an option, it would haunt her more than Mike's words.

Her brother's hand loses its grip, and Ara lets out something like a scream and a sob, but so broken it doesn't even sound human.

"GET UP!" Nico yells, pulling her to her feet and dragging her away with the last bit of strength he's got in him.

I always thought having a real family was better than having half-siblings. I imagined it'd be an unbreakable bond, affection with no limits. I feel that way about Percy most times, but right now, I want to trip him down the amphitheater steps.

"Ara!"

I give a start. Mike's sweating profusely, and he does not appreciate it when I ignore training. I look at him, then back at my brother.

"What is it?" He follows my line of vision.

I speak without tearing my eyes away from Percy, currently taking a break from climbing the lava wall. "Five minutes."

"What?"

"Takes him five minutes to climb the whole thing."

Michael rolls his eyes. "Well, it's Percy."

That's the response I get whenever I say my brother can do something better. "It's Percy". I know he's strong and skilled, but I've been in this camp for longer than him, I train more, so why are my efforts still not enough to compare to him?

"Age, gender, godly parent," I pout. "Why do those things set us apart? We have similar experiences, and he might have control over water, but—"

"It's more than that," Mike interrupts me. "There are things that big-three kids get since birth because they get targeted more than us. He heals faster, he moves faster—"

"I don't heal slowly," I argue.

"Percy could get stabbed and keep going for an entire hour before he even starts to feel dizzy. You'd be out of the fight in five minutes. Lily and I know you can be sneaky, but Percy doesn't even need to."

That last sentence irritates me. I don't want to hide and run, I've been hiding and running from every monster for the last three years.

Beckendorf joins Percy while I think of this, both look like all demigods should: Athletic, handsome, and powerful. I'll be fourteen in a week, and I'm bruised, calloused, sweaty, and tired. I'm not like them at all, nowhere near their level.

"Whatever," I mutter, picking up my sword.

Mike sighs. "Don't dwell on it, bug. One day you'll be the daughter of Olympus and you'll be stronger than all of us. It won't matter if you were born with power or not, you'll have it either way."

"I know," I reply, adopting a fighting stance.

I don't know if my friend can tell, but I mimic Percy's movements when I fight. I try not to because they don't work for me, but I can't help it. 

I keep saying that. "I try not to", whenever I think about Percy. I try, but I can't stop. Being close to someone like him, and knowing what a great hero he is, it's easy to flick the switch and resent him for the reasons I liked him at the start.

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[sntsholloways]

Dorian Holloway hangs over the abyss of Saturn - sweaty fingers digging deep into unknown galaxies while blue eyes stare at the black oceans of Titan. Ground control, do you copy? He watches the void, stars in his eyes, red lungs filled with crimson liquid - mouth parted for particles of ambrosia to grace his tongue. Icarus watches the sun scorch the earth, and he wants more. It claws at his skin viciously, this desire - heavens his chest, bulges his throat, laces his trembling breath. Ground control, my helmet has been compromised. Can he breathe in this orbit Nsilo created? The Big-Bang, a great meteor exploding all around him, coating him in ashes and blood. Can he exist in this new atmosphere? Is he nothing but a skeleton in a rock, fossilized, knees bound to his chest and hands reaching up for her grace - begging, devoted, little sacrifice. 

ground control

do we get what we deserve? 

He has killed before - fight little wolf, have you had enough little wolf - bare hands meeting flesh, meeting blood, meeting skull. Dorian Holloway is a beautiful creature, a lone astronaut in a burning ship, and he carries his mother's face; in his smile, his golden hair, his full cheeks. His father's resentment could not affect his arrogance - or was it the catalyst which created his galaxies? His father was not a beautiful man; frail bones, balding hairline, pale skin, dark eyes. When Dorian stopped punching, his father was nothing more than red - it covered Dorian's chest, dripped from his hands, his mouth. Inhale, exhale. Altitude - The hands that load the gun are just to blame as the fingers that pull trigger. Icarus stands in front of Chaos, of her madness, the aftermath of her explosion. A void familiar to him, a taste in his mouth he swallows, moans. 

ground control 

He hangs, he holds, he tells himself the abyss underneath is not worth it. His tongue darts out, licks wet lips, spreads the blood on the roof of his mouth, behind his teeth, covers his gums with it. He swallows and swallows, the burning fires of the sun spreading through his skin uncontrollable. The natural reaction to the sun is looking away if direct eye contact is made - cover the iris, surrounded in darkness. Flinch from the pain. He holds her gaze, he parts his lips, he beans with her touch. He burns, and burns, and burns - Moaning in the face of the pain, hungry from the smell of his torched skin. He needs her to taste him, sink her teeth into his flesh and rip out his throat - mark him, claim him, eat him. I love it I love it I love it I love it I love yo- “No.” Ground control, do you hear me? “I don't think you want me to go back.” 

His fingers tremble where it digs in the edge of Saturn, his mind throbs with something dark, something real - His mouth waters with desire. He needs more. He will explode in his pants, the birth of a constellation, the death of his self respect. He needs her, needs her more than he needs air. He needs Castillon at her worst, needs her hand gripping his throat, pulling his hair, squeezing his throbbing cock. He needs her inside of him, spitting in his mouth, ripping his skin open. He needs, needs, needs, needs - 

ground control

i'm letting go

The fall into the abyss is exhilarating. It is everything he dreamed of, everything he begged for. His lips find hers in a press of teeth and skin, irresistible force meets an immovable object. He kisses, bites her bottom lip. Pull away, stare into the sun. “I think you want me here. To claim me, mark me. You want me out there? Where I can find someone else to destroy me?” He chuckles. “Will you let her have something of me you don't?” Tongue moves to her neck, the salt of her skin. He glady drowns in the seas of Titan. “I think you can use my tongue in your cunt, right now. Am I wrong?” 

Time operates differently in space; the hierarchal peace and war of galaxies is a complex ideation that relies on the state of the atmosphere surrounding those existing in their corner of an endless void. Planetary death, sterilisation, catastrophic episodes — time is as unavoidable as fighting against necroplanetology; a study of corpse planets, it is an inevitability; death is a constant. When a new abyss is ripped into existence, it reminds Castillon that she has little control over the ticking of the death clock, but she controls this.

Dorian Holloway has made his bed, and he will lay in it. In the time that the moon has moved a few inches on its orbital path, a thousand planets have already met their extinction. Dorian Holloway is a man so terribly dead. And with it, he reaps. It is not his first murder, but it dares to be his last.

Skin bares brightly against the lowlights, glistening — not silver but crimson; an eclipse as the shadows of a woman that isn't her shrouds him, enveloping. Nsilo is looking now at the paling water on mars, glacier-like and piercing; drowning, drying out from the arid heat that burns the skin of the inhabitable plain. She lingers at the doorway, daring to leave, daring, daring. Daring to tear the wet appendage from his mouth, digits that caress in a manner of provocation included; he slicks his skin with the blood that is hers (and simultaneously not hers); presenting virulent intentions that he knows are suffering and spite and —

Supernovae. Gone are the gleaming stars that glaze the man, killed in the touch that is not hers; it is destruction; self and beyond — a nuclear fusion of incompatible elements. A sun needs to set as the moon rises; that is the order of things. It is the worship of two forces in countenance to one another, staring at the earth that blackens between them; ever wrecking itself.

In the nova, there is so much blood — a firework that pleads to belong, but they only feature in the dark; their beauty is a lie, a second long thing — another thousand planets, tearing one another apart. Implosions of self; of unwilling intent that ends life.

Dorian Holloway is teetering on the precipice of death. Where Nsilo denies capturing the smile, or leering at the moon earlier in the night, those anchors in the sky that revolve and revolve until they might split off their axis and end the life of the other — she cannot look away now, the stoicism that borders on lunacy, a slow tip of the head that has fangs threatening to pierce through her lips. A noise that jealousy will not claim right to, absurd to think that the sun runs at any deadly heat; it is burning, but in a way that ice is a slow thawing. Dragging out over time, where limbs tremble in desperation to live, and survive. Dorian Holloway will not survive this.

Goodbye Icarus. You will never see the sun again. In his death, he moans — a noise rivalling a scream, agonisingly vying for the sun to cradle him closer. There is no mistake in the tip of wings set aflame, or the burst of blood when it boils from the pores. There is no mistake. Castillon can hear the bones shatter under the force of gravity's pull before they are ashen, decorating the substratosphere in ghosting memories. She feels the fragility of bones under her grasp when she crosses the room, a rocket puncturing through atmospheric entry. The pressure of a skull is easily crushed in the pressure of space, time — gravity's constant mercilessness.

Dorian Holloway will watch death, as this is all he's wanted. Who would challenge the sun by any means; millions of years of existence, undefeated. This woman who Nsilo glares at will not take from it; her Icarus claimed. She does not want to watch him wander further from her burning touch; from her flaming death, but she will not look away blindly. So she will not tolerate either.

Castillon has forced him away, to mount the woman baring fangs, knees crushing biceps that try protesting the presence, like she has no right in the severance of limbs.

Enjoy this. It no longer matters who she is thinking of. She will justify all acts as she always does when victory stands to appear like losing; she doesn't lose.

The sun beams as it always does when it burns — tearing nails across the fracturing of a skull as mutilated flesh peels from the concaving face; made so ugly in its artistry. Eyes pop under the strength of buried thumbs that provoke gurgled screams to echo off the walls. Nsilo drowns the sound with a hiss; the sizzling of burning flesh in the violence of interplanetary warfare.

In a quiet rage, the decapitating neck from bloodied shoulders sounds so much like a roar of a black hole. Silent. But, fully capable of deformation in the most grotesque of senses. Blood sprays Nsilo's person and the walls of the lounge as it ruins the Venician. It's over quicker than Castillon willed to watch Dorian's hips grind against the woman he foolishly got his rocket up for. He knows the cost of veering too close to oblivion; the black hole is unforgiving, as is the sun — a supernova, and a meteorite that will pepper him in scalding hot debris.

When the woman is crumbling dustfalls under Nsilo's brutality; a frenzy that has her instantly in front of Anemoia's manager. Fistfals of dust that trickle from between her fingers. A hand opens to violently grip his chin, and delirium slowly fades behind the composure that Castillon shutters into place. She would have handed him the woman's filthy head, had Dorian's victim not been reduced to nothing.

Would you like to choke on her now, Dorian Holloway? She squeezes his chin in threat of another crack, a touch that is tainted by the scene; the first of the night. Punishment enough, to also be his last. She says it all in her mind — before she pulls him forward by his belt, so she can be sure he is present; that he is listening; that he knows.

The sun and the moon — they belong, on other sides of night and day: "Get back to your job, 'Rian." And, whilst she wants to burn the mess from his body and scar him until he will thank her for putting her own there. He might do better to crawl around, licking up the ash if he wishes to live another night — or maybe that will be the real end: "Clean this up,"

She knows, he is never leaving this room.

[spice-chan]

Yandere incubus bakugou please? But the reader is a bad a** nun exorcist?

Heavenly

Incubus!Bakugou x nun!reader

Warnings: yandere themes, religious imagery, dub/noncon, somnophilia, praise kink, incubus bakugo, nsfw.

Wordcount: 2 K

You were new in the field, but nevertheless, the best. You approached your work with certain fierceness that bordered on unprofessional, unethical, given your field.

You were a nun, an exorcist meant to banish creatures like Bakugo Katsuki, unholy, sinful creatures like him.

Ones who bathed in wrong doings, encouraged misbehaviours, got off and energised at the feel of being the cause of someone sinning.

Bakugo watched you, clad in white attire and bright eyes that seemed so honest, so pure, that they seemed almost translucent. Katsuki doesn’t belong in heaven, but he thinks it must look something like your eyes.

A creature like him shouldn’t hover in a place like this. A creature so devilish isn’t welcomed in God’s abode, isn’t worthy of staring at crucifixes, nor worthy of salvation. But most importantly, what right does a wretched being like him have to stare reverently at a blessed being like you.

Though, the both of you have some things in common, he mused. You were so fiery, that some of your elders seemed stiff at the sight of you, though what sort of stiff is ambiguous. You were so ambitious, rising up the ranks so quickly, his good girl.

Fuck, how did he grow so enamored with you? The only reason he can even enter the premises of your church is because he hasn’t come of age yet, hasn’t reached his full potential as an incubus, but a few days from now, he will take his first victim.

He will lay with someone, take them and become the creature of lust that he was meant to be, become the tainted person you preach against. He wishes it could be you, wishes he can take you and break your vows, give you a taste of the sweetness of the apple, get you addicted to the taste of debauchery, wishes he can taste your sweetness.

You had so much restraint, on lonely nights where you rubbed your thighs in need, slick starting to dampen your panties, Katsuki watching in anticipation, wondering whether today will be the day you please yourself painfully unaware of your audience. Leaving him with raging hopes that today will be the day you will be pliant enough to be taken by him but no, no, you just took a deep breath and opted for a cold shower, leaving him with a raging hard on that he had no choice but to stroke to your sleeping form.

You were so fragile too, like glass that he felt protective over, despite how foreign that feeling is to him, yet wanting to shatter you all the same, wanting to cage you with his wings, get you addicted to the delightful feeling he can induce between your thighs while your throat goes raw from moans and screams of his name.

He stalked you religiously, memorised you like the pope memorised the bible, his form which is invisible to you hovered around you like a lost puppy, drinking in all your expressions like ambrosia, his mouth overflowing with saliva at the sweet nectar you kept offering and offering to the point where he’s gotten too addicted to stop.

He glowered at every male that interacts with you, and if the wrong scent emanates from them, something to slightly suggest attraction, you can bet they greet death too early, the cause being a mystery. He enjoys mangling them all night long, only to put them back together and repeat the process. No one stares at his human like she’s theirs, when she's so woefully his. Although she doesn’t know it yet.

But his coming of age ceremony grows closer and closer, and Katsuki won’t be able to enter your premises anymore, his awakening means he also won’t be able to take you for that very ceremony, and perhaps never.

