#dionysus & knuckles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ma1dita · 9 months ago

Text

when the curtains close

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> love me dry | next -> asking for trouble words: 5.3k summary: (post-tlt) The one where you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Pollux, Annabeth, Percy, and Mr. D find out the biggest difference between you and Luke.) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: yeah to me this fic sounds and feels like that tiktok of the girl humming to her microwave. depictions of the titular battle of the labyrinth at CHB, some blood/gore, death & grief. the usual. you forced me to by lizzy mcalpine. references to cat on a hot tin roof by tennessee williams if you squint (posted 5/14/24)

—

The first time Pollux has a panic attack, time seems to stop and the world keeps moving on without him.

He’s reminded of a time when you rambled on about how anxiety takes possession of the senses like a moment frozen in a snapshot meant for you to identify. In the memory, you had your feet kicked up on the dash flipping through a DSM-5 while he and Castor took turns speeding up and down Farm Road (totally normal older sister behavior from you, and when a cop pulled you over, the three of you narrowly escaped a ticket by talking in riddles and godly smoke that smelled like grapes). Pollux still remembers the sound of laughter in the car blending like three different chords to an archaic melody (or squawking crows in the strawberry fields)— the bond between you three laid out before time knew limits and was always meant to be.

It’s still his favorite song. You’re their favorite (and only) sister, they love to joke. These are facts that will never change.

“You two have each other, and well, I’ve got this,” you had said, the Zippo flicking open and closed against your thumb in the blossoming darkness of the car. Pink and purple rays of waning light blanketed the old hatchback as it steadily made its way back towards Half-Blood Hill, comfortable silence shared in the way only siblings can stand to be quiet—when there are no words needed to get a point across. But you’ve always set yourself apart from the pack, not needing anyone like how they need each other.

Not since Luke left, at least. The growing distance between you three since your untimely resignation from camp was proof enough. Pollux’s eyes met Castor’s in the rearview mirror as they both noticed your sad smile. His brother’s voice broke through the silence then, having always been the one blunt enough to say what was on his mind, “You’ve got us too if you let us see you more often.” Your fidgeting stops.

“It’s not you two, it’s just hard to be back here sometimes. I see things for what they used to be instead of how they really are now. Now it’s just… it has to be all business.”

Pollux cracked a smile, “S’what you get for growing up. Soon we’ll just be annoying voices in your head like you are to us.” Shutting your textbook, you turned to look at them from the passenger seat, eyes that match theirs darting between their blond heads, “All of us have to grow up eventually. Except maybe you two— I prefer you in my nightmares like the kids from The Shining. Whenever you get sick of Dad, come see me. Gods know that camp deserves a break from the two of you too.” Your knuckles knocked against both of their heads affectionately as he put the car in park, “My built-in bodyguards, huh? Always looking out for me.”

All words and meaning escape Pollux now as he stands in the greenery of the North Woods with battle gear ill-fitted to his large frame. It’s the first siege he’s ever taken part in, the first time he’s had to use battle strategies outside of Capture the Flag and the first time he’s slashed his way through monsters and demigods with the intent to try and kill or be killed. Sword and Shield could have never prepared any of them for this—as his eyes meet Castor’s and then yours with all of you thinking the same thing, the three of you join the sea of iridescent orange through mind-numbing black moving like a sharp three-pronged sword.

This type of stuff isn’t typical for him, he thinks. He and Castor are used to being comedic relief— being the source of laughs and juice boxes for pesky little campers instead of facing the real world outside the boundaries of the Mist. Perhaps your father babied them to make up for the time he lost with you, but there’s a moment where he wonders how being kept soft will keep him alive in a world as harsh as this one.

Childlike innocence is ripped away from them in the bubble they’ve inhabited until this moment. Home is now a warzone and like lambs set up for slaughter, the twins both turn to look at you as a shuddering gasp leaves your mouth at the carnage in your surroundings, monster blood and fallen friends and enemies at your feet. Breaking away from formation to take a deep breath, he looks at the sky and wonders where your father is, but smoke and soot fill his lungs and he coughs desperately for a breath of fresh air.

Pollux thinks he must have stopped breathing before Castor took his last breath. It wasn’t supposed to be a competition, but sometimes life was just funny like that.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Just like you told him.

Castor was always the more manic one while Pollux knew how to endure. Children of Dionysus are forced to befriend insanity before it makes an enemy out of them—twisting the ugly into what’s real and creating something beautiful out of the deranged. You’ve shown the boys how you detach from emotion by recognizing the details—separating fact and fiction, a methodical process only describable by the blood that runs through your veins. Pollux doesn’t know where to start—everything happens so fast but it plays out in front of him like someone put the pieces together to a stop-motion animation.

He sees Castor’s sword fall to the ground when he gets slashed on the forearm and sees him get clubbed over the head with a metal weapon he’s only seen bad renditions forged for theater practices and hanging on the walls of the armory. Castor falls first to his knees, and then into the dirt with a thud. He never knew there could be that much blood coming out of a person, much less a mirror image of himself. Pollux sees your face come into his line of vision, deep maroon splatters on your face glittering with hints of ichor and then you’re moving because he can’t. The enemy is coming back for him now, and for a moment he wonders if Castor will be mad if he lets him. He sees you turn in an instant, swinging your sword down on the neck of the aggressor, a teenager not much older than he and his brother are—were. It’s funny how his brain immediately makes the switch to past tense, and how he can’t stop thinking about how he’ll now and forever be older than his twin. Pollux then sees you catch the body of the boy you just killed as life seeps out of him slower than it did for Castor.

It doesn’t make him feel any better, though.

His knees hit the ground next to his twin, touching the sludge of dirt soft like quicksand and moist with what he hopes is not blood, but Pollux is not quite sure of what else there is to hope for. His fist is wrapped around Castor’s shirtsleeve, touching faded orange and sweat as he holds on for dear life. Maybe if he tries hard enough his soul will still be intertwined with his. Your hand touches his shoulder, five fingers reaching out to brush the back of his neck and the feeling of your skin helps him refocus a bit, even if you’re saying something he can’t make out. Then the metal of your Zippo lighter feels cool to the touch within his palm and he knows what he needs to do.