So, Bakugo started thinking smart. Using his influence, he gathered the most intense, the most powerful demons and made them inhibit people from a nearby village. A case severe enough that you’d have to leave in aid of those people. And stay for a few days.

Painfully predictable, you did just that. Donning your outfit and leaving swiftly. Not knowing what dark fate awaits you.

…………

Bakugou stood at the corner of the inn room you are staying in. You were so exhausted, you passed out as soon as you hit the mattress. Now, without the protective walls shielding you from him, your soft body will be all pliant for him. His body shook, the changes to it happening too rapidly. His wings are growing larger, bolder, and aside of the external changes, his scent was becoming more soft, relaxing, his body emitting pheromones that could easily induce lust. His saliva and touch will have a multiplied effect now that he’s reached his peak form. All that’s left now is to make love to a human, to make love to you.

He stepped closer to you, the room looking darker with each step he took, and your form appearing more and more defenceless to the enamored incubus before you.

He slowly took the blanket off you, admiring the slopes of your body in the form fitting night dress that you only adorned in the comfort of your room. He covered your body with his large one, covering you and his heat acting as a blanket, shielding you from the nipping cold. He took your sprawled arms, slowly putting them over your head and holding them in place with one hand while his other lowered the strap on your dress, freeing one breast to caress while his mouth pressed a feather light kiss over your own, so tender it was akin to a lover's touch.

You stirred in your sleep, his touch having the desired effect as you remained in slumber… his sleeping beauty. He kept kissing his way down, like a mad deprived of water for weeks finally getting to quench his thirst.

His wings lowered, shielding you from the moon light as he laved you up in his saliva, exposing your tits only to lay kisses on them before sucking harshly, pulling, tugging until they pebbled up. He squeezed the warm flesh, marvelling at the baby soft skin and its texture in his calloused palm.

Heh, if you were awake, you’d freak out so bad. Katsuki didn’t stop, he continued his journey downwards, kissing over every inch until he reached the heaven between your thighs.

He can smell it, God, he can smell the arousal coating your plain white panties. He moved his apart, movements stilling in the face of your womanhood, suddenly blushing and feeling nervousness enter his stream. He swallowed, pink tongue poking out of his tongue slowly and drawing a path from your slit to your clit. Feeling satisfied at your muscles spasming. He got cocky real quick after that, not even attempting to conceal the raunchy sounds of his mouth wrapping around your clit and eating it as if drinking from a straw.

You were the sweetest delicacy he’d ever tasted, and he’d be damned if he ever lets go of you.

His finger slipped inside you, feeling your walls sucking it in, tightness befitting of a nun. A second finger joined, your walls happily sucking it in and coating his fingers in slick. They moved in and out, thick fingers hitting sensitive spots and stretching you out in preparation for something bigger.

His hips were rutting into the bed, trying to alleviate the ache while his tongue goes for a final taste, the slickened muscle burying itself inside you and moaning. The room was filled with slurping sounds, tiny moans from your sleeping figure and his hips rutting into your mattress; anyone who stood outside your door for a second longer than necessary can tell what’s happening in the nun's room.

He can’t take this anymore. You were here now, pliant for the taking and he was going to take you. He’s going to take you in many many ways.

He freed his manhood, but before he can bury himself in you, he had to do something. He pulled out a shiny object, pulling your hand and slipping it into your finger. Now, the fun can begin.

He lined himself with your begging hole, desperate for something to fill it up after it was so delightfully full, after having its owner deprive it for so long.

With a moan, he quickly bottomed out, eyes watering at the pleasure, having to hold himself back from cumming on the spot as he groaned. Your greedy walls drank him in, welcoming him warmly as if he’s a soldier returning from war, as if hellfire wasn’t hot enough.

He put one of your legs above his shoulder, silently questioning whether he should go at the pace he’s going to, whether he should take you gently the way your body should be taken after years of abstinence. But one clench of your walls and the decision was made for him.

He started pistoning into you mercilessly, his gifted length not sparing you in the slightest. He was so loud too, moaning at the feeling of being one with you, slobbering like a dog as he pounded you, his tip reaching and massaging places you probably didn’t even know existed. Really, with how loud he was, he shouldn’t have been surprised when you woke up.

You squealed, in pleasure or repulsion, trying to push him away, however the pleasurable sheen in your eyes was unmissable to the avatar of lust.

“Ah—who are y-you?! You devil!” You kept stuttering, words breaking as he forcefully pounded the pleasure into you.

“Don’t ask if you already know, princess.” He pumped more pheromones in the air, successfully making you more docile as you gripped his humongous biceps, hands not even close to wrapping around the circumference of it, moaning and clenching around his member.

“Good girl.” He smirked as his statement made you clench even more, so his princess likes being praised.

Your moans were raw and throaty, as if unused to letting out such sinful and suggestive sounds, as if unwilling but painfully desperate to.

“But, if you’re so desperate to know, look at your hand.”

Your eyes glanced up, hazily making out a golden band resting on your ring finger. It had a red amber on it, its colour so red it was darker and bolder then the liquid spilled in a blood oath, it signified something that your foggy brain just couldn’t make out.

“Hmm, already fucked you silly?”

You grumbled something out, a protest too low to be considered a threat. His hand reached out and started rubbing circles on your button, causing an adorable mewl to leave your lips. His thumb kept up the movement until he felt your overly sensitive walls choking his length, gripping him so hard that his fucking falters. You really hadn’t touched yourself in a long time huh.

Some of the spit gathered in his mouth escaped, coating you as his tongue left his mouth lewdly, cheeks flushed an apple red while his eyes watered at the weight of doings. He pounded you so hard after that he reached ecstasy in a minute, not holding the handles on his pleasure any longer, only relishing in the intimate moment as he reached heaven with you. His movements were so passionate, it was as if he was seeking salvation for his very existence in your body.

He pulled out with a grunt, heart panging at the look in your eyes. You stared in horror at the white gushing out of you, so far from pure or holy, it was thick like the sin you allowed yourself to indulge in.

Tears soaked up your face, unable to believe that you of all people got taken by this god forsaken creature, by this tempting creature that symbolizes sin itself. His fingers had the audacity to reach for your face, trying to wipe away the tears he caused. Your hand went to harahly swat his before a red glint caught your eye, your gut sinking at the implication. You swiftly went to remove it, but the harder you tried the more it seemed to cling to your finger.

“What’s this?!” He rolled his eyes at you, before pointing at the ring in your ring finger.

“This-“ his intense, bloody gaze shifted to you”-this will make sure that wherever you go, I will be able to follow you, that we will belong to each other for eternity, because I, the incubus prince Katsuki Bakugou chose you as my mate, and there’s no way out if that.”

[hopecountyisforlovers]

tangled up in arms;

/You are Project Ambrosia, a genetically altered human test subject with abilities that could revolutionize the medical field- kept captive for a lifetime in a high tower. He is Otto Octavius, former scientist turned supervillain after a fusion accident, itching to continue his research. When your paths cross, will it simply mean your freedom? Or perhaps... something more? || Takes place in a modified offshoot of the Raimiverse. Rating may change later if I decide to write spicy scenes. Currently a soft M for themes and Violence. Heavily inspired by Disney's Tangled.

Read It On Archive

Chapter One: Routine

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The ticking of the clock on the wall rang in your head, the only sound in the silent white room whose walls consisted of most of what you'd ever known. It was both easy and hard to lose track of time- sometimes, minutes zipped by so fast you could swear the tick-tock of the clock was moving in fast forward. Other times, it seemed like it was on pause, like the same day had been going on for your whole life.

Today was the latter. You sighed vocally from where you laid on your back in your bed, even though there was no one to hear it. Even if someone was there to hear it, you knew nobody would listen. The people who worked here saw you as more of an experiment than a human being- something to be locked up and used to make them all rich. You were sure nobody knew that you were up here, that you had been born here, that you had spent 24 years here, a captive of Oscorp Labs code-named Project Ambrosia. Surely, if people knew... they would be outraged, right? You were a human being... weren't you? Did you still count?

You looked at your hand, turning it over and back under the bright fluorescent lights. It looked like a human hand to you, at least. You were sure all of you still looked human, despite the modifications that had been made to your DNA. At least, you were pretty sure. It had been a while since they had let you see yourself in a mirror.

And yet... you had given up on anyone being outraged on your behalf. That hope had lived in you, light in the way that only hope can be, years ago, as a defiant child- but hope is a much harder thing to hold onto the older you get. You had dreamed of grass between your toes, of fresh air, of friends. Night after night of begging the universe for someone to rescue you had given way to night after night of being angry that no one had, and that had given way to a quiet resignation of sorts.

How could you dream about something you didn't know anything about?

Either no one knew you were up here, and they never would, as tightly guarded a secret you were, or they did, and it was obvious that no one cared. And regardless, there was no reason to think you would be going anywhere anytime soon- no matter how badly you still secretly wanted to, in the very deepest and most shielded part of your heart.

To your right, the thin slot on the bottom of the door- just big enough for the plate of food that fit through it- opened up, producing your lunch from the other side- pasty looking chicken strips . It didn't look particularly appetizing, and you knew from experience it wouldn't be- but if you chose to starve yourself again, you also knew from experience they would just knock you out and feed you intravenously. It was more trouble than it was worth.

You rose from your firm bed, looking around at the four pristine walls of your windowless cage, breathing in the stale, chemical-scented air that even the scent of food did nothing to liven up. The only good thing about lunch being served was that it generally meant that your time being poked and prodded for the day was over, although it was a double-edged sword- it also generally meant you wouldn't be leaving your little room again for the rest of the day.

As you retrieved your lunch, returned to your bed, and ate, you looked at your arm, your wrist. The evidence of this mornings tests were nowhere to be found on them, as always, but they lingered in your mind- it wasn't as if you had never had blood drawn, but today they seemed intent on testing how quick your regeneration of it was. Bag after bag, labeled and handed off to people who watched you, some with a disgusted fascination, others with dollar signs in their eyes.....

You shivered, and yet it somehow had nothing to do with the blood loss- you had hardly felt it then, and it had no effect on you now. They had been looking at you like you were a freak. The feeling sat heavy in your stomach, making the bland food you were slowly working your way through seem even more unappetizing.

Could you really blame them, though? You certainly weren't normal. You thought of the bags of blood again, bright red- the only splash of color in this sterile, pale place. Did other people bleed that same red? Could they tell just by looking at it that you weren't like them? Would they all know, even if you managed to get out of here? You were so lost in thought that you didn't realize your plate was empty until you shoved a plastic forkful of nothing into your mouth. You tried to clear your thoughts, mostly unsuccessfully; it didn't matter that it didn't do you any good to think about things like that. What did you have to do besides think, after all?

You put the plate back down in front of its little door- someone would get it later, they always did- and lay back down in your bed for a nap, just like you had yesterday and the day before that. It's not even that you were tired- it had just become a habit, and in this place, habit and ritual were the most powerful forces there were.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The sound was almost comforting, in a way.

It wasn't long before it began to lull you to sleep- your last conscious thought that, for better or for worse, the routine of this place, and your life, would stay unbroken.

If only you knew how wrong you were.

[pepsiiwho]

Okay. Going in order of top to bottom. Spoilers maybe. Lots of rambling. Love u

Ryoji: He's literally half of MC's soul or something. He was created and takes the form he has now thanks to MC and knows him unlike any other. I think Ryoji when he sat in class or stared at the ceiling awake at night would imagine ripping MC open and crawling inside, reviling in the warmth he can't remember having but misses like a limb. I think he has a lot of violent unnatural thoughts like that, being the personification of death incarnate and just is fine with it. It's a fact of life he's had since walking into that classroom and seeing MC. The sky is blue and sometimes orange and the river flows at its own pace and the clouds float endlessly and MC's blood probably tastes like ambrosia. I think Ryojin would be a major home wrecker as well. He doesn't particularly care that MC is in a committed relationship, he'd probably just see it as a fun obstacle to move through. He is MC's and MC is his. As it should be and as it has been. Something is wrong with this guy btw.

Akinari: He doesn't have much longer on this earth and spends his remaining time basking in the fleeting joy of the one other person who seems to just get him. MC doesn't pity him, doesn't walk across eggshells. He's just normal and kind and a breath of fresh air, something his tired lungs haven't had in a very long time. He writes, newly inspired, because of MC. He gets up every Sunday and walks to the shrine, stumbling and coughing into his fist just to ensure he can see MC. He is dizzy from love and a lack of medication. He is not at peace, yet, but this is making it both easier and harder to let go. I think, if he was allowed more time, he would doodle their names together in his note book, writing self sustaining fan fiction about their possible union. He's a horrible romantic turned pessimist and this ... friendship of theirs is feeing into a part of him he could've sworn long since failed, with his initial diagnosis.

Chihiro: The freshmen who's found herself madly in love with the only senpai who's ever been kind to her. Similarly to Amada and Maiko and even Aigis, I don't think this is romantic as it seems. She's imprinting these emotions onto the first man who was ever kind to her. Her father was, is?, abusive and her male peers find her too prudish to give her the time of day. She's had little to no good interactions with the opposite sex before now, erring the line of neutral and actively harmful. MC is kind and popular and cool and smart and gorgeous and he never yells and spends time with her to look at stupid manga and to just talk and walk together. He is the anti-isis of everything she assumed a man could be. He's straight out of a shoujo manga. I think she would be happy with him but he wouldn't be happy with her. They're in two different places. But just being near him is enough for her.

Maya: Shrugs. It's a vibe. Bitch is pitiful tho.

Keisuke: OKAY OKAY HERE WE GOOOOO!! HERE WE GO. okay. Don't touch me. Okay. So, Keisuke says in plain English that he's a becoming a doctor for the same reason his father did: to protect someone he cares about. I'm of two minds with him.

1 . he's far too pragmatic to allow himself any sort of active romance while trying to pursue his new goal of getting into med school and becoming an established doctor. He needs to focus and he doesn't understand the concept of multitasking in the macro or micro (for fucks sake, he could stay in the club as a minor hobby or pursue art on the side, again as a hobby but he completely gives up the entire thing to focus all his attention on studying. He's got horrible tunnel vision and I think it's a case of rich kid syndrome! oh no..) BUT, HAVING SAID THAT— 2 . Keisuke actively and constantly uses MC as his North Star and lucky charm simutaniosly. He goes through med school reminding himself of why he's even doing this. He's 2 days deep into back to back all-nighters to prep for a cadaver lab he has to ace if he's going to pass this class with high marks and in a moment of rest lays his head on the desk and imagines MC's chuckle. He sees pale hands holding a paintbrush without experience but doing it anyway. He feels thick hair between his fingers and smells that signature scent, a phantom in his study corner. He's invigorated suddenly and dives right back in, ready to work.

He's so down bad he's in school for 8 something whatever years and finally becomes a doctor and his first thought it "I wanna see MC" so he does. He went without any sort of relationship or anything more important then a quick fling (sexual activity is good for positive reinforcement and memorization in relation to test taking says a 2013 Harvard study—) and the FIRST thing he does is set up a dinner with MC.

In my current world, he sees that MC is happily taken (still with his high school sweetheart, of course) and he is as crushed as he is unperturbed. A part of me, the part my heart rests in, thinks he would always love MC in some way but one day move on. He deserves to move on and love and be loved. The part of me with hands and access to google docs knows he would kiss his teeth and smile and say congratulations on the long relationship. He would then, the moment he gets home, strap himself in, take a deep breath and get ready to once again play the long game. He's done it once before already, he can do it again. Yuko is sweet and he loves her as well, they were all friends, but she's ... simple. Shallow. A realtionship with her is all good and fine, but it can't last forever. MC is too complex, too multi-faced to be comfortable with such a humble girl. This was just another test he had to pass that's all. And now that he had a nice cushy job, doing what he loves he can wait for as long as necessary. He's a rich kid at heart and is used to getting what he wants. This hasn't changed.

In a better world, everything listed above is ignored because they admitted their feelings for each other shortly after MC graduated HS. Keisuke goes to school, keeping this relationship with the man of his dreams as a reward to be earned. Once he earns it, he basks in that love till the end of his days.

Tanaka: This old ass man has issues .... During his support (don't look at me FE3h fans fuck off) he kept constantly commenting about MC's looks and supple young body. For most of them I assumed the secret we couldn't speak of was tanaka actively pursuing an underaged boy. Apparently it was just giving free advice and bad mouthing orphans. Sure. Okay. To me Tanaka is a closeted gay man, always has been always will be and falls into that particularly nasty genre of 'early 2000's gay and predatory'. He never got the chance to experience a boy like MC when he was younger and he'd like the chance now. He won't get it, and he won't act on it surprisingly but he would like to. Creep.

Teacher Bitch: Shrugs. It's a vibe. Bitch is pitiful tho. Also she like says it so,... yaknow.

Yuko: YAYYYYY HERE WE GOOOOOO!!! okay. I'm normal. Lol

Yuko is arguably one of the most well adjusted people in this entire fucking cast and she acts like it. She's a relatively boring and uninteresting girl, unknowingly so mind you, and this is like 90% of her draw. Not to MC post this isn't about him BUT Yuko's simplistic problems and the ease she brings is something no one on this list can replicate.

Remember how I said everyone basically sees MC as this lovable pillar of a boy, someone who's perfect and kind and stable compared to the mess that everyone else is? Yeah he sees YUKO like that. She's level headed and dependable, keeping him grounded and reminding him of the good things in life to live for. The simple things. When your house mates are dropping like flies and you're actively attempting to save the world on a month by month bases you get jaded and tired quickly. Yuko is his charger of sorts. He loves walking with her and just listening to her bitch about the track team or the bitches in her class or a show she watched the night prior with an unsatisfying ending. She has single handedly kept MC from offing himself more than once. Huzzah!

Anyway, Yuko! I think that while she loves MC so much and is so glad to have a boyfriend who isn't cheating on her or using her for something or another, she's a normal girl. She day dreams about him but knows when to turn it off. When she's managing teams, doing her own sports or just generally trying to pursue whatever is the goal at that moment she's focused. She doesn't really have the personality needed to devote herself entirely to one person and let them fuel her life (like a certain someone cough KEISUKE cough) so she has a great balance of things in her life. She's so normal I love her hahah can you tell who my favorites are? LOL

Bebe: see, our dear frenchmen was a hard one to place. I was stuck between putting him a tier higher with the sickly crowd but what saved him is ability to take a step back. Honestly, while I think bebe is in love with MC, in some capacity, I don't think he would ever pursue it.

He's a bit of a Japan fetishizer imo, (his love for the country either being a bit too much or a flag pointing at his deeper trauma in relation to his home country and specifically his family) and his affection for MC feels like a natural extent of that. No one else in the school would really give him the time of day, especially with his eccentric personality and style and general obvious "foreign-ness" so MC got the brunt of his affections. Having said this, I think bebe had bigger fish to fry so he couldn't allow himself to focus on MC entirely. He just didn't have the bandwidth for it. Also, again, I think a lot of it was just a general interest in Japan and its people as a package deal, not MC intrinsically.

Mc being there as Bebe mourned his aunt and dealt with the brunt of his uncle's promptings to come back only added to those affections. Again, MC is a pillar. We know this. Anyway, Bebe goes back to France stays there for a few years before marrying a nice Japanese woman and getting a citizenship in Japan forever! He comes back and the first person on his list is his best friend who was always there for him. They stay in touch as pen-pals and they're close. Bebe would name a baby after MC. Shrugs

More tmw. Falls and dies.

realationship explanation chart. Requires little explaining save for the 6th tier. Further thoughts under the hood. Spoilers ahead for anyone in the green tier. Long post below ;D

Aigis: Her entire backstory shapes the events of the game and links her fundamentally with the MC... I know you can pursue a romantic relationship with her so obviously she has,... some feelings there for the taking, but past just user choice I think it's more imprinting then actual love built of knowing someone. She's fought with you and protected you as you protected her. You're the first man, and human, who saw her as more than a machine and that sticks with her. I think the complicated nature of her past with you would make it difficult for her to parse these emotions and as such a wide label such as "romantic love" is too constricting. Do I think she would willingly date MC? no. Do I think she would think she would willingly date mc? yes.

Junpei: Fucker has 100 million self esteem issues with only 90milion of those being actively irritated further by MC's place in relation to himself. He's straight, this I do believe, but I think his complicated feelings when thinking about his own usefulness and purpose in comparison with someone who is so, seemingly, perfect would mix the bag heavily, so to say. He def has those almost gay thoughts like "why is MC so perfect and hot and sexy and everyone loves him" and this is never examined further about what this may mean. Could go into "I have eyes" category, but there's too much ire and sourness there for a blanket "of course he's hot and I recognize that". Would never say it or think it but he would be down for a game of spin the bottle. Type of guy who would be perfect in a "gay-chicken" or similar "fake dating au that turns too real" story.

Amada: He is a child so the romantic feelings in question aren't even close to the same bracket of anyone else on this list, save Maiko. I think considering the... fucking everything that Amada went through during his life and particularly his arc, having someone who is such a constant pillar and so stable would be really defining for him. It's more hero worship than anything, but it looks like a school yard crush as well. He wants to be like MC and idolizes him so much that he, in a child like way, forms a crush on him through that want. It's wholly innocent and serves more as a means for others to tease him when he's older than anything else. I see them as older brother and younger brother dynamic but point stands.

Maiko: Functionally the same as Amada. Won't survive into adulthood. Strong older brother type found her in a moment of unease and change and was a kind constant. That's all.

Takaya: Fucking has something wrong with him. I think there's a deep jealousy and hate inside him to see MC have the life he never got, one of rest and comfort and acceptance without this evil power thrusted upon him. I think he hates MC for thinking he's better then them ( not true) because he's never suffered (not true) and never had the world turn it's back on him (not true). He wishes MC joined them, even still, and I think momentarily mourned that considering how much he tries to make us see his way of thinking. The man lacks strategy it seems so I don't believe it was just "AHH I wanted a strong ally that's alllll" or just "I need the dark hour and tower untouched and unbothered!!". I think he's sick in the head.

This was fun I will be doing the other tiers. Yay

[sweetestlamb]

Temptation

Summary: Vincenzo is feeling parched.

Author's note: These two have been living in my mind rent free lately, I'm just shallow and they look so damn good together and when you add the chemistry, well I'm a goner. Just a little drabble based on today's episode, I'm taking a break from BMTL this weekend because it's going to be another 10k probably and it's the first weekend I'm off with my bf so I promised not to ignore him to write all day lol. Update soon though!

Bon appetit!

Wispy dark lashes flutter just above her high cheekbones as she awaits the blow, her pretty face scrunched up in anticipation as a minor twitch in her lip distracts him.

That's been happening far too often lately, more than he'd care to admit. It was easier when she was blindly following Babel and refused to see the insidious truth about the morally bankrupt company, it was easier to pacify his attraction when she was the bad guy. Not that he was the right candidate to judge, he'd done notifiable heinous things in his life. Her father had been the first person to look at him like he was worth something, like the evil that lurked under his skin could be used for something good.

But her eyes had been opened, in the end she had chosen her father. If only he'd been here to see it.

That decision unhinges the small grapple he has on his control, he finds himself looking at her all the time cataloging the many emotions that distort that expressive face. She's like a living caricature and instead of finding that off-putting he's intrigued and mesmerized. Constantly battling with his lips that won't stop rising in her presence, he's not someone who smiles lightly. Has never had much of a reason to.

Until now.

"What are you waiting for? Just do it." She whines impatiently, squirming side to side and pursing her full lips.

That small move captures all his attention, eyes locked on the rosy pink skin. Instinctively he steps forward until he can feel her body heat, her face is even more captivating up close. She was beautiful, that wasn't hard to admit he was a man after all and his eyes were functional. It was.... everything else that he couldn't admit, not even to himself.

Just do it.

If only she knew what those words did to him, he felt as if he was lit in flames by his own lighter; burning up just from his prolonged vicinity to the loud lawyer. She was being her usual brazen self but she had no idea, not the slightest inkling of what exactly he wanted to do to her. It usually ended in passionate screams in his dreams. Her wild abandon was a thing of beauty, he didn't even mind the mess on his silk sheets because his mind supplied such vivid imaginings.

Staring down at her he wonders how she would taste, perhaps like the spicy noodles she was so fond of or maybe something sweeter and forbidden, once you peeled back the many layers you would discover something so delicious it was addicting. She would be his ambrosia.

"Come on, you're killing me! What's taking so long?" She grumbles now pouting, plush bottom lip jutting out enticingly and his finger hovers in front of her forehead but he can't move, can't bring himself to hurt her no matter how insignificant the hit. Somehow this woman has weaved a web around him, he feels like a fly caught in a spider's deadly but beautiful trap.

What's wrong with me?

There must be indeed something wrong with him because he feels his hand unfurling and lowering until he's nearly cupping her jaw, the delicate point barely above his hand. He's so tempted. Taking another step forward he lifts his second hand, curling around the dip of her lower back. She's so petite despite her loud bark, her entire body could fit easily in his hand.

He wants to lower his hand, grab her face and her waist and.... And what? What is he thinking? This is not why he came to Korea. He wasn't supposed to get involved more than he needed to and he knows no good can come of this, there's only one outcome for men who are lured by seductive sirens. He has to ignore her song no matter how much his body aches when he's with her. Woman have never been elusive in his line of work, gorgeous Italian women who opened up for him easily, surrendering under his capable hands. They were nothing but a good time, a perfunctory scratching of an itch. But, Cha-young he wants to wreck her, take her apart piece by piece until she's putty in his hands.

"What are you doing?" She says sounding amused and he lifts his eyes to find her twinkling ones already on his face. She looks at the twin hands hovering above her body with a raised brow, face now turned into the hand adjacent to her cheek.

"Do you want to change the specifics of our deal?" She teases darkly and he gulps, finally lowering his hands but twisting them around his back to prevent himself from making a huge mistake.

"No." He lies, trying to douse the fire that is blazing in his blood.

"Aishhh. You're such a bad liar." She huffs, nose crinkled up in disbelief and he hates the way his heart smarts his lips twitching to form a smile. He feels so warm and he doesn't know what any of it means.

"Come here." She doesn't give him an opportunity to disobey before reaching out to grab his tie, her hands wrapped around the luxurious material and with a sharp tug he's pulled into her, their bodies colliding and everything feels right.

"Stop." He whispers throat feeling raw, his voice comes out rougher than he intended. His eyes widen at the red flush that it yields, he's not the only one affected it seems.

"You don't want to flick me," she states with certainty, eyes searching his face as she tightens her hold on his tie his neck strains under the slight pressure, leaning down to lessen the tension. Too late he releases how much closer that brings their faces, she's barely an inch away from him now her soft puffs of breath landing directly on his face. "What do you want to do to me instead, Mr. Cassano?" She boldly finishes her statement, dark eyes ping ponging between his lips and his eyes.

Mentally berating himself for his weakness he suddenly grabs her waist, his arm circumvents the entire circumference with room to spare. She gasps in surprise but doesn't look scared, rather she looks curious, biting her bottom lip as she earnestly watches him.

"Do you really want to know?" He bites out, bringing his hand to her jaw and then sliding lower curling it around her neck, fingers tickling the soft nape of head.

She smirks, unflinching in the eye of his storm. She stands on the tips of her toes, bringing them that much closer, "Oh you don't know how much I want to know, Vincenzo." His name is exotic on her tongue, the letters not quite settling correctly but it sounds delectable to his ears, he wants to hear her scream it loudly too.

"I'll show you then." He's done with words, it's clear that they're both cognizant of what's happening between them, the air is so charged it's nearly crackling. She isn't backing down and despite his better judgement he doesn't want to lose, he can't be the way to pull away now. Simultaneously they yank each other closer, him by her neck and her by his tie. He sees the passion in her eyes, finally bursting to the surface and that's all the consent he needs, if she wants him too then she can have him.