The battle isn’t over, but for the three of you, everything stops here. There is no going forward without your brother. You were never meant to be children of war.

Pollux hears the sound of his heartbeat thundering through his ears, blood rushing through his veins and can’t help but notice the silence amid the chaos. There are no words fit for this—and even if there were, Castor and you were always the more talkative ones. He hears the spark of the purple flame between his fingers, blowing the smoke over him and his brother’s body, and their father’s powers blanket them like how you used to tuck them into bed, warm and safe. This is what your family is—unconventional and unending even in different realms of existence. And then Grover’s scream of panic echoes through the air and everyone hears that. Hysteria ensues as monsters and demigods alike run amok, and Pollux realizes he’s stopped shaking.

In his father’s domain, he will always find comfort.

You stand above him now directing campers calmly with a free hand—a brewing storm crackling underneath your skin that he now understands. Hidden by the illusion of smoke, Pollux’s tired bones rest alongside his brother’s dead ones— together as they always were meant to be.

The three of you together, his little family—that is a fact he hoped would never change.

The smell of grapes envelops him as he leans his forehead against your muddy leg… when did the battle end? It almost masks the scent of death that rips through the air as your hand brushes through his sandy hair. Pollux stinks of sweat and you stifle a laugh as you see him smell his armpit. You three were always the same type of fucked up. He doesn’t look down at Castor laid across his lap but knows he would’ve found it funny too. Ignorance of reality even for a moment serves as a comfort. Purple meets purple as he looks up at you with a smile that doesn’t fit his face anymore and he croaks, “Wonder what dad would say about our first battle…”

Glory was never meant to be this bittersweet—it tastes like blood in his mouth until he wipes it away from his cheek and realizes it’s Castor’s. In a way, it’s his too, everything about him and within him is exactly the same down to the star stuff the fates wove them from.

“I’ll be the one to tell him. You take care of Castor,” you answer, as if there’s anything else he would want to do and then he realizes you’re crying— and he’s seeing all of the pieces put together in front of him in this photograph in his mind.

Pollux blinks slowly.

Suddenly the image he has of you is more defined— there is new meaning to the sadness you could never shake off all these years, and he is too young to lose his greatest love, which makes him realize then that so were you.

How long does this have to go on? he wonders, grabbing onto your hand with an eagerness only comparable to the feeling he got when you and Luke whisked him and Castor away from Florida all those years ago. This punishment of living while half of his soul does not—what is he supposed to do next? This was supposed to be the safe place. There is nowhere left to run. His thumb rubs circles into the back of your shaking blood-soaked hand, a secret within the smoke.

Pollux thinks there will always be a part of him frozen in time now, a memory of this day hung up in his mind like a portrait as he holds Castor’s cold hand in his warm one.

—

Annabeth finds you in the middle of the strawberry fields before the sun sets. She knows you won’t be sleeping tonight, not if you can fight it— not when there’s so much to do. You’ve long grown out of your ripped-up and tie-dyed camp shirts, and the one slung on your frame is newly pressed and starchy from the storage room of the Big House, still stiff against your freshly washed skin. When she’s close enough to touch you, you’ve been scrubbed clean of today.

She doesn’t have to be a daughter of Athena to know that you know that she’s there even if you can’t see her, but for once she feels like she has to hide. For once, Annabeth Chase doesn’t know what to say. How can she explain the feeling of guilt that coils around her brain like barbed wire—how can she even begin to apologize for the thing wearing her brother’s skin, knowing that it killed yours? For once, her hubris is crushed by the sinking feeling of humiliation.

“Was your first quest all you thought it would be, Annie?”

As she takes her navy cap off, silver braided strands around her face wave in the wind as a reminder of what Luke put her through. Though as she looks at you now with your berry-stained fingers plucking at stems one by one instead of using your powers, she thinks that your mind is elsewhere—anywhere but here, where everything is a painful reminder of your five years as a camper.

Five years with Luke.

Mourning him isn’t a new feeling for either of you, even though he comes in and out of your lives like a poltergeist you want to bash across the head, just always out of reach. But he’s a constant, even when he’s not here and he’s what binds you two together as you huddle hidden away from the rest of camp.

“He did this for you.”

It’s not a question, more so a fact out of Annie’s mouth when you finally meet her eyes and sigh, “Luke’s always had a way going about things. The most stubborn man to ever live.” You toss another strawberry into the crate at your feet. No one’s working right now, trying to tend to the injured and the dead. Everyone’s doing their best to chase away the nightmares that are bound to come, and she knows you’ll be making rounds with her on the night shift to ease everyone’s anxieties. But there’s a thought so strong it makes her head hurt, bursting at the seams until she can’t stop with her last-ditch effort to fix her found family.

“Maybe if we find him, we can save—”

“He’s been out of time for a while now, Annabeth. We both knew that,” you say, voice firm and unwavering. You’ve never sounded so monotone before, and it hits her as her mouth falls agape, “You’re giving up on him? Why… why would you give up on him?” Anger courses through her veins like fire and she’s mad that she’s at the center of this prophecy, of Hermes’s anger for his doomed son who will love you until the ends of the earth.

And what of her?

What of the hope she has in happy endings, how is it that you’re so damn calm? Annabeth kicks at the crate, strawberries rolling out in different directions and your jaw tightens as you let her be petulant, let her scream and yell until her inner child can catch up with the reality of the world around you.

“How could you?”

Your name echoes as she repeats it, grabbing at your shoulders and she’s as desperate as the truth that shakes her when you cup her face in your hands and wipe her tears.

“You’ve carried the weight of the world Annabeth– you know what it feels like to let it go. It’s time to let him go. There’s nothing I can do or say to fix this.”

Then it hits her that you knew of his fate and yet this was still the outcome. There was nothing else to do but watch him be puppeteered by a Titan and have to fight evil while it wears his face.

“He came to you after he saw me, didn’t he? Why didn’t you tell me? Why don’t you love him anymore?”

Because it wouldn’t have changed a thing, your eyes say. Instead, you grimace as you say, “Wouldn’t that be funny if it were true?” You lean down and pick up the fallen berries, some bruised and covered in dirt, and then you look at her again with teary eyes.