Twisting his head he surges forward, eager to capture her lips and devour her moans of pleasure, his hand is now curled possessively around the small swell of her tight posterior, her suit pants always putting it beautifully on display. He had been hungry to touch it, grab it and feel the plumpness in his hands. It's every bit as amazing as he's imagined, her lips fall open as he squeezes at the flesh and he leans forward prepared to eat her alive.

She wraps her free arm around his neck, dragging him down to meet her and he easily lifts her off the ground, grinning boyishly when she squeaks releasing his tie to wrap both arms around his neck, their faces are now level. His hand remains on her ass.

Silently they move towards each other, intent crystal clear.

He can feel the heat from her lip, just as he grazes the smooth skin he hears a loud crash from behind them and they both jump, foreheads knocking accidentally as they react to the sudden sound.

He unceremoniously drops her, but her arms still latched around his shoulder force him forward making his forehead now collide with her chin. She lets out a loud scream of pain, shoving him away and shouting obscenities. He rubs at the pained skin, wincing in discomfort before turning towards the loud interruption with a murderous glare.

Who the fuck was it?

Nam Joo-Sung stands quivering in apparent fear looking like he's seconds away from urinating himself, his knees knocking together viciously.

A deer in the headlights, his eyes are as huge and terrified as one.

"I--um well you see.... I forgot to water the plants....you both look angry. Scary. You don't want an explanation. I'm going. Gone. I'll just. Go." He stutters out nonsensical, suddenly grabbing the plants and he watches as the frightened man awkwardly lifts the pots, cursing when the soil falls out dirting his clothes and the wooden floors, then he falls to his knees scooping it back into the pots, crawling backwards until he's out the door.

They both stare at the door.

Awkward silence remaining even with the man's departure.

And then a vibration fills the air, she jumps as if broken from her stupor reaching into her tiny bag and retrieving her phone. He can barely hear her over the beating of his own heart but he catches the disappointed look she sends his way, they can't continue this.

"Yes. I understand, we'll be right there."

Grabbing his briefcase he takes a moment with his back turned to her to catch his breath, collect himself. He's Vincenzo Cassano, not some prepubescent teenager. He can control himself, control is his middle name.

Then he turns back around and loses all his hard worked composure.

She's right in his space, rubbing absently at her neck as she looks at him.

"We'll finish this later. Don't think I'm going to let you off easy, I always finish what I start." She promises, pointedly looking his lips before grinning then boldly she lightly smacks him twice on his cheeks, "Pick your jaw off the ground, we have to go."

Her long hair bounces over her shoulder as she skips away, his eyes locked on the hypnotic sway of her hips. Her hands are cutely by her side, her signature walk that he had found ridiculous before. He doesn't view it the same way now.

Next time, there will be no interruptions he will make sure of it. Even if he has to kill someone.

[dear-yandere]

[ kinktober day 4 — devotion. ]

yandere! dio x f! reader x the world. oneshot.

summary. day by day, he’d fuck you like a man fucks his most expensive whore. a demon masquerading as a God, and you’ve come to realize that there is no true God who will punish him.

— word count: 2313. — prompts: mindbreak + size difference + degradation. — warnings: n/sfw (dubcon, threesome, biting), blood, religious themes, depersonalization. — art credit: @tyonoraora.

“How does it feel, little one?”

Little one—his voice is untouched silk, reserved only for when you’ve been good. Your heart pounds against its cage as if trying to reach him—it shows on your face. He lowly hums and buries his lips against the nape of your neck, easily enticing moans from your throat. The effect he has on you was disgusting at first, hearing remnants of praise for letting him violate you, seeing his body dwarf yours against the bed, feeling his powerful touch trap you against the sheets. You have no control, no freedom here—no one would come save you even if you screamed.

Sharp teeth graze the hollow of your neck, dangerously close to puncturing your jugular. Air’s trapped alongside your throat—you can’t breathe under the full weight of his body and the threat of death on your skin. Fingers hungrily knead and pull at your nipples, twisting when you don’t moan quite to his liking. “Answer me.” He hisses and nips at the skin beneath your ear.

Your throat dries up—his commanding tone enough to knock you down to Earth. “G-good—feels so good My Lord!” You bite back another moan, mind empty and gaze locked onto the snap of his hips against yours. You whimper, half wanting to look away from the way his cock disappears between your folds, the other compelling your hips to meet each thrust. Hips shamelessly and sloppily cant into his, the thrill of knowing that one wrong thrust and he could split you in two. Looking at it now, seeing his dick disappear between your thighs—it’s rapturous, addicting like ambrosia. Deep in the recesses of your mind, the thoughts strike you as foreign—that the image of dying by his hands is exhilarating. You want him to tear you to pieces, to use you as a cock sleeve until he has no more use for you.

Dying at his hands is all you’re good for now.

He says you should consider this an honor, a privilege to be personally fucked by your own God. You’re his favorite toy, he says—the other girls don’t come close, but you can’t help but question why you’re so special. Is it your defiance, your cunning? Is it how easy it is to strip it away, down to your fragile and wary bones? Or is because he gets off on how rewarding it was to break you, to hear your screams blossom from terrified to eager? Because he knows how to get under your skin, knows how to make you feel special, knows how to make you feel wanted as if you finally have a purpose in life, a purpose rewarded to you by the hands of a God himself.

Your purpose is to used.

A comfort, more than anything else. When did it happen exactly? The drugs had grown less potent, weren’t as needed when he was in the mood to take you without complaint. When was it? When did you become addicted to doing this act with him? When did you stop resisting and refusing refusing, stop kicking and biting and clawing at his thick skin? Resist has always been useless, when something so inhuman and inhumane heals before your eyes, when your hard works is all for naught. How do you fight a man who calls himself God? How do you fight a man who may as well be a God?

...You don’t.

“M-more, My Lord.” You shamelessly plead—anything to win his favor—and wrap your legs around his waist.

He stills, briefly, and watches you fall apart. “Oh?” Your whimpers of complaint are a serenade he finds himself indulging in. “How indecent. I taught you better than to beg, didn’t I?”

Your hearts hammers.

He sees the way your eyes widen and he smirks, content with the fear he’s struck into you. He’s made it clear he never liked needy women; you’re an exception only in that he enjoys fucking you most.

“Beg for me more, little dove.” He orders and begins gently rocking his hips. 

Desperate for the friction, you throw your head back and eagerly hum out countless, wordless prayers. This isn’t you anymore, not in the slightest; this is better in his eyes. And that is so much worse. But he is content, and so are you when his pace descends into harsh thrusts that leave your pussy throbbing. You take it like a bitch in heat, like a good girl, like a good concubine.

“Little dove...” You drink his praise up like water. His gaze travels downward, enraptured by how small you are beneath him. You could break in an instant. “This is all you’re good for, isn’t it?” He asks—you waste no time anxiously nodding. “So full of my cock, it almost looks like it belongs there.” 

Tucked under his large body, pressed flush against the chest of a man who’d sooner leave you for dead — tears spill, but you’re overjoyed for once. He’s always loved making you cry, who are you to rob him of that? Even though your legs hurt from being pressed flat against your torso and your cunt is bruised bloody and raw, you weep and moan like you mean it. His arms are curled under your pretty legs like vipers, large hands pinning each of yours against the mattress as he buries his cock in your womb.

You can’t help but focus on the way his body presses against yours. His cock feels heavy between your folds, and he’s careful to keep his pace slow enough to drive you wild. Each harsh thrust is few and far in between, a perfect cacophony of impatience and frustration building a coil in your stomach. Dio runs his tongue over unused fangs, studying the way your features twist and contort with pleasure when his thick cock would press against your insides. He’s waiting, and you both know it; he wants to see you unfold, wants you see you whine and beg and claw at his arms for more. It’s a feeling unlike any other — his other women can’t compare, can’t beg like you can. You used to hate him, but he doesn’t see that hateful glint in your eyes anymore. You like this, you like being fucked — he’s finally broken you. This once prideful woman is his to do as he pleases with.

There’s no greater feeling in this world.

“Lean into me.” He orders like a king and you comply like a whore. Dainty arms weakly coil around his shoulders, not nearly long enough to touch each other; his body is too big, too monstrous, and the thrill of being torn apart by it only makes you want him more. He praises in hushed tones, allowing you a small, rare moment of bliss. Your face is always particularly cute when he utters such meaningless words to you, like a dog desperate for praise. It’s tempting to defile that innocence even further.

“Look how needy you’ve gotten, gripping my cock so tight I can hardly pull out,” he teases, lies right to your face. Unsheathing himself is as easy as you are, but he keeps that to himself—prefers to get your hopes up. You’re already whimpering at the sheer mention of how needy you’ve become; Gods, you’d feel so empty without him, but it isn’t your place to complain. He doesn’t have to please you, you only exist to pleasure him. And still, you can’t hide the disappointment on your features. Dio smirks condescendingly and utters assurances. “Stop making that face, little dove.” He jests and realigns himself to your cunt, not even so much as a warning when he slams into you once again. “I’m not done with you yet.”

And you did — your eyes roll back into your head when his hips slam into yours. Fangs part your flesh as easily as meat, and droplets of blood quickly well from the incision, but he doesn’t care to lap them up; you always did look better coated in blood. You hadn’t even noticed his stand, The World hovers over the mattress by your head, its cock free from pants you didn’t know could be removed. His dick, thick and grey, is as large as your Lord’s; you already knew it was to go in your mouth, you just weren’t sure if it’d fit. The image alone made you want to come apart, it was already taking all your willpower to not scream with each thrust into your little cunt.

“Suck.” Dio pulls away from your neck long enough to bark out an order. That simple command is all it took to strip you of dignity. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind another cock to please, would you?” He caresses your hips, his thumb sweeping over the raw flesh he’d gripped onto in his earlier reverie. You wince, but maintain eye contact—he prefers it like that. “Look how needy you are, little dove. Sometimes you just need the extra attention, don’t you?” He coos. “Need another set of hands on you, more skin to get your hands on.” Breathily, you nod and lean into his touch. There’s no use hesitating or complaining; you’ve turned a new leaf, after all. You’re a good girl now, and good girls don’t talk back.

Fangs return to your neck, digging deeper, harsher this time. You whimper, the new sensation of pain overwhelming when your thighs were already so chaffed and your cunt already so bruised, skin still raw from this morning’s session. But your mouth fell open anyways, the underside of your tongue pressed taut against your lower lip, ready to accommodate The World’s shaft. The creature grunted lowly, more akin to the growl of a wolf in heat, and slid himself into your tiny mouth. The feeling of being filled from top to bottom was so intense, so overpowering you feared your jaw would come apart. The World was markedly more gentle than his user, but it was hard to miss the excitement rolling off his body like waves; he’s not being gentle for your sake, he’s trying to hold himself back lest his length rip through the back of your throat. He’s excited, even if you can hardly hear his moans.

Dio chuckles but makes no further comment, too busy suckling on your sore flesh. The World stares down at you, locking eyes for only a moment before bucking into your throat. Your tongue instinctively swirls around the tip, drool soon pooling beneath your nose. Deep growls escape the Stand’s lips, and Dio feels every second of it. His cock is buried deep in your cunt and he can feel every lick and suckle of your lips.

Dio licks his lips, already feeling the bulge of The World’s cock inflate the throat he’s mercilessly sucked on. The chuckle that rumbles from his chest and into yours would be enough to send your body shaking if he hadn’t pinned it to the bed with his own. “What a well-trained whore.”

“Mm—”, you struggle to breathe out a raspy response, hardly able to formulate words when your thoughts are filled with cum and his thrusts refuse to relent. His stand’s dick press against your insides, blocking air from entering your jugular or from leaving your throat. The soft, rubbery skin of the stand’s balls stuff your nostrils — you nearly lose yourself in the bliss of being treated like a lifeless fuck toy. You could die right now and they might keep fucking you, and that alone fills you with joy. To be used until the very end... you could think of no better use for the new life Dio has given you. But, he doesn’t plan on letting you die just yet; you still have many more uses left in you. 

“Oh? Are you going to cum again? So soon?” His tone is mocking near the end, and he squeezes your hips. Fingernails rake closer to your inner thighs, coaxing you to tell him what he wants to hear. The World leans back slightly to relieve some pressure from your nostrils and throat, and you shamelessly fill your lungs.

“I’ll, aah—” A moan catches in your throat, and his Stand gives you enough space to speak. “I’ll cum as many times as you like!” There’s a spark of boredom in his eyes, but it’s gone so quickly you wonder if you’d imagined it. You...you hope you imagined it, and a feeling of realization and disgust washes over you like a cold wave. You want to cover yourself, to crawl into the deepest hole you can find and die, anything to escape the way he looked at you just now. Like you’re trash on the street. A charity case he picked up out of pity. A pet he’ll discard at the drop of a hat.

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, and before you can ask, your mouth is stuffed again. He watches your shoulders squeeze together and your throat bulge from the sheer size of his Stand. The tip of The World’s cock pushes against the back of your throat, pinning your head to the mattress—you would have thrown up if Lord Dio hadn’t train you so well.

“Then cum.” He orders, stuffing your mouth and your cunt full. “Cum as many times as I want. Cum until I’m done with you.”

You obediently nod. You can’t see his face anymore; whether that’s a blessing or a curse escapes you, so you stop thinking and simply oblige. Your past self would be laughing at you. Chastising you, encouraging you bite down on his cock and fight back. What happened to that girl, you wonder? Did Lord Dio tire of her? Did he dispose of her? Will he dispose of you too?

What a terrifying devotion. When did you lose yourself?

When did he become your world?

dear-yandere 2019-2020, all rights reserved.

[chironshorseass]

idk if you’re still taking prompts but 7 angst for percabeth after BoTL but before tlo, thank you so much!!

idk what this is, but hopefully, it’s not too horrible bc I can’t bring myself to read it again lol.

“You should’ve said that yesterday.”

tw: blood

read on ao3

Plans don’t always go well. Annabeth should know; she’s a daughter of Athena. But one holds on to hope like it’s the last thing they have, even when accidents happen.

It was a frequent thing nowadays, for demigods to leave on missions as a desperate attempt to thwart off the titan forces. Annabeth understood the risks.

Percy did too, but he’d insisted that it was fine, that he needed to go.

He’d left with some Hephaestus and Hermes kids, intending to raid one of Kronos’ troops that had camped close to New York.

They hadn’t counted on the empousai, though. And because of this, most of the boys—including Percy—had nearly died.

But what else was new?

The thing was that...he didn't have to go. But he and Beckendorf had grown closer over the past year, so nothing could stop him from tagging along with the son of Hephaestus and the rest of the group. Maybe because he also felt bad that he’d missed out on most of the missions; he’d been absent for so long, lost in the streets of New York City.

Whatever the stupid reason was, he’d refused to listen to Annabeth, disappearing into the horizon with Blackjack and the rest of the pegasi.

He’ll survive, she’d told herself. If he really was the child of the prophecy, then…

This mission wouldn’t be the last thing he did. Or his last day on Earth. That title would likely belong to his birthday.

Gods, he’s going to die anyway.

But for now, he wouldn’t, at least not according to what she’d heard.

Thanatos would bide his time, hooded and standing at the doors between life and death, not yet ready to welcome Percy with his chilled breath.

Soon, but not today.

Still, it wasn’t like she’d been worried sick and then nearly threw up her lunch once the crew had arrived, a few yards away from the infirmary, bloodstained and battle-torn.

By all the extra load on the pegasi that she could make out from the distance, she supposed that at least they’d been successful.

Percy, however, was leaking blood down his neck, furtively trying to clamp it down with a bandana.

Soon, but not today.

He leaned against Beckendorf, his eyes baring clouds, fogged and lost. The son of Hephaestus helped him off of Blackjack, but still, he would’ve crumpled to the ground had it not been for Annabeth running to him like a madwoman. The grass crunched behind her; the others were right on her heels.

“What happened?” she cried, grabbing hold of Percy’s shoulders as his head slumped against her chest. She staggered back from his sudden weight, then righted herself.

“Hey, ‘Beth,” Percy said weakly, the words jumbling together against his lips and her shirt.

She looked at Beckendorf helplessly.

“Empousai,” he gasped, then made a hissing sound, pressing a hand to his back. It came back crimson red.

“You’re hurt!” she said as if it weren’t obvious.

Other demigods, Apollo kids mostly, rushed past her with medical supplies. But Will stopped next to them, breathing hard. He handed out ambrosia to Beckendorf and Annabeth’s waiting hands.

His eyes blazed, focused on something past her head. He waved frantically at someone, signaling them to come, and quickly. She whirled around and caught sight of Chiron trotting toward them.

“I’ll be back,” he breathed, giving them a nod as though they’d argued with him against it. He retreated a few steps, legs reacting to sudden howls of pain that echoed further back. “Just, just wait here. I’ll just…”

He dashed away, lost in the mass of pegasi and bodies that moved in all directions, shouting. In the chaos, Will was their only help at organizing it all—but she’d still tasted bile in her throat, not quite used to the way he ignored Percy and his mortal wound to the neck.

In a swift, mastered movement, Annabeth had made him chew on the Ambrosia. She’d been about to say something else—some words of encouragement—when a blur of curly brown hair nearly tripped her and Percy over. She readjusted him in her arms; Percy mumbled something incomprehensible, making her heart tighten.

“Charlie!” Silena called, flinging herself into Beckendorf’s arms.

He grunted in response but smiled through his obvious pain.

“Hey, baby,” he said.

She kissed him, but only for a second because Beckendorf had already pulled away faster than her sudden arrival.

Silena scrunched up her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

His concerned gaze leached into Percy, whom Annabeth could barely hold now.

Has he always been this heavy?

She followed her boyfriend’s line of vision and saw her friend standing in front of her for the first time. Her face morphed into shock, eyes widening. In a flash, Silena was there, hauling one of Percy’s arms over her shoulder. He was no longer conscious.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, the words tumbling into the pool that was now Annabeth’s fevered heart. “I didn’t...”

Annabeth could only shake her head. She had to get Percy some actual help. She pressed the cloth harder into his neck. It had to be the fucking neck.

“Will!” she shouted, voice hoarse. “Chiron!”

Panting, Beckendorf closed the distance, limping over to Annabeth. “I’m going to help the others. We weren’t so lucky on our mission, and...” He glanced somewhere past them. “Chiron’s coming our way. We have to—”

Silena inhaled sharply. “You’re bleeding, too? Why didn’t—”

“No time, ‘Lena.”

In an instant, Chiron was there, extending his arms out.

“Give him to me.” His voice was firm and urgent.

After all, the neck was a highly vulnerable place. A slit to the throat could end someone’s life in a matter of seconds. Percy was a demigod, and likely the cut hadn’t been too deep, or else he’d be dead by now. But still, she didn't know how much longer he could hold up.

Already she’d felt the tell-tale warmth of blood trickling into her skin, already she’d envisioned the life draining out of him. The sand of an hourglass raining, spilling down to the bottom.

;

They’d told her that he’d lost too much blood, that the claw wound had just barely hit an artery. But above all else, he was lucky. He’d survive.

She’d been there, hands washed clean from the rusted blood, sitting on his bedside in the infirmary and watching him sleep while her mind was wide awake. Will came and went, wrapping bandages and giving him fresh doses of ambrosia; Chiron did, too—as if none of this was his fault and he could pretend to care for injured demigods.

But she stayed. Stayed and watched.

Annabeth had forgotten how long she’d been there, staring at the blank walls, eyes unfocused. Will had poked his head inside for the final time and insisted for her to get some sleep; it was late. She’d shaken her head and refused.

Her eyes closed for a second, though it must’ve been longer than that, because, when she opened them again, golden light had already streamed through the window. It cast delicate shadows across the room. In her daze, she hadn’t realized that someone was calling her name, light as a butterfly.

Percy.

“Annabeth,” he repeated.

She blinked the sleep away to find a pair of green eyes watching her.

Though his hair was twisted and knotted, and his complexion was a worrying shade lighter, Annabeth thought that she’d never seen a more inviting sight.

“You asshole!” she gasped, lunging forwards with desperate fingers, hugging Percy tighter than she’d ever had in her life.

After a while, his head dropped back to the pillow to get a better look at her.

“Hey.” He grinned lazily.

There was a sweet wonder to his face—like he couldn’t believe she was here, waiting for him to wake up.

But her mind flashed to when his heartbeat had weakened, when scarlet red covered her shaking hands and she’d seen him slump into Chiron as their teacher dropped him here, in the infirmary.

“D’you have any idea how fucking worried I was?”

His brows knit in confusion. “What do you…” A hand flew to his neck, to his bandages. “Oh. That.”

“Yeah.” Her voice felt like rough sandpaper. “That.”

Percy winced. “Okay, okay. I can explain; that demon came out of nowhere, right? And I slashed and shit, but she still got me, and—”

“You could’ve died, Percy. You get that?”

“I know, I know! But I didn’t!”

She took a rattling breath and looked away. She suddenly felt faint; her lungs didn’t seem to gather enough oxygen. Everything was too overwhelming, too big and small all at the same time.

She was dimly aware of Percy saying something. Then, she felt the warmth of her hand in his. It helped bring her back, but barely.

“Hey. Hey, look at me, Annabeth. Look at me.” Reluctantly, she did as he said. “Breathe with me. C'mon—in two three four, out two three four...”

Annabeth didn’t know how long they stayed that way, anchored to the surety of Percy’s grip on her hand and breathing along to his rhythm, until she’d found a way back to her bearings.

“You’re okay. I’m okay,” he said, repeatedly.

She nodded.

“Talk to me.”

Here he was, the boy who had nearly died, consoling the girl who’d watched the whole thing.

She nodded again, and this time, she closed her eyes, taking in some of this new peace of mind Percy had offered.

He was safe, and they were alright.

Finally, she exhaled.

“How’re you feeling?” She bit her lip, remembering something, and then muttered, “Sorry. Didn’t really ask you that first.”

“S’okay.” Now that she noticed him, truly noticed him, she could tell how tired he was. “I’m fine. Just feel like mush.”

“Your neck doesn’t hurt? Will gave you some morphine.”

“Yeah, no. Everything’s kinda numb, I guess. Doesn’t hurt or anything.”

“You lost a lot of blood.”

“Hmm. Probably why I feel like mush.”

She felt a lump forming in her throat. Not for the first time that day.

“It wasn’t—Gods, Perce,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes.  “If you’d only seen it…”

“I know. I should’ve listened to you.”

“You should’ve said that yesterday.”

Annabeth didn’t realize that she was crying until Percy softly flicked his thumb across her cheek. He reluctantly moved it down to her lips, swiping at the tears that had already pooled there.

It wasn’t really something she planned to do, and in any other case would’ve embarrassed her, but she found herself resting her forehead against his. Maybe to steady herself. Maybe to feel his presence more, a spare hand combing through his locks.

She wasn’t so sure.

But still, she let herself close her eyes, enjoying this moment of quiet. Percy did too, sighing softly, rubbing her back idly.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, when they separated. “M’here.”

Her breath caught in her throat, just by how tender his touch had been, taking care of her when he was the injured one. How close they were at that moment. How her tears tasted like that time she’d kissed him, all salt and sweat and fervor.

Now, she was able to see the little flecks of blue in his irises, drink in all of his details like she was dying of thirst. They were so close that she was able to feel exactly when his breath hitched like hers had done just milliseconds before, how it smelled like medicine and chocolate cookies all in one.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, not taking his gaze from her. “I didn’t listen to you.”

At least he acknowledged it. Again.

“No. You didn’t.”

His thumb still lingered on her face, a ray of sunlight that she greedily took only for herself, leaning into him. It ghosted around her skin, that trailing touch of his. And despite its warmth, it sent shivers down her spine.

His eyes never left hers. Roving, feeling down to her very soul.

He’d always been the one to break her walls, destroy the dam she’d carefully built for as long as she could remember. Poseidon wasn’t his father for nothing.

And as he grasped a stray curl that fell across her left eye, tucking it ever so gently behind her ear, she felt that water roaring all over her mind. The flood happened too fast, consuming every last restraint and denial that crossed its path.

Annabeth didn’t catch it until she risked a glance to his lips.

Gods, he’s so close. Too close.

In the blink of an eye, she was leaning in, intoxicated by everything about him. Percy caught the back of her jaw with his hand, guiding her closer.

Their breaths mingled together.

Her lips parted. Closer…

“Hey, how’s—oh shit, sorry!”

She repelled from him, electrified, and whipped her head to the screeching of the curtain rod.

Cheeks flushed, Will yanked at the curtains, closing them once again.

“Wait!” Annabeth glanced at Percy, whose eyes were wide. “Will, this isn’t—”

The latter hollered from the other side, “I can come later! To, um, change bandages! Be good!”

So close.

She wanted to slap herself.

No.

This wasn’t right. For a second, she’d forgotten what was at stake. Let herself be swept away.

Have you ever considered that he’s going to die?

He’ll leave you just like everyone else.

This was dangerous, letting herself taste what wasn’t meant to be.

“I—I’m sorry,” she gasped, standing up, an unknown force pushing her back.

Percy blinked, slower than usual. Probably from all the ambrosia and nectar and mortal medicine.

“Annabeth—”

He reached for her, but she was already backing away into the wall, stumbling over her wooden chair.

“No, I shouldn’t have…” She felt herself blush. “I don’t know, I...I should go.”

She scrambled towards the curtains, ignoring Percy’s expression awashed in hurt and shock.

Brushing past his bedside, he grabbed her arm.

“Please,” he begged, voice barely above a whisper. “Please stay.”

Blinking away her tears, Annabeth forced herself to look at him.

If I stay, you’ll leave me first.

But she didn’t say that, only shook her head and watched as those beautiful eyes of his creased around the corners with anguish. A part of her died a little at witnessing this. His was a heart worn on a sleeve that would soon fade away. She pulled her arm away, burned from his grip.

“‘Beth—”

“I’m sorry.” She swallowed, already tugging the curtain aside. “I’ll call Will.”

And she left him there in his injury, allowing it to be.

He didn’t deserve this, she knew. Not when she could enjoy the last moments with him, admitting what was in the open air between them. But they’d be one step into their ruined fate if that ever happened. If she didn’t stop.

Because she was like Tantalus, that lone fruit forever out of her reach.

He didn’t deserve this, but she didn’t deserve to have him, either.