“Some prophecy huh? To lose a love to worse than death. What could we have done besides love him until the end?”

“He’s still in there. I know you know that too. Don’t talk about him like he’s not,” Annabeth insists, and a sad smile settles upon your face. It’s as gentle as the kiss of the breeze on your cheeks.

“I lost a brother today, Annie.”

“Me too.”

—

The funny thing about planning funerals is that with all the fuss it takes to organize one, you still find extra time on your hands. Barely getting any sleep and dragging yourself out of your dad’s bed, Pollux snores loudly next to you after hours of working on Castor’s shroud. Sleep wasn’t expected for either of you, but being unconscious was the only way of giving your brains a reprieve. The both of you have been busy doubling down on the preparations, even if it means Mr. D won’t be back in time while he’s out rallying gods for war.

The faster Castor’s earthly body is reconnected with his soul, the easier his trip will be into the Underworld, Nico says, and it’s funny how comforting the little emo pipsqueak can be when it comes to matters of death.

Perhaps this is the solace you bring to others with things you’re able to control—keeping camp afloat is something you were always good at, and helping every traumatized child that comes up to you for a juice box or a lullaby eases the guilt that follows you. Walking around Camp Half-Blood for more than a weekend made you feel like a judge, jury, and executioner. Though most of the campers from almost five years ago have either aged out, defected, or died—the ones that remain still look at you like you’re trouble.

Perhaps you always will be.

You even found yourself with the time to pray to Hermes last night for your brother’s safe passage into the afterlife, though if he’s angry at Annabeth, he must hate you for letting Luke go. Dinner didn’t seem appetizing enough anyway, so your whole plate was tossed into the hearth. You hope he likes chicken and rice.

But if a god can’t fight fate, what did he expect you to do?

The Iris Message to your dad last night was difficult, to say the least. Pollux’s hands shook as he continued to paint grape vines onto the silk cloth and the both of you didn’t say anything when your father started to cry. He out of all of the gods knows what it’s like to be tested to the limits—to endure pain and it’s a gift you and your brother are grateful for in times like these. Watching the god display the human emotion that either of you couldn’t as freely made it more real though.

There was also the interesting predicament of Chris Rodriguez being locked up in the basement of the Big House. Replacing screaming fits with serenity was almost second nature, and your gentle hands were what got Clarisse to truly respect you again for the first time in years. You could hear her sneak downstairs and talk to him while he slept (and the look in her eyes when you’d greet her with a cup of coffee made it known to you that she finally understands what it means to love someone who’s lost—two demigod daughters filled with a lot of rage and hurt were more alike than they think).

So the morning of your little brother’s funeral, you found yourself on the shoreline of Canoe Lake, setting your Redbull against the post of the dock and looking out onto the water.

You needed to do something with your hands. In the past few days, if your fingers were not occupied by pen and paper, a guitar, supply crates, or anything else that was helpful to others and all the more distracting for you, it’s been so easy to pick at any little thing. Perhaps it was your subconscious trying to reflect the damage on the inside, but today, your nail polish was chipped beyond belief. A small price to pay to not lose it without a signature boyish smile to ease your worries and amber eyes that could help you escape from the routine.

Running camp was always easier back then with your runaway boy and his scarred cheek.

How pathetic.

Crouched over in the sand, you plucked stones and filled your pockets with them. They knocked against each other — weighing your pockets down as you walked closer to the dock. Swinging your feet off the side and chucking them into the water, you could barely achieve a ripple.

It’s so quiet that you end up wondering if the rocks in your pockets would weigh you down to the bottom of the lake. It must be nice down there, to exist away from everything.

Bubbles surface slowly in front of you, then Percy’s head bobs in the water as he squints at you through sunlight.

“You chucked a rock at my head!”

A smile tugs at your lips, almost indiscernible but definitely there, “I was trying to skip them. Didn’t know you were doing water tricks in there, kid.” His grin gleams like freshwater pearls, pulling himself up onto the dock as his hand clasps yours. Shaking his sopping hair, Percy’s gangly frame sits next to yours like a wet bag of sand—all wrinkly and misshapen and sprinkling you with lakewater.

“Maybe next time don’t pick rocks the size of your fist. How many have you got in there? Your aim is scarily accurate,” he laughs and you huff and shake your head when his hand sticks into your pocket and takes out a few smooth ones to roll around in his hand. You mirror him, watching him skip a few stones into the water that reach a good distance before sinking into the depths of the lake.

There’s something sad about feeling comfortable to trauma dump on the teenage son of Poseidon, but with the way he grabs your arm at your third unsuccessful toss of a rock, you can’t do anything else but sigh.

“Why didn’t any of you call me, Percy?”

He was waiting for this question—it’s been banging around in his head since the beginning of Annabeth’s quest, and perhaps her talk with you yesterday didn’t go as expected so once again he’s left with the difficult part.

Things happen to turn out pretty difficult for him a lot, he's noticed.

Many things could have been made easier in the past few weeks: Ariadne being your stepmother and her blessing to you would’ve made the Labyrinth easier to navigate, and having another demigod to fight alongside him instead of a mortal girl would’ve been a plus too. But he looks at you with ocean eyes and a smaller smile that reminds you of how he looked at you when you dropped him off in Montauk the summer you met him and quit your head counselor job.

“You’ve already made a lot of difficult decisions. We weren’t sure if…”

The rotten wood beneath you creaks under your shifting weight as you turn to him, tucking your legs underneath your bottom.

“Didn’t think I could handle it?”

He shakes his head, “The opposite, actually. Annabeth has this notion that you’re the only one that can save him. You know, back on my first quest I met Luke’s dad and he told me something…”

You swallow instead of answering. There’s no way Percy is giving you Hermes’s advice right now. Somehow this feels like karmic retribution after years of spiting that asshole, and what he tells you next is more of a sign that it must be true.

“He said, ‘Do you know what that feels like? To be so close to someone you love knowing neither of you has any choice but to keep hurting each other?’ I didn’t get it then, but I do now.”

“With Luke and his mom?” you ask, picking at the remaining slivers of varnish on your thumbnail.

“With you and Luke. I didn’t call you, because… why would I want to see you hurt after everything?” Percy says this like it’s something he would do for everyone.

Perhaps it is, but the knot that forms in your throat feels as heavy as the boulder you almost sunk into his skull. He’s tall enough to lean your head against now, and you don’t mind the water spots that will form along the side of your funeral outfit. The shape of him it leaves will remind you of the little brother you gained through so much loss.

“Plus he has a new girlfriend. Absolute horse of a girl,” he jokes. It slips over your head but you still giggle, “I could’ve taken her.”

“I know, that was Grover’s worry. You’re prettier anyway…” Percy pauses, and then clears his throat, “You’ve always taken care of this place, y’know? Even after….I just think someone ought to take care of you.”

Your shoulder bumps against his as you finally skip a rock. It only bounces across the water twice and you think Percy might have had something to do with it, but you’re not bothered by the help this time around.

—

You wake up in the dark of night to see your dad looming in the doorway to his office. With drool and a post-it stuck to your cheek, he comes over to ruffle your hair in amicable silence.

“Hard at work or hardly working?” he chuckles, leaning over your shoulder to scan over the paperwork sorted into piles for him to sign from his absence.

“Hm. You wish,” you scoff, leaning against your arm as you look at him. He’s not in his usual eyesore of attire, wearing a clean-pressed suit with his hair slightly slicked back.

“You look good. The meeting went okay?”

“Grover will be fine. The Council of Cloven Elders? Not so much. Neither are the gods ready to take sides. Putting out little fires everywhere as we speak.”

The wheels of the office chair roll as you swing your feet, and if you both listen closely enough you can hear Pollux snoring upstairs. Chiron loved the earplugs you gave him.

Your father’s face smooths out a bit at the sight of you and the sound of his son’s breathing upstairs and he asks, “Are you? Good?”

A shrug slides off your shoulders, “How does one be good in a world like this one?”

A startling scream echoes off the walls of the Big House, rattling the floorboards from below as your father grimaces.

The work is never done for you two.

“Don’t look at me like that. It was worse when he first came here.”

“Don’t doubt it,” he mumbles, brushing lint off your shirt before he notices you’re donning neon orange. “Didn’t do laundry, princess?”

“Pollux and I haven’t gone back to our cabin since... I can wake him up if you—”

Mr. D shakes his head and goes to toss his body onto the couch against the window, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Dad? Do you think Chris is a bad person?”

A beat passes and you think he may have fallen asleep, but then his voice sounds like gravel scraping up his throat.

“I don’t think anyone can be bad, kid. I think it is more often that people get lost. What Rodriguez needs is someone to take hold of him gently, and hand his life back to him—you…Clarisse… that’s what we’re giving him.”

Now you’re silent, staring at the dust on his name placard at the edge of the desk.

“Do you think otherwise?”

He calls your name again, and you look up like you’re about to lie to him but don’t have the energy to.

“Princess, do you think you’re a bad person?”

He stands up and walks around to your side of the desk, sitting on the edge so you have to look at him.

“I killed someone. During the battle. Didn’t even think twice about it, slashed his neck as soon as Castor went down and…” you sniff. “I kill monsters, Dad, not children. How does that make me any different?”

The last time blood was on your hands like this it was Luke’s in the Garden of Hesperides. All these years later you ended up being right— the only person you vowed to get bloody for is Luke Castellan, and now in a twisted turn of fate, you’ve bloodied your hands because of him.

“Because you did it for your brother. There are no other explanations needed.”

He sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the drop in your shoulders, but your dad also sees the strength in your bones that spans generations and he knows you and Pollux are strong because you are both his.

“Humans believe in life everlasting—glory, as some call it, but they’re too focused on achieving it on earth instead of enjoying what life has to offer,” he scoffs, “Everyone has the guts to die, but no one has the guts to truly live. How sad.”

“His name was Rowan. Son of Hecate. I taught him how to whistle the summer I left. This is all my fault, Dad,” you say shakily as he comes near and pulls you into his side. He shushes you but you relent.

“Luke’s killing all these people to fulfill a promise he made for me. I’m just fucking disgusted with myself for being the cause of it all. What good life can I deserve when wherever I go I leave a trail of blood?”

Love and addiction must be so alike; to know that to be sober you can’t indulge in the vice ever again—not only does it hurt you, but others around you. But through the years you’ve always kept the taste of his name in your mouth, the feeling of his skin under your fingertips, and the knowledge of why he’s destroying the world so he can make you a better one. Insanity stems from fighting for so long that you embrace the pain; feeling something so intensely that when it consumes you you’re able to walk out the other side and wear it as armor.

Not everyone is hardwired to persevere.

There are moments like a night like these where it would be easy to give up. Instead, you pour two glasses of whiskey you’ve conjured and hand one to your dad. You both sip on your drinks slowly, embracing the crawling feeling of the burn.

“Liquor is one way out and death is another,” your dad sighs blissfully. He almost looks rejuvenated by the alcohol he knows he’ll hear about from Zeus later, but perhaps the death of his son is a good enough pardon.

“For some of us, we don’t have to think about the answer.”

Mr. D grabs a pen off the desk and starts signing papers to do something with his hands, and then you speak again, “I think I’d rather die for people I love,” and your dad’s attention whips to your blank face staring at the moon outside the window. “Instead of killing for them. I’ve never been a good soldier, Dad.”

Mr. D looks at you thoughtfully and wonders where all the time has gone that you sit there in front of him with more knowledge than him at your mortal age before saying, “You’re my daughter. You’re a fighter. Death is for chumps anyway.”

He lifts you by the arm to try to usher you up the stairs but you stay in his office chair swatting his hands away.

“Got work to do, you and I. Not getting rid of me until it’s done.”

“When are you going home?” he asks, pulling up a chair next to yours.

“I am home.”

You don’t look up from the papers you were filing, stubbornness leaking through your voice.

“If there is a war coming, I want to be home as much as I can. I’m finishing my last semester and I’ll be here before and after classes. You can’t stop me, dad.”

And he knows that too.

There is no such thing as leaving Camp Half-Blood for you.

Never for too long. Your love for it is scattered everywhere campers can see.