[kyglow]

it was a coincidence to see her here at the same club he was at yet he would soon remember this was one of the many clubs she may have frequently attended possibly in trying to hustle or get a customer. riley respected the older woman he worked for driving her around yet he suspected she may have known about his family being heavily associated with crime most particularly a member of his family who owned a club and a casino while also paying cops to allow contraband to be brought into the town and shipped everywhere else. riley didn't want any part of it despite getting the occasional call from that member to think about joining the family business yet riley's answer remained the same refusing the request. there was still that pressure to conform rather than to rebel as he was trying his best to remain clean from crime and to be good-natured and humble. at the moment though as harmless were his thoughts getting the full frontal view of his boss always seeing her from behind or in his rear view mirror when driving her. his eyesight would be lured towards her neckline and cleavage area. swallowing nervously he would be quick to turn his face away knowing it was wrong to check out ambrosia - - like he had a chance. a relief when she answered how she didn't have anywhere she needed to be driven to tonight as he was able to relax and enjoy his time off work. glancing back at her with a soft tiny smile on his lips he would fold his arms on his chest. " sorry it got cancelled. i hope you didn't lose too much. " he sounded sympathetic in tone due to him caring about his boss as they were trying to make a living. " the night is beautiful it's better out here than in there. " he scoffed and tilted his head off to the side holding his calm tired eyes with her alluring gaze. " if you still need a ride later just let me know. " assuring her the offer would still stand as he remained modest and kind compelled to help her since she had been good to him. unintentionally letting out a dry chuckle although he'd immediately feel guilty in doing so despite agreeing with her opinions of his date. " i think it's over with me and her after tonight. i don't have the patience anymore to go through with dating someone revealing themselves to be a spoiled brat." shrugging his lean shoulders as if he were defeated with the outcome of his date and seeking out what appealed selfishly to him.

visible lustful eyes would stare into her own as he seemed to be stunned in silence due to what she was insinuating with her offer. turning his neck eyes then scanned over towards the door certain no one would come out through the back before looking back in her direction with a playful smirk. " okay but i get to take you home with me. " slowly moving towards her getting closer only to then stop and place his hand comfortably on the nape of her neck. boldly he would make his intentions clear feeling the spurred-on confidence which hit him hard. pulling his face in close his lips would meet her own when he proceeded to clash his lips with her own instantly sucking on them and indulging on feverishly locking lips in a fiery kiss. other hand would hike up her dress and shove his hand between her thighs. pulling her close back towards the wall behind him. his fingers slid underneath her laced panties and met her warm slick petals he ran his two fingers down the centre before shoving his two fingers inside her opening feeling her wet soft tight walls clench around them. he grinned and pulled his head back. " i haven't done anything like this in a while. i don't think i can contain myself. " he whispered only to then suckle and tug on her bottom lip caught so suddenly between his teeth only to then release and close his eyelids to tilt his head back. " i really want to eat you out here to get the taste of alcohol off my tongue. " he confessed in a whisper and leaned his head back.

every night, ambrosia would go to a place where all the immortals for an important meeting. it was the same as usual. don't get attached to mortals because they've hurt our kind and all that stuff. she would stop going to these meetings, but her older sister was in charge and knew that if ambrosia didn't obey her orders, there would be a problem. which she wanted to avoid at all costs since her older sister was pain, to be honest. the only one who wouldn't go was hectate. Instead, she'd go with this guy named ryan or whatever his name is. not like it mattered anyway since she never got into her business. the only thing that made ambrosia attend was her driver, who'd drive her these meetings. majority of the time, the woman would have small conversations with him from time to time, but not as much. though she knew who he was. she knew his family had criminal history in the past. this never bothered her as she knew the feeling somewhat. the immortal community reminded her how her older sister was a delusional leader who wanted to control everything. it was infuriating but not because of their comments. no, it was because she had to deal with it. which is why the older woman never spoke to riley as much since she didn't want to take her annoyance onto him when he didn't do anything to her. all he did was take her to the places she needed to be at.

tonight, there was no meeting, which ambrosia was grateful for. being in their for hours exhausted her. this could be a good break for her and gave riley a night off. he deserved it after all for driving her every single night and knew he was tired. especially when driving all day and was probably exhausted. ambrosia decided to take a walk since it's been a while that she's ever done anything for herself. a fresh air of breeze that the dark-haired woman needed desperately. while walking, she saw riley across from the street. it was strange since she's never seen him out and about. though he looked tired and wondered what happened. making her way towards him, ambrosia tapped on his shoulder. a small smile would appear on her lips. "oh no, i don't need a ride tonight. the meeting i was supposed to go to got canceled due to time complications. so i decided to take a walk since the night seems very lovely." explaining with her head slightly tilted. "really? well, that's very shitty of her. sounds like a spoiled brat, to be honest." a dry chuckle escaped from her lips before shaking her head. "you don't have to go back, especially if she's being abrasive towards you. just say you're not interested and leave. besides you can have fun with me. i don't get to talk to you a lot, and i want to change that."

@sxlcst

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 7: FIRST DAY OF CAMP

Word of the bathroom incident spread immediately. Wherever we went, campers pointed at us and murmured something about toilet water. Or maybe they were just staring at Annabeth, who was still pretty much dripping wet. She showed me a few more places: the metal shop (where kids were forging their own swords), the arts-and-crafts room (where satyrs were sandblasting a giant marble statue of a goat-man), and the climbing wall, which actually consisted of two facing walls that shook violently, dropped boulders, sprayed lava, and clashed together if you didn't get to the top fast enough. Finally we returned to the canoeing lake, where the trail led back to the cabins. "I've got training to do," Annabeth said flatly. "Dinner's at seven-thirty. Just follow your cabin to the mess hall." "Annabeth, I'm sorry about the toilets." "Whatever." "It wasn't my fault." She looked at us skeptically, and I realized it might've been my fault. I may have made water shoot out of the bathroom fixtures and made the ground shake. I didn't understand how. "You need to talk to the Oracle, both of you." Annabeth said. "Who?" "Not who. What. The Oracle. I'll ask Chiron." Percy stared into the lake, I rested my head on his shoulder wishing somebody would give me a straight answer for once. I wasn't expecting anybody to be looking back at me from the bottom, so my heart skipped a beat when I noticed two teenage girls sitting cross-legged at the base of the pier, about twenty feet below. They wore blue jeans and shimmering green T-shirts, and their brown hair floated loose around their shoulders as minnows darted in and out. They smiled and waved as if I were a long-lost friend. I didn't know what else to do. I waved back. "Don't encourage them," Annabeth warned. "Naiads are terrible flirts." "Naiads," Percy repeated, feeling completely overwhelmed. "That's it. I want to go home now." Annabeth frowned. "Don't you get it, Percy? You are home. This is the only safe place on earth for kids like us." "You mean, mentally disturbed kids?" "I mean not human. Not totally human, anyway. Half-human." "Half-human and half-what?" "I think you know." "God," I said. "Half-god." Annabeth nodded. "Your father isn't dead, Percy. And one of your parent isn't your parent, Y/N. You are both a child of one of the Olympians. " "That's... crazy." "Is it? What's the most common thing gods did in the old stories? They ran around falling in love with humans and having kids with them. Do you think they've changed their habits in the last few millennia?" "But those are just— But if all the kids here are half-gods—" "Demigods," Annabeth said. "That's the official term. Or half-bloods." "Then who's your dad?" Her hands tightened around the pier railing. I got the feeling we'd just trespassed on a sensitive subject. "My dad is a professor at West Point," she said. "I haven't seen him since I was very small. He teaches American history." "He's human." "What? You assume it has to be a male god who finds a human female attractive? How sexist is that?" "Who's your mom, then?" "Cabin six." "Meaning?" Annabeth straightened. "Athena. Goddess of wisdom and battle." Okay, I thought. Why not? "And who's mine?" "You grew up with both a mother and a father. So only your Olympian parent knows." "And my dad?" "Undetermined," Annabeth said, "like I told you before. Nobody knows." "Except my mother. She knew." "Maybe not, Percy. Gods don't always reveal their identities." "My dad would have. He loved her." Annabeth gave me a cautious look. She didn't want to burst my bubble. "Maybe you're right. Maybe he'll send a sign. That's the only way to know for sure: your father has to send you a sign claiming you as his son. Sometimes it happens." "You mean sometimes it doesn't?" Annabeth ran her palm along the rail. "The gods are busy. They have a lot of kids and they don't always... Well, sometimes they don't care about us, Percy. They ignore us." I thought about some of the kids I'd seen in the Hermes cabin, teenagers who looked sullen and depressed, as if they were waiting for a call that would never come. But gods should behave better. Whoever my Olympian parent better suck up and claim me or I will show him. "So I'm stuck here," Percy said. "That's it? For the rest of my life?" "It depends," Annabeth said. "Some campers only stay the summer. If you're a child of Aphrodite or Demeter, you're probably not a real powerful force. The monsters might ignore you, so you can get by with a few months of summer training and live in the mortal world the rest of the year. But for some of us, it's too dangerous to leave. We're year-rounders. In the mortal world, we attract monsters. They sense us. They come to challenge us. Most of the time, they'll ignore us until we're old enough to cause trouble—about ten or eleven years old, but after that, most demigods either make their way here, or they get killed off. A few manage to survive in the outside world and become famous. Believe me, if I told you the names, you'd know them. Some don't even realize they're demigods. But very, very few are like that." "So monsters can't get in here?" Annabeth shook her head. "Not unless they're intentionally stocked in the woods or specially summoned by somebody on the inside." "Why would anybody want to summon a monster?" "Practice fights. Practical jokes." "Practical jokes?" "The point is, the borders are sealed to keep mortals and monsters out. From the outside, mortals look into the valley and see nothing unusual, just a strawberry farm." "So... you're a year-rounder?" Annabeth nodded. From under the collar of her T-shirt she pulled a leather necklace with five clay beads of different colors. It was just like Luke's, except Annabeth's also had a big gold ring strung on it, like a college ring. "I've been here since I was seven," she said. "Every August, on the last day of summer session, you get a bead for surviving another year. I've been here longer than most of the counselors, and they're all in college." "Why did you come so young?" She twisted the ring on her necklace. "None of your business." "Oh." I stood there for a minute in uncomfortable silence. "So... I could just walk out of here right now if I wanted to?" "It would be suicide, but you could, with Mr. D's or Chiron's permission." "I've never had anything weird going on. I had a perfectly normal life." "It's because you don't give much of a half-blood scent. Even Grover didn't knew you were one of us until you came here. Even now they still don't smell you." "I just... want to go somewhere... else." I could see that Percy was guilty. "They wouldn't give permission until the end of the summer session unless..." "Unless?" "You were granted a quest. But that hardly ever happens. The last time..."

Her voice trailed off. I could tell from her tone that the last time hadn't gone well. "Back in the sick room," Percy said, "when you were feeding me that stuff—" "Ambrosia." "Yeah. You asked me something about the summer solstice." Annabeth's shoulders tensed. "So you do know something?" "Well... no. Back at my old school, I overheard Grover and Chiron talking about it. Grover mentioned the summer solstice. He said something like we didn't have much time, because of the deadline. What did that mean?" She clenched her fists. "I wish I knew. Chiron and the satyrs, they know, but they won't tell me. Something is wrong in Olympus, something pretty major. Last time I was there, everything seemed so normal." "You've been to Olympus?" "Some of us year-rounders—Luke and Clarisse and I and a few others—we took a field trip during winter solstice. That's when the gods have their big annual council." "But... how did you get there?" "The Long Island Railroad, of course. You get off at Penn Station. Empire State Building, special elevator to the six hundredth floor." She looked at us like she was sure I must know this already. "You are a New Yorker, right?" "Oh, sure." As far as I knew, there were only a hundred and two floors in the Empire State Building, but I decided not to point that out. "Right after we visited," Annabeth continued, "the weather got weird, as if the gods had started fighting. A couple of times since, I've overheard satyrs talking. The best I can figure out is that something important was stolen. And if it isn't returned by summer solstice, there's going to be trouble. When you came, I was hoping... I mean— Athena can get along with just about anybody, except for Ares. And of course she's got the rivalry with Poseidon. But, I mean, aside from that, I thought we could work together. I thought you might know something." I shook my head. I wished I could help her, but I felt too hungry and tired and mentally overloaded to ask any more questions. "I've got to get a quest," Annabeth muttered to herself. "I'm not too young. If they would just tell me the problem..." I could smell barbecue smoke coming from somewhere nearby. Annabeth must've heard my stomach growl. She told me to go on, she'd catch me later. I left her on the pier, tracing her finger across the rail as if drawing a battle plan. Back at cabin eleven, everybody was talking and horsing around, waiting for dinner. For the first time, I noticed that a lot of the campers had similar features: sharp noses, upturned eyebrows, mischievous smiles. They were the kind of kids that teachers would peg as troublemakers. Thankfully, nobody paid much attention to us as we walked in. Percy left me to settle at his spot while I sat at mine. Luke, came over. He had the Hermes family resemblance, too. It was marred by that scar on his right cheek, but his smile was intact. "I hope you settle in just fine," he said. "And here, I stole you some toiletries from the camp store." He had a very friendly and welcoming aura around him, I couldn't help but giggle, "Thanks." "No prob." Luke sat next to me. "Tough first day?" "I don't belong here," I said. "From what I've heard about other campers. I had a perfectly normal life. Nothing weird... I-I don't even believe in Gods..." "Yeah," he said. "That's how we all started. Once you start believing in them? It doesn't get any easier." The bitterness in his voice surprised me, because Luke seemed like a pretty easygoing guy. He looked like he could handle just about anything. "So your dad is Hermes?" I asked. He pulled a switchblade out of his back pocket, but he just scraped the mud off the sole of his sandal. "Yeah. Hermes." "The wing-footed messenger guy." "That's him. Messengers. Medicine. Travelers, merchants, thieves. Anybody who uses the roads. That's why you're here, enjoying cabin eleven's hospitality. Hermes isn't picky about who he sponsors." I figured Luke didn't mean to call me a nobody. He just had a lot on his mind. "You ever meet your dad?" I asked. "Once." I waited, thinking that if he wanted to tell me, he'd tell me. Apparently, he didn't. I wondered if the story had anything to do with how he got his scar. Luke looked up and managed a smile. "Don't worry about it, Y/N. The campers here, they're mostly good people. After all, we're extended family, right? We take care of each other." He seemed to understand how lost I felt, and I was grateful for that, because an older guy like him—even if he was a counselor—should've steered clear of an uncool middle-schooler like me. But Luke had welcomed me into the cabin. He'd even stolen me some toiletries, which was the nicest thing anybody had done for me all day keeping Percy's works. I decided to ask him my last big question, the one that had been bothering me all afternoon. "Clarisse, from Ares, was joking about me and Percy being 'Big Three' material. Then Annabeth... twice, she said I might be 'the one.' She said I should talk to the Oracle. What was that all about?" Luke folded his knife. "I hate prophecies." "What do you mean?" His face twitched around the scar. "Let's just say I messed things up for everybody else. The last two years, ever since my trip to the Garden of the Hesperides went sour, Chiron hasn't allowed any more quests. Annabeth's been dying to get out into the world. She pestered Chiron so much he finally told her he already knew her fate. He'd had a prophecy from the Oracle. He wouldn't tell her the whole thing, but he said Annabeth wasn't destined to go on a quest yet. She had to wait until... somebody special came to the camp." "Somebody special?" "Don't worry about it, kid," Luke said. "Annabeth wants to think every new camper who comes through here is the omen she's been waiting for." I didn't know why... but I grabbed his hand, he turned to me surprised. "I-I... Uhm, I want to get to know you better... I... I'm here if you want to talk. A-As a thank you for helping me since I got here! I-I..." He gave a warm smile and ruffled my hair. "Thank you. Now, come on, it's dinnertime." The moment he said it, a horn blew in the distance. Luke yelled, "Eleven, fall in!" The whole cabin, about twenty of us, filed into the commons yard. We lined up in order of seniority, so of course I was dead last with Percy. Campers came from the other cabins, too, except for the three empty cabins at the end, and cabin eight, which had looked normal in the daytime, but was now starting to glow silver as the sun went down. "Percy," "Hmm?" "Are you okay?" I was about to grip his sleeve when he moved away. "I'm sorry... I'll tell you after dinner." I looked at him sadly while he thought to himself. We marched up the hill to the mess hall pavilion. Satyrs joined us from the meadow. Naiads emerged from the canoeing lake. A few other girls came out of the woods— and when I say out of the woods, I mean straight out of the woods. I saw one girl, about nine or ten years old, melt from the side of a maple tree and come skipping up the hill. In all, there were maybe a hundred campers, a few dozen satyrs, and a dozen assorted wood nymphs and naiads. At the pavilion, torches blazed around the marble columns. A central fire burned in a bronze brazier the size of a bathtub. Each cabin had its own table, covered in white cloth trimmed in purple. Four of the tables were empty, but cabin eleven's was way overcrowded. I had to squeeze on to the edge of a bench with half my butt hanging off. I saw Grover sitting at table twelve with Mr. D, a few satyrs, and a couple of plump blond boys who looked just like Mr. D. Chiron stood to one side, the picnic table being way too small for a centaur. Annabeth sat at table six with a bunch of serious-looking athletic kids, all with her gray eyes and honey-blond hair. Clarisse sat behind me at Ares's table. She'd apparently gotten over being hosed down, because she was laughing and belching right alongside her friends. Finally, Chiron pounded his hoof against the marble floor of the pavilion, and everybody fell silent. He raised a glass. "To the gods!" Everybody else raised their glasses. "To the gods!" Wood nymphs came forward with platters of food: grapes, apples, strawberries, cheese, fresh bread, and yes, barbecue! Percy sat beside other kids of the Hermes cabin. My glass was empty, but Luke said, "Speak to it. Whatever you want—nonalcoholic, of course." I said, "(Favorite Drink; F/D)." The glass filled with sparkling caramel liquid. Then I had an idea. "F/C F/D." The drink turned a violent shade of F/C. I took a cautious sip. Perfect.. . . . . I drank a toast to my loved ones. They're not gone, I told myself. I felt like I was forgetting something. Like I know I will get too them all soon. "Here you go," Luke said, handing me a platter of smoked brisket. I loaded my plate and was about to take a big bite when I noticed everybody getting up, carrying their plates toward the fire in the center of the pavilion. I wondered if they were going for dessert or something. "Come on," Luke told me. As I got closer, I saw that everyone was taking a portion of their meal and dropping it into the fire, the ripest strawberry, the juiciest slice of beef, the warmest, most buttery roll. Luke murmured in my ear, "Burnt offerings for the gods. They like the smell." "You're kidding." His look warned me not to take this lightly, but I couldn't help wondering why an immortal, all-powerful being would like the smell of burning food. Luke approached the fire, bowed his head, and tossed in a cluster of fat red grapes. "Hermes." I was next. I wished I knew what god's name to say. Finally, I made a silent plea. Whoever you better claim me, or I will come for you and you won't like what I'll do. I scraped a big slice of brisket into the flames. When I caught a whiff of the smoke, I didn't gag. It smelled nothing like burning food. It smelled of hot chocolate and fresh-baked brownies, hamburgers on the grill and wildflowers, and a hundred other good things that shouldn't have gone well together, but did. I could almost believe the gods could live off that smoke. When everybody had returned to their seats and finished eating their meals, Chiron pounded his hoof again for our attention. Mr. D got up with a huge sigh. "Yes, I suppose I'd better say hello to all you brats. Well, hello. Our activities director, Chiron, says the next capture the flag is Friday. Cabin five presently holds the laurels." A bunch of ugly cheering rose from the Ares table. "Personally," Mr. D continued, "I couldn't care less, but congratulations. Also, I should tell you that we have a new campers today. Peter Johnson and (Wrong Name)." Chiron murmured something. "Er, Percy Jackson and Y/N L/N," Mr. D corrected. "That's right. Hurrah, and all that. Now run along to your silly campfire. Go on." Everybody cheered. We all headed down toward the amphitheater, where Apollo's cabin led a sing-along. We sang camp songs about the gods and ate s'mores and joked around, and the funny thing was, I didn't feel that anyone was staring at me anymore. I went up to Percy. "What's wrong?" He sighed. "I... I feel like everything... All of this," He signaled at everything, "happened because you met me. When you told Annabeth about your life and how nothing had been going wrong, while I had trouble following me every step... I couldn't help but feel guilty." I knew it... He felt at fault. Taking his hand I looked at him, "I chose to be with you at the beach. I wanted to follow you. I wanted to stay with you. Yeah, troubles came and I lost everything... I would rather have you with me through that. Please?" He rested his head on my shoulder, "Yeah..." Later in the evening, when the sparks from the campfire were curling into a starry sky, the conch horn blew again, and we all filed back to our cabins. It was late at night some were asleep, while some were screaming around. I stayed up looking out the window since Luke had warned me about going out. "Long day, how was it?" Luke greeted taking the spot beside me. "Almost had my face flushed down on smelly toilets, so real fun I guess." Luke rested his back against the window and looked at the two boys wrestling each other few feet away. "You know how you told me you wanted to get to know me more?" "Yeah... I mean it. You're the first person I met here. From what I heard you helped me after getting here." "So you feel obligated to get closer to me?" He raised a brow at me with a smirk. "No, I think you're interesting. I want us to be friends. I want to be a person you can trust." "Why?" "I... don't know. I guess I just want to. I mean yeah I also low-key kinda have a crush on you but oh well." I joked. Hearing his laugh I was relieved he was a cool guy. "I'll keep you in mind." "Really now? Okay dream of me I guess." "For a 12 year old you're a flirt." He shook his head with a smile. "It's my mom, she told me the best way to make friends is by flirting. If they're cool with you flirting they're perfect candidate for a friend, if they aren't, you'll have an awkward friendship." "I don't know about that." "I know right? Imagine teaching a 5 year old how to flirt." We laughed. We continued to chat about little things until it got quiet in the cabin. Most of them were now asleep. Percy slept as soon as he lied down, after all. "Good night." Luke smiled. "Yeah, good night." I didn't realize how exhausted I was until I collapsed on the bed. When I closed my eyes, I fell asleep instantly. That was my first day at Camp Half-Blood. I already felt like I belong. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all...

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I am in love with Luke I'm sorry Here's another chapter Another horirble caphetr UwU -kookie-doughs

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

[lovelikedestiny]

6. Nicky: I've run out of time

I want to take care of you.

Will you be mine?

Watching Joe sleep has always been one of Nicky's favorite things to do. In sleep, everyone has an extraordinary vulnerability that covers them like a second skin. Nicky loves to watch Joe when he is slumbering peacefully next to him, far from everything the world has in store for them. Freed from worry and fear, anger and sadness, safe from the dangers of life in his dreams.

Those precious moments when Nicky watches the sunlight pour gold over Joe, forming a halo over his soft curls and throwing shades from his long eyelashes on his cheeks are like a little bubble of peace just for both of them.

Nicky knows exactly how many seconds pass before Joe wakes up to the delicate touch of Nicky's fingers on his face. Just as he knows that Joe gives a cute, low grumble when he reaches the brink of awakening and that he always stretches his left arm first and then his right arm.

Kozak took this treasure from them.

For that, Nicky detests her almost more than the serum, which destroys his body from the inside out. Almost. Most of all, Nicky hates the immoral doctor for hurting his family so much with her test. Every day he experiences how badly the people who mean so much to him suffer from being unable to help him. Knowing that he is responsible for it is the worst for him.

As they are doomed to watch the serum hurt him, he is doomed to endure as their postures become more and more tense and their eyes more and more haunted.

His greatest fear after Jerusalem and the horrors there, was to become a destructive sword again and to cease to be a protective shield.

Please don't let me be the sword that hits my family.

Due to his worsening condition Nicky couldn’t watch his soulmate sleep for a long time and he cannot remember the last time he had the chance to enjoy cozy, peaceful togetherness in bed with Joe. Either exhaustion pulls Nicky into the dark depths or the icy cold inside him spreads and transforms him into an ice sculpture, unable to move but feel for any heat sources nearby.

He is all the more surprised when he slowly comes to, rises to the surface through the fog of pain, which takes his sight from time to time and suffocates him with fire and ice, and discovers Joe sleeping next to him. He is facing Nicky, one hand tucked under his pillow, the other resting possessively on Nicky's upper arm.

They are not in their usual sleeping position, which shows Nicky that they didn't have time to position themselves or something else prevented that. To be honest, Nicky doesn't remember much from last night, just the white hot flames that burned his throat and breathed ash particles into his lungs. He thinks he can remember Joe's blurry face hovering over him and words in their language that were drowned out in the rustling of his own ears. Even the dull, throbbing pain in his limbs, which is even more violent than usual, says Nicky, that he must have had a violent episode yesterday.

Damn it...

Still, he can't stop his heart from skipping a beat, considering the fact that he has woken up in front of Joe for the first time in what feels like an eternity and can soak up the sight of Joe like divine ambrosia. Joe's face is so beautiful that Nicky could not possibly describe it with all the compliments in the world and he enjoys the touch of familiarity as if this were a piece of bread and he was starving.

However, Joe's dark circles and worry lines destroy the peaceful image and it stings Nicky in the chest because he is responsible for it. I am your armor in battle and your blanket in peace, Nicky promised him centuries ago and it was never his intention to break this promise. How much one can be wrong.

Now he is the weight that pulls the corners of Joe's mouth down and his shoulders arches in a way that shows Nicky how much the situation is gnawing at Joe and that he still fights with all his might. For both of them. For Nicky. His great love is stronger than Nicky himself would have been in Joe's position and he feels nothing but deep regret for burdening Joe with all of this.

Raising his hand feels like the greatest Herculean task and his fingers are visibly trembling, but the urge to touch this soft Joe and indulge in old familiarity is insurmountable for Nicky. Unlike usual, the first contact of his fingertips on Joe's cheekbones jerks Joe out of his sleep and he opens his eyes in alarm, his muscles hard under his shirt from tension.

This Joe, who is frantically scanning Nicky's face and body with one glance, is in such stark contrast to the sleepy, grumpy Joe, who needs several cups of coffee to know his name, that Nicky wants to cry.

He doesn't.

Because even if he has no more control over anything else in his life, his feelings still belong to himself. He is aware that Joe knows exactly what he is doing, but none of them name it.

“Nicolo? Do you need the bucket? Are you sick? Can you breathe?” The wild bedhead - Joe's lovely tousled curls - when he half sits up, facing Nicky, used to be a heartwarming picture, which Nicky would have gifted with a kiss and more. Now they only represent the tension that electrifies all members of the team and the unrestrained concern of his partner.

"Good morning," Nicky croaks instead of answering Joe's questions and the tone of his voice hurts even his own ears. Each letter feels like a shard of glass in his throat, pointy and sharp, cutting without mercy, but damn Nicky if something like that would prevent him from trying to calm Joe down.

The tormented expression on his face, which can be seen for a split second over the sound of his voice, almost bursts Nicky's decision like a soap bubble. But then Joe smiles tenderly and Nicky can breathe again despite the cement blocks on his chest.

"Morning," Joe says, gently cupping Nicky's cheek. Nicky lifts his head slightly and meets Joe as far as possible until Joe's lips lie on his and everything else disappears in the background. The body pain and the cold that has not let go of him for a few weeks, despite the heat that burns his insides, have been extinguished. The stabbing headache and the paralyzing tiredness have disappeared. Joe's warm lips, which Nicky could blindly feel and taste, give him a momentary break from the exhausting effect of the serum.

Nicky can't say exactly what sound he's making, but it ensures that Joe deepens the kiss and closes his arms around Nicky like a protective cage. And Nicky, with everything he has, clings to the intimate touch that they have exchanged so often, but which is like an enlightenment, a resurrection every time. Joe's lips and arms are so warm that the heat gradually sinks into Nicky's body, distorted by the serum, like a small stone in deep water - at first slowly but steadily until it hits the bottom.

Joe catches his quiet, liberated sigh as Nicky basks in the warmth of Joe's body, and drinks it in so desperately as if it were the only thing that would keep Joe alive. And Nicky kisses him back, putting all the words in it he told Joe a long time ago. I am your shelter against storm and rain and the breath that fills your lungs when you are drowning.

Now Nicky is drowning and all he wants is not to let Joe drown with him.

Continue reading on AO3 ;)

[plumblueflower]

Can I have a story too, bro? Any mythology? 🥺

Yes of course! Let me think of a nice one that you'll enjoy.............*please imagine the music you hear when you're on hold for a company phone number, but in kazoo*................DING!

Today we'll be learning about the 2nd incarnation of Lord Vishnu from my own religion/mythology! Disclaimer to any who practice Hinduism, don't come after me for being irreverent. I believe that these stories were meant to be told with love and affection, not fear.

Onward to a cautionary tale about how being arrogant is one of the worst things you can do when met with a temperamental sage and how tortoises and snakes are apparently valid materials in engineering. Due to divinity of said creatures, it can be safely said that no reptiles were harmed in the making of this production!

Once upon a time, while the King of the Heavens, God of Lightning and Thunder (think Zeus but less swol??), Indra was simply king-ing around, a sage came into his court. Now, these sages were very powerful and well-respected members of society. They'd essentially take to the forest and pray for a very, very long time and gain something akin to XP points in a game, along with rather unsavory looking beards (but don't ever said that to them aloud, you'll see what happens when you offend them!). Generally, a force to be respected and tread carefully around.

The sage that came on that Wednesday afternoon (this is an estimate based on my stellar intuition), was named Durvasa. And he was known to be a very, very, very, very grumpy old coot. Perhaps it was because he meditated with the wrong posture, it can't be explained for sure. Anyways, if you ever come across him, keep your manners poised!