—

In all these years, you never believed I loved you. And I did. I did so much. I did love you. I even loved your hate and your hardness. - Tennessee Williams

#luke castellan x reader #trouble!verse #made by ma1dita ♥︎#pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan angst

410 notes · View notes

gh0stsp1d3r · 8 months ago

Text

ℱ𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈

(Pjo!au)

Warnings-Making out :3 readers a daughter of Apollo, Rafe’s a child of ares

Masterlist

The sunshine daughter of Apollo, the head counselor of the cabin and a beloved person of the camp.

And then there’s him. Rafe Cameron. An Ares counselor who wants nothing to do with anyone, he’s so full of rage sometimes you think that he’s Ares himself. Most of the camp didn’t like him.

And if there was one person who had been in the most fights and always ended up having to be treated by you, it was him.

It wasn’t any better than you both had an on and off thing, a few kisses turning into more every once in a while.

As the head apollo healer, you had a duty you had to fullfill. You cared for everyone that walked in and out of the healer cabins, even after it got busy.

Today had been a slow day, all the other healers were sleeping and just as you had began to close up, there was a knock at the cabin door.

You sighed, throwing the rag you had in your hands down into the sink and opening the door.

“Sorry to pop in so late. But… these two idiots… Got into a fight. Just… work your magic.” Dionysus started, you could tell he was pissed by the way he shoved them both into the cabin, waving a hand.

“Oh! Uh.. I was just about to close up, but…” when you began to talk, he was already walking away, calling back a thanks. You were mad, but just shoved it down.

You looked at the two boys in front of you, one of them being a younger hades boy and the other being none other than Rafe.

“Alright, which one of you started it?”

“He did!” The scrawny hades boy argued, Rafe furrowing an eyebrow, turning to him.

“No I fuckin’ didn’t, you little-“ he was going to attack him before you just put a hand on his chest.

“Jesus, with all these fights Cameron I’m shocked you’re still counselor of that cabin.”

“Whatever. I’m here to be healed, not fuckin’ argue. So… do your job or whatever.” He waved his hand, sitting on a chair.

The scrawny boy sat on the opposite side of the room and they just glared at each other.

“What’s your name?” You asked the boy, he quietly muttered his name and you went over to the filing cabinet. “And… what hurts?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me right now. I’m here to treat you, and I’m just as tired as you are right now. I would like to go home, so please, what hurts?”

You attended to the Hades boy first, his wounds were worse than Rafe’s. He seemed quiet the whole time, not saying a word to you.

After his wounds had been tended to, he grumbled out a thanks and stormed outside, going to his cabin.

You sighed and turned to Rafe, walking over to him. The room was full of tension, both of you felt it but you tried to ignore it.

“Lift up your shirt.” You told him, he did so, a smile on his face as he watched you clean his chest.

“You got him good, I’ll tell you that much.” You murmured to him while you bandaged up his knuckles.

“I know.” He snickered.

“Why do you always do this?” You sighed again, looking up at the boy, stopping your movements.

“That little skinny bastard deserved it.”

“Why?”

“He was talking shit.”

“About you?”

“About you.” He mumbled, you furrowed an eyebrow. “Yeah, he- he called you a bitch to his little friends, cause you accidentally ran into him-or beat him in a sword fight, or something. Got all defensive when I heard him.”

“Wait, you fought him because of me?” You pointed to yourself.

“Yeah. I mean,” he leaned back in his chair. “Can’t have anyone talkin’ bout my favorite healer like that.” He shrugged, a small smile playing on his face.

You were silent before you spoke. “Rafe…”

“Hmm?”

“I- I don’t- ever since that kiss-“ you rambled, pausing your movements, looking at the ground.

“Shh.” He mumbled, cutting you off and leaning down, gently gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him. “Please let me have this.” He asked as he leaned closer, your heart picking up as his lips ghosted yours.

You nodded feverishly, and that was all he needed to crash his lips into yours. You let out a low moan, his grip on your jaw turned harsher, and he grabbed your face when he slid his tongue in your mouth.

Your lips left his for a moment when you got up to straddle him. He smiled, before the both of you got back to making out on the chair.

#obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #pjo!au #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe x y/n #rafe x you

236 notes · View notes

h0ney-gl0ws · 2 years ago

Text

Hades Boys! Kiss Headcanons!

Hello! Here are some headcanons about how/where the hades boys like to kiss/be kissed. Now including Dionysus and Ares! Hooray! Thanks for reading, and be mindful of the content warnings. CW: Mentions of PTSD and Panic attacks for Thanatos’, Intoxication for Dionysus (Obv), and mentions of blood with Ares’, oh and angst all around, read with caution!

Word Count (Approx): 1,765

Thanatos Hand Kisses|Soft

After a long shift of reaping souls Thanatos’ hands can get tired of holding his scythe. He’s not one for showing his emotions outwardly, and because of that they can seep through in more subtle ways. For instance, when Zagreus says something ignorant, or when he has to deal with a mortal whose not ready to go, or even when he runs into an Olympian he often finds himself subconsciously gripping his scythe tighter.

He does not realize until the time when he returns to your arms and he can catch his breath, the strain it puts on his hands. Aching and tired after long hours at work. Which is why he appreciates your kisses so.

You delicately ghost your soft lips across his knuckles in a most soothing way. He thinks your kisses are reminiscent of that of a butterfly’s wings. How fitting.

He would cup your face with a tired smile as you press a kiss into the palm of his hand. “Gentle kisses for Gentle Death!” You would proclaim in an attempt to make him laugh.

“My, I often wonder what it is that I did to deserve someone as kind as you…” Thanatos would say in return.

He does so much for the house the least you can do is try to relieve some of the stress. You may not be able to make less work for him, but you can show your appreciation to him by giving him the love and affection he deserves.

On certain days when Thanatos’ mood is dampened due to memories of terror from Sisyphus dirty tricks, the nights he wakes panic stricken with the phantom sting of shackles against his wrists. Your delicate kisses to his wrists help to soothe the burn. Snapping him out of his own mind into reality where he is safe, and you’re there to comfort him.

Your kisses are not only comforting to him, but you are a genuine anchor to him. He does not know how he was able to exist before you came into his life. And he is forever grateful he has you now.

Zagreus Cheek Kisses|Affectionate

For someone who so rarely sees the sunlight he certainly challenges Helios for being the embodiment of it, and his kisses reflect that.