He came with good intent, wanting to bestow a flower garland on Indra as a gesture of blessing and kindness. However, Indra, presumably addled by the royal haze, simply took it and gave it to Airavat, his elephant. Now, being an elephant, Airavat did not necessarily have a great regard for decorum and simply stomped on it after realizing that it wasn't a snack.

Durvasa was livid to say the least, and can you blame him? Imagine you spent all your time writing a love letter for someone and they simply through it to their pet shredder, sounds horrid, doesn't it? (Now you'll have more incentive to reblog this!)

Well in his rage, the old geezer cursed everyone in the heavens, gods and demigods alike, to lose all fortune, happiness, and victory! Soon after, Indra's armies began to lose all of their battles, and generally seemed to be going through a time about as fun as ours. The gods were entirely at their wits' end! How would they finagle their way out of this?

Forgive the quick business analogy, but imagine this power structure a bit like a corporate one. Indra would be the CEO of the company, but there is a founding board of directors that he answers to. The Big Three: Vishnu, Shiva, and Bramha.

Anyways, Indra and the rest of the heavenly squad trekked up to Vishnu's realm and sheepishly asked for an assist. Vishnu told them that all their fortune and the immortal nectar, Amrit (for the graecophiles, Ambrosia) was at the bottom of the ocean (Pacific? Atlantic? I think quite possibly could have been an extremely large puddle). To regain their prosperity and health, they would have to churn it out of the ocean!

At that point, Vishnu, in RPG game fashion, gave them a helpful hint: You need the help of the demons to hold the other side of whatever rope you use to churn, but you cannot let them take the Immortal Juice. This would require some hijinks and shenanigans, but they figured out a plan.

The gods convinced the demons to come and help them churn, promising that they would share the Amrit. They assembled a humongous, gargantuan, massive churning mechanism. Vishnu's "snake familiar", Vasuki, King of the Serpents, was the churning rope and huge mountain was the churning rod. As they pulled the snakey-rope back and forth, demons on one side, gods on the other, the mountain started sinking! Oh no! So, Vishnu took the form of a tortoise and went under the mountain to keep it stabilized! By some engineering miracle, the wealth and fortune came right out from the seabed, along with a few unfortunate fishes. When the Amrit came out, the Demons quickly snatched it for security. But the gods had a plan, because as we know, if there's one thing that dissolves all reason from the brain, it is a very hot woman. (unless you're an aspec or a gay in this case, but at this point, I'm willing to bet that the illusion would simply change to be garlic bread or a hot stud to seduce you anyways)

Now who exactly was this hot woman? Well, her name was Mohini, but she was actually Vishnu in disguise! She seduced the demons into letting her distribute the Amrit to everyone and with her charming maneuvers, she managed to distract the demons so that they wouldn't notice that she was only actually giving nectar to the gods! Victory for our side!

But wait! It turns out the demons had a counterstrike of their own! One demon, Rahuketu, realized the trick and disguised himself to be a god so he would get the nectar. But just as the nectar was about to go down his throat, Vishnu caught him and beheaded him with his ultra-scary, spiky frisbee, the Sudarshan Chakra. Because the demon had already ingested it partially, the two half of his body became sentient beings aptly named Rahu and Ketu. We now see them in the sky as Uranus and Neptune! With that deception foiled, the story ends with the victory of the gods!

Fun fact about Mohini: This female avatar of Vishnu, was very much the temptous femme fatale of the millennia! She killed many demons with her cunning and looks, the illusion being able to tempt anyone! Including....one of the other members of the Triumvirate, Shiva himself! According to the stories of Kerela, India, Shiva saw Mohini, they did "lovers-in-the-nighttime" and had a child, Ayyappa! As a trans, I think this is pretty cool, but thought you all would like to know as well!

[soldrawss]

Ares kids giving percy shit and then they just see... luke... standing in the background... staring at them... and they suddenly decide to leave percy alone, because they 'just FEEL LIKE IT, oKAY???' jhgfgdhfdhggfjghg

Despite what everyone else thinks, Luke is always angry. He just also happens to be really good at hiding it. He probably had his dad to thank for that, being able to redirect and reassure others with a flash of a smile and a wave of his hand to disarm anyone who’d think otherwise. He hardly ever lets his temper get the best of him anymore. He’s too old for that. Too tired to let the little things get under his skin and leave bruises that the world could see. He can’t afford to wear his anger out like tattooed sleeves, the same way Silena Beauregard wore compassion on hers.

And it would be too easy. Too easy to just let his anger for the world and for the gods fuel and feed the hurt bleeding into his rationality and blaming all his problems on everything other than himself. It would be way too fucking easy to go about his days in a blinding rage that left nothing but empty holes in the places that should have held love and forgiveness and all the good he tries so desperately to instill in the younger campers. It wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t help the hurt and it wouldn’t end the suffering. Luke knew this. Luke knew the world didn’t need one more angry, unwanted kid adding that kind of gasoline into the fire. Kronos was wrong, even if his tempted whispers late at night tried so hard to convince him otherwise.

So he hides his anger. Buries it under daily counselor chores and making sure the Stoll brothers don’t get too rowdy during their free time and just keeps busy enough to ignore the pounding tremor in the back of his chest. It works for the most part. It’s easier to smile nowadays, he barely even has to force it anymore, and when he laughs along to campfire stories and songs, it’s something lighthearted and genuine.

But his anger is always right there, like it’s something second hand and lingering. There without him having to reach for it. 

And when he notices Percy get dragged behind the armory by the scruff of his neck by some older kids, he lets that all too familiar anger consume him in seconds. He pushes away from the handful of campers he was monitoring by the amphitheater, ‘Activity’s over. You have free break until lunch’, he calls over his shoulder, and doesn’t wait for a response as he marches his way in the direction of the armory with a speed Hermes would probably be proud of if he ever cared enough to check-in.

Luke doesn’t have special skills or powers like other Demigods. He can’t build things like Beckendorf and he can’t charm speak like Silena and he certainly can’t summon lightning from the heavens like Thalia could. But he was respected and feared in equal measure all the same, and no one could deny that he worked hard to earn the title of the best swordsman in camp. 

His was still a presence that demanded attention and authority. Even if he lets the seven-year-old from the Haphestus cabin ride on his shoulders after breakfast most mornings, or moves over on his already tiny bunk in the dead of night so that little unclaimed Lily Anderson can sleep with him after a bad nightmare.

He was a self-designated older brother to pretty much anyone who needed one, and Luke took a quiet sort of pride to that so many people liked and needed him.

But he was still a threat when he wanted to be.So when he saw Percy on the ground, with a nose bleed that stained the front of his shirt an awful rusty color, all Luke had to do was growl a low, ‘walk away. Now’, and the three boys took off at a sprint. He only vaguely recognized two of them from the Ares cabin and one from Aphrodite, but he didn’t care enough to do more with the information at the moment because Percy was staring up at him with green eyes electric and burning. 

And Luke recognizes those kinds of eyes. They’re the same as his. There's a light like dying stars in them. Angry and terrified and burning with something terrible and so full of single-minded devotion that it has to hurt. And it leaves something aching and red hot in Luke’s stomach when he takes a step forward only for Percy to flinch away out of reflex.

“I’m fine,” Percy said like a knee jerk reaction before Luke could even ask, barking it in a mean and biting way that Luke didn’t take any offense to because he remembers what if felt like to be twelve and have your pride hurt. So Luke doesn’t question it, because Percy is scrappier and stronger than anyone probably ever gave him credit for, and offers a silent hand and the gentlest smile he can muster. Luke does his best to ignore the thumping jolt of anger that vibrates through him when Percy takes it almost immediately and so desperately, like it’s his only lifeline in the world, and wonders what kind of people were in Percy’s life before camp that made him so hungry for a positive human connection. 

Percy apologizes a second later with a horrified expression, jumping out of reach when he notices he got blood on Luke’s hand.

“Don’t worry about it. Let's just get you to the Apollo cabin. Lee keeps a first aid kit and a jar of ambrosia superglued to him at all times after Cecil Markowitz’s third greek fire burn.” The comment was supposed to lighten the mood somewhat, but Percy’s face darkens as he takes a step back from Luke.

“Um, no thanks,” Percy says in almost a pained whisper, hugging his middle and trying to wipe the continuous flow of blood from running down his chin by holding his head back. “It smells too much like the infirmary in there. And I hate the way ambrosia burns down my throat. I’m good, Luke, really.”

And that should have tipped Luke off to some bigger problem, but he can’t concentrate on it because he’s already closing the distance between them faster than Percy could object, and softly pushing the back of Percy’s head down towards the ground. “Pinch here, just above your nostrils, and lean forward unless you want the blood to go down your throat.” He instructs, guiding Percy’s bloodied hand to his nose.

Luke can’t rightly blame Percy for his hesitance. The kid’s first moments of conscious grief since his new life as a half-blood began was spent in the camp infirmary, nursing the pain of losing his mom while also nursing actual physical wounds with acidic nectar and ambrosia that even Luke can attest to growing disgust for after the first few battle wounds of his own. Anyone would have some kind of underlying trauma from that, and Percy didn’t have to outwardly admit how uncomfortable he was at the idea for Luke to understand.

Being a 12-year-old without a mom was hard enough. The problems of a half-blood added on top of that was almost a cruel joke that Luke bitterly couldn’t believe was a reality for most the kids at camp.

“Annabeth used to get into a lot of fights too, I’ve gotten pretty used to fixing noses the old fashioned way. Come on, I have a spare medkit in the combat arena,” Luke says, pressing a hand to Percy’s back, not giving him a chance to escape because dammit, someone had to care for this kid. And Percy doesn’t smile, but something in those sharp green eyes turn leaf like and muted as he lets himself get led from out from behind the armory.

No one really bats an eye towards Percy as they walked, and Luke could only assume it’s because he looks like he’s about to kill anyone that tried with a stone-cold glare that could rival Medusa’s. 

No one was is in the arena when they get there, and Luke instructs Percy to keep the cold washcloth Luke had snagged for him on his nose for about ten minutes, keeping upright to help stop the bleeding. They don’t say anything after that, they just sit on the arena steps and watch the campers from the Demeter cabin try to flip the canoes of some Aphrodite kids with little success, while they wait. 

Luke doesn’t ask any questions on what happened or why, he feels like the answer wouldn’t matter anyway, but Percy eventually softens in the silence between them. Luke pretends he doesn’t notice Percy’s eyes get red and wet as he rubs at them angrily with the palm of his hand.

After about fifteen minutes, and a fresh camp shirt that Luke had given him to replace Percy’s stained one, Percy looked no worse for wear, at least.

“Thanks,” he says softly, like he was thanking Luke for a million things at once, and Luke was all too aware of the crack in his voice and the angry hunch of his shoulders that made him look whole years to young to be angry at the world.

“Don’t thank me just yet, I need your help with something,” Luke decides as he stands up and walks back into arena, not looking back to see if Percy is following him because he knows he is.

“Alright,” he says once they make it to the middle of the dusty pit, holding his hands out in front of his chest and adjusting his stance as Percy looks at him with a doe-eyed curiosity and confusion. “Come at me with all you got.”

Percy frowns, and sniffs once before rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “What? Dude I already got my butt handed to me, I don’t need another nose bleed on top of a few broken bones.”

Luke can’t help but smile at that. “Come on, humor me. I have a few unchecked microaggressions I need to work out and you owe me. I promise I won’t aim for your nose.”

Percy frown deepens, but he sighs like the whole world is weighted on in and gets into a fighting stance of his own, keeping his fists close to his chest.

Now it was Luke’s turn to frown. “Aww dude, you’re breaking my heart here.”

He relaxes his stance and walks over to where Percy stood, dodging the lame attempt of a punch and catching Percy’s fist in the palm of his hand, readjusting Percy’s fingers. “Thumb goes here unless you want to break it. And you wanna keep your fists closer to bottom of your chin.”

Luke uses his own foot to shift Percy’s into a more stable stance. “Feet this far apart and bend your knees, or you’re gonna get knocked down no matter what happens. Try to punch me again.”

Frowning more out of concentration then confusion, Percy took another swing that Luke caught easily and without letting go, pulled it back towards Percy’s shoulder and used his other hand to straighten Percy’s back. “Use these muscles here and punch straight out. You keep swinging too wide and putting all your force behind it, leaving you open.”

He guided Percy’s hand with his own, twisting it slowly in the form of a punch. “You’re gonna feel the bones in your arm want to move this way. Let them and you’ll get more force out of it.”

Percy hummed something like acknowledgment, so Luke let go and retook his stance in front of Percy, mimicking his same posture from before. “Try it again.”

Luke still caught Percy’s fist in his own, but a smile broke his face in two when he, not unkindly, pushed Percy back aways. “A couple more hits like that, and my hand may actually start to hurt, Jackson.”

And the grin that crept upon the twelve-year-olds face was something bright and delighted and outshining the stars as easy as breathing, and Luke soaked in every inch as they continued for the better half of the morning sparing till the lunch horn sounded.

Percy was so much like a younger Luke that is actually scared him, but moments like this, where he knew practical methods of defense would help Percy better than any reassurance that bullies would eventually leave him alone ever could. And Luke knew that Percy wouldn’t be ok with anyone fighting his battles for him, even if it would have been so easy for Luke to channel some of that unchecked rage into beating the ever-living snot out of anyone who looked sideways at Percy again. Just like he knew that Percy wouldn’t ask for help if it wasn’t already freely giving, or that trust was a hard thing to earn when your whole life was built around people burning that bridge before you could ever extend it.

But Luke was prepared for the challenge, and with Percy chatting happily away from underneath where Luke rested his arm across his shoulders as they made their way to the dining Pavillion, Luke could feel the edges of his anger slowly quiet into something barely there. And it’s a feeling that carries him throughout the rest of the day. A feeling that he wants to bottle up and keep on a shelf whenever he wants to forget what hating the world feels like.

Because if it feels like it’s worth it just to keep kids like Percy smiling for the rest of forever, well then, Luke could handle forgiving some of his anger, and letting his heart rest on his sleeves just a little bit more.