Bright and happy is he as he presses kisses into your cheek at every chance he gets. When he passes you in the hall you bet he’s taking a detour to give you a peck before he has to continue on. When he greets you after coming back from a successful run a celebratory kiss on the cheek is practically mandatory haha.

He loves it when you celebrate with him, nuzzling your face into the side of his. It’s such a small but caring notion that makes Zagreus feel as if he’s falling in love with you all over again.

When he’s preparing to head out for another run you meet him in the courtyard to wish him luck and see him off. He smiles when he catches your figure out of the corner of his eye dashing up to you for a final embrace before he returns once again. You give him another fond kiss on the cheek there whispering in his ear to give it all he’s got and to kick Theseus’ butt once again. Earning a laugh out of Zagreus and the promise that he will dedicate his next victory against the pompous champions to you.

On nights when he has scuffles with his father, or when he’s missing his mother, and words are too much in the moment. He wants nothing more than to relish in your embrace with your kisses there to provide the comfort his parents could not.

He often doesn’t let his inner turmoil bother anyone else, and did not have anyone to confide in until you came along. There’s a lot of things left unsaid, but you will be there for Zagreus to love and support him until he is ready. Even if that day never comes, you’re glad you can a least help to alleviate his troubles for a short amount a time.

If what he needs from you is not words, but doting kisses. Then kisses he shall receive. And when Zagreus is ready to speak with you, you will listen for as long as he needs. Zagreus is so glad to have found you, and would trade anything to be able to be by your side for the rest of eternity.

Hypnos Forehead kisses|Loving

Whenever you get excited to share some news with your lover and rush to go tell him only to find him fast asleep per usual, it’s hard to not let an adoring smile come across your face as you decide to let him rest and that the news can wait, but you can’t just leave after coming all this way to see him. This often results in you giving him a caring kiss on his forehead followed by whispers for him to have sweet dreams.

Unbeknownst to you sometimes those sneaky kisses of your actually wake the sleep incarnate. He does not mind though, in fact its quite the contrary. He is able to discern your footsteps from others, and sometimes he is actually awoken but hearing you approach. Occasionally, he would pretend to be asleep if not for a bit longer in order to gain one of your tender kisses.

He doesn’t do it out of malice of course, it’s simply the thought that even when he supposedly can’t hear your or react to what you have to say, you are still kind and devoted to him.

Yes, he hears the whispers of Zagreus and his brothers. Even his own mother talks about him with distain, but when you are given the option to say or do whatever you want to him without repercussion you choose to be caring and loving.

Perhaps that is why he is so drawn to you, and why he appreciates your kisses in secret. It’s nice to have someone who genuinely loves him for him. Not someone who talks to him so “no one else has too” Nor gives him constant sarcastic and petty remarks when he’s honestly just trying to help.

Another addition of why he loves your kisses so, is they remind him of a sort of motherly love that he did not get from his own. Why when he was younger she was kind to him, yes, but as he grew and her attention divided he noticed that she began to treat him more as if he were a burden on others. Your kisses bring him back to a time when his mother still saw him as her son. It’s a warm, fluffy feeling Hypnos is always chasing more of.

So for now, he will continue to let you believe that only you can hear your words of love and adoration for him as well as your caring gestures of your love, at least until he can return the favor tenfold.

Dionysus Lip kisses|Sloppy

Where Dionysus goes jolly festivities and merriment follow, as well as you of course. And what are these festivities if not without a little bit of wine. It’d be absolutely preposterous after all to attend a feast without an offering you know.

And we all know how Dionysus is with wine. You see, when you attend a feast with Dionysus by the hands of the mortals, or any feast with Dionysus for that matter, he loves to show you off. Constantly gushing about what an amazing partner you are.

And with that showing off can come with a bit of possessiveness. So when Dionysus gets to be clingy, you remind him just how much you love him with some kisses.

Dionysus loves to kiss you as he swears he can get more drunk off of your lips than the wine. He reminds you constantly of how you taste better than the finest ambrosia.

You don’t mind his kisses yourself. Yes it can be messy, with Dionysus being constantly in a state of intoxication, but you can always taste the remnants of the contents of his everlasting goblet against his lips. Making the sweetness of his kisses worth all of the awkward nose bumps and accidental teeth clashes.

All in all if Dionysus were to have to choose between never drinking wine again and you, he’d choose you every time, as you provide all the happiness he could ever need in his lifetime.

Ares Neck kisses|Passionate

When the fires of war are blazing so are the fires of passion.

Yes, Ares loves nothing more than to watch the bloodshed of a raging battlefield with you by his side. He caresses your waist as he presses fiery kisses into your shoulder, trailing them slowly up to your neck.

The clashing of swords satiating his hunger for blood in the most intense way, leading him to sometimes get a bit too rough with you.

There are times when the battle can get to his head and that can cause him to almost lose himself, if only for a short moment. A bite, too hard for your liking. The sting against your neck intensifying the raging action on the war zone below. You gasp and flinch away, causing him to realize what he’d done.

He’d apologize by kissing you much more softer, but finds it hard to restrain himself when he seeing the droplets of blood seeping through the wound from his bite mark against your neck.

He holds back to the best of his abilities as he cleans the wound with his lips. It causes you slight pain, but this time you feel as if it is more tolerable when he is caring for you rather than going feral.

You know he never intends to hurt you, and if push comes to shove he will always try to fix it and take care of you afterwards. All you can do is be there when he needs you, when the hunger becomes too much for him to handle, and he needs someone to pull him back to reality.

He’d be lost without you, a friend, a lover, and a lifeline. He would fight to the ends of the earth for you, and you would do the same. Truly, all is fair in love and war.

#hades game #hades supergiant #zagreus x reader #zagreus hades #thanatos x reader #thanatos hades #hypnos x reader #hypnos hades #ares x reader #ares hades #dionysus hades #dionysus x reader #headcanon #h0ney gl0ws works!#angst #Fluff #kisses

2K notes · View notes

antinousletmehit · 29 days ago

Note

The jobs and life styles gods and goddesses would have in modern era in your opinion?

୨୧┇cracks knuckles, I love these kinds asks KEEP THEM COMING🗣️🗣️

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

୨୧┇ Zeus

Job: CEO of a multinational corporation.

Lifestyle: Lavish, living in a mansion with the latest technology. He’d definitely be the boss who throws lavish parties for his employees but only to find hot chicks to sleep with. If you work in his company its like an episode of the office

Hera

Job: Marriage counselor

Lifestyle: Polished and professional, she lives with Zeus but on the other side of the house

Poseidon

Job: Marine biologist or owner of a luxury business that rivals Zeus

Lifestyle: Loves being near the ocean and probably has a beachfront home. always spending his weekends deep-sea diving or sailing.

Demeter

Job: Organic farmer

Lifestyle: Lives in a cozy countryside farmhouse surrounded by sprawling gardens. She’s deeply connected to nature and often organizes eco friendly community events.

Athena

Job: Military strategist.

Lifestyle: Lives in a sleek, minimalist apartment with a library filled with books. She’s always involved in intellectual debates and advocates for justice.

Apollo

Job: A singer and actor

Lifestyle: Lives a glamorous, fast paced life, traveling constantly for gigs or concerts. His Instagram would be full of sunsets and artistic selfies.

Artemis

Job: Wildlife conservationist

Lifestyle: Prefers solitude, living in a cabin in the mountains or deep in the woods. She’s always off hiking, or camping

Ares

Job: Military officer

Lifestyle: Lives in a modern, industrial-style apartment and spends his days training, competing, or chasing adrenaline.

Aphrodite

Job: Supermodel,or beauty influencer

ifestyle: Luxurious and glamorous, with a wardrobe that could rival any celebrity’s. She’s the kind of person who turns heads wherever she goes and probably has millions of social media followers.

Hephaestus

Job: Engineer, or blacksmith,

Lifestyle: Lives in a workshop style loft surrounded by tools and half finished projects. He’s hardworking and inventive, though he prefers to stay out of the spotlight.

Hermes

Job: travel blogger

Lifestyle: Always on the move, he’s rarely home and loves exploring new places.

Hestia

Job: Chef, interior designer, or caretaker at a community center.

Lifestyle: Warm and nurturing, she lives in a cozy home filled with the smell of fresh baked goods. She’s everyone’s go to person for comfort and advice.

Hades

Job: Funeral director

Lifestyle: Lives in a dark, Gothic style mansion but secretly enjoys a peaceful, quiet life. He has a dry sense of humor.

Persephone

Job: Florist

Lifestyle: Balances her time between a bright, airy greenhouse and a moody, Gothic estate.

Dionysus

Job: Bartender, or nightclub owner.

Lifestyle: Lives a bohemian lifestyle, throwing parties but also enjoying quiet vineyard retreats.

Eros

Job: Dating app developer

Lifestyle: A hopeless romantic, he spends his time helping others find love while occasionally getting caught up in his own messy love life.

Nike

Job: Professional athlete or motivational coach.

Lifestyle: Energetic and goal oriented, she’s constantly working toward her next goal, and always complete her New Year’s resolutions.

Nyx

Job: Astrologer

Lifestyle: Lives in a quiet, secluded mansion and keeps a low profile.

Eris

Job: Reality TV producer or a Twitter influencer known for stirring up drama.

Lifestyle: Thrives in chaos, always moving from one scandal or prank to another.

Hypnos

Job: Sleep therapist or owner of a luxury mattress brand.

Lifestyle: Calm and laid back, he’s always encouraging others to relax and take it easy, though he sometimes naps through important meetings.

#greek mythology #zeus #hera #poseidon #hermes #mount olympus #hestia

36 notes · View notes

mydarlingdearestdead · 4 months ago

Text

Zeus looked among his fellow Olympians, peering scornfully at their stone-faced expressions. Eventually, he managed to face his son. Apollo, kneeling by the foot of Zeus' throne, gawked, earnest and open, at his father.

"We... The council offers you a compromise in the case of Hyacinth."

Zeus' hasty correction did not pass unnoticed among the court. Dionysus' white-knuckled grip on his chalice, Artemis' instinctually drawn bow, Ares' broken posture.

Apollo responded merely, "Do tell."

"Resurrection is out of the question. We can not simply rise mortals from the underworld because one of takes a notion." Zeus paused. Waiting, perhaps. Waiting for protest. Waiting for the melody to continue. "We will, however, consider the induction of Hyacinth to that of a chthonic deity."

Apollo laughed in sharp, staccato notes.

He knew, you must understand, that the embodiment of light itself can not persevere within the underworld. Just as Hyacinths wilt as Persephone returns home, Apollo's very ichor would drain from his body with each day spent in Hyacinth's glowing presence.

Masterlist

42 notes · View notes

actuallysolace · 7 months ago

Text

RANDOM WILL SOLACE HCS / TIDBITS:

• he / they . transgender male :-)

• AuDHD, This is a hill I am willing to die on

• Considered Extroverted, in the way he likes talking to people (certified yapper) but doesn’t actually have many close friends.

shout out to lou ellen & cecil

also Clarisse & Annabeth they’re his cooler older friends who he has on speed dial “just in case”

in case of what? “back-up”

also no friends outside of camp

• But he does know everyone at camp. Been there a solid 5 (?) years, year round. Working at the infirmary leads to you meeting everyone eventually.

• Super close with his mom but doesn’t know his family on her side. They cut contact with Naomi after she got pregnant.

“My mom is basically like my best friend, and I wouldn’t trade that for the world.” -TSATS

• Fidgets a lot Whether they’re nervous or bored or not feeling any particular emotion or hyper or worried or focusing

Leg bouncing, Adjusting position constantly, Crossing & Uncrossing legs, Drumming fingers, Rocking, etc

“He bounced his right leg up and down as he glanced around the train carriage. Nico reached over and placed his hand on the bobbing thigh” -TSATS

• MOTION SICKNESS.

AIRSICK, SEASICK, CARSICK, GENERAL MOVING VEHICLE SICKNESS.

“As for Will, he was not doing as well. He had a white-knuckle grip on the door, his eyes were wide with terror, and he was obviously trying to get a handle on his breathing.” -TSATS

• See, they like travel but he just…loathes….the…travel…part…

• On the contrary Nico is entirely immune to the horrors of travel related sickness.

He's used to feeling worst effects that Shadow Travel can do so everything else sorta pales in comparison.

Nico di Angelo is the kinda guy to be sent to burn at the stake and go “I’ve been through worse, probably.”

• Speaking of Shadow Travel, Will doesn’t do well with it the 1st or 2nd or 3rd or 4th or 5th time. He doesn’t do well the 6th and onward either but eventually he gets the hang of surviving it. Eventually. At shorter distances. They’re making progress. Slowly.

Nico has spun this into a multifaceted exercise.

He must practice shadow travel safely

He doesn’t need supervision for it but will allow some for the sake of Will’s peace of mind.

Speaking of Will, the supervision is Will.

Also he must test out the limits of his powers which includes traveling to other cities / states / countries.

But….He needs proper rest and recovery…..

The fact they landed in Paris for a whole week once was certainly not a planned vacation What are you talking about.

Completely Random Totally Unplanned Date Trips are actually proven to be quite beneficial to one’s mental and physical health actually. - Dionysus (Who Doubles as Nico’s Therapist and Lawyer) talking to Chiron, probably.

He’s rooting for his nepo babies, who are not babies and also not his.

Also with those 2 gone the chances of the camp descending into chaos rises at least 23%.

Mr. D’s got a bet going on with Mr. A.

“How long until they try to overthrow Chiron”

#my hcs #I think about him a lot #Will Solace #Nico di Angelo #pjo hoo toa #tsats #solangelo #pjo headcanons #mr d #is there a tag for pjo dioynsus #solangelo hc #technically ?#percy jackon and the olympians

55 notes · View notes

moonmaiden1996 · 4 months ago

Note

Ok but like....accidently pulling Dionysius' hair during sex and realising both of you realising that's his kink....???

Just YESSSSS!!!!! While I think he is the kinkist God ever I also think he is the softest.

Please let me know hat you think and send any requests I am getting back into writing and need some inspiration.

Read below at your own peril

Your lips meet in a slow, lingering kiss, each second stretching into infinity as the world around you fades away. His hand cradles your face, thumb gently tracing the curve of your jaw, pulling you closer with every tender stroke. The warmth of your breaths mingles, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him deeper into the kiss as if you could lose yourselves in this perfect moment. The kiss, once soft and tentative, grows bolder, more reverent—every movement a silent vow.

“I love you,” he groans, his voice thick with desire, as his lips travel down your neck, worshiping your skin with a hunger that makes you tremble. Dionysus continues his descent, his lips brushing against your skin like a prayer, savoring every inch of your body as though worshiping something sacred. He pauses at the little bud that draws a breathy sigh from your lips, his tongue curling expertly over the sensitive bundle of nerves. His upper body presses firmly against your hips, pinning you to the bed as they stutter beneath him, a mix of soft pleasure and rising passion.

“Dionysus, please,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need. “It’s okay, my light, I’ve got you,” he purrs, his voice like silk as he moves with deliberate tenderness, his touch both soothing and consuming, unraveling you with every stroke.

“I love.... I love you,” Dionysus pants against your skin, his breath hot as his mouth suckles at your sweetness, pulling you deeper into the blissful haze.

Frustration builds like a fire, nipping at your senses. You’re so close—close enough that your stomach quivers, muscles clenching as the wave teeters on the edge of release.

“Never leave me,” he pleads, his voice raw with need. “I need you. I want you like this every day.” He moans softly, tugging at your thigh as his hand trails upward, finding your weeping center that gladly accepts his nimble fingers.

“Dio... argh,” you cry out, your moan echoing off the walls as you arch into him. His touch is molten, searing, and all-consuming, spreading through you like wildfire, threatening to break you apart. Your body pulses with pleasure, waves of it crashing over you as you surrender completely to the burning intensity of his embrace.

But it’s not enough. Every time you teeter on the edge, ready to fall into bliss, he pulls away—pleasure always just out of reach, elusive and maddening. Your frustration swells with each denied release, your body trembling, craving more, desperate for that final push over the brink.

“I love you,” he rumbles, his voice thick as he pulls his mouth away, leaving a soft kiss on your trembling thigh.

“Please,” you beg, your voice trembling as your fingers clutch at the pillow, knuckles white from the desperate grip you've held on to for what feels like an eternity. Your hands abandon their hold, sliding into his ebony locks, tugging gently, urging him to end the sweet torment. A guttural growl escapes him, vibrating against your skin, primal and raw. His breath is hot as he lingers, teasing the line between pleasure and torment, the tension building until it feels unbearable. Every nerve in your body is ablaze with anticipation, your senses overwhelmed by his nearness. His eyes flick up at you, dark and smoldering like hot coals, locking with yours in a way that makes your breath hitch.

“Do. That. Again,” he commands, his voice dripping with desire, his gaze burning into yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

Tentatively, you tug at his hair, pulling him closer to your core. His breath hitches for a moment, but then he purrs, "Harder." Obeying, you yank harder at his locks, and with that, his tongue dives deeper, exploring the depths of your core with renewed intensity. Each pull on his hair draws a gruff grunt from his throat, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body. His hips grind desperately against the bed, his rhythm in perfect sync with your every shudder, as if the pleasure he's giving you feeds his own insatiable hunger.

With one final plunge of his tongue, your body shatters, pleasure spiraling through you like a tidal wave. Whimpers and screams tear from your lips, filling the air of your shared bedroom as you are sent careening over the edge, lost in the overwhelming ecstasy. You're drowning in his touch, consumed completely by the bliss that crashes through you.

This orgasm is different. It is hurried, frenzied—not the soft release that Dionysus pulls from you. Finally, your soul seems to return to your body, breathless and trembling as you come back to yourself. Your eyes fall to him—your god. His gaze is ravenous and wild, staring up at you with a hunger that hasn’t been sated. Your fingers remain tangled in his thick locks, and his mouth glistens with the evidence of your release. His body is taut, muscles rippling with need, and beneath him, his length stands proud, bobbing slightly, glistening in the dim light of the room, his own release shimmering on his skin, dripping onto the silken sheet. The air between you crackles with electricity, thick and charged.

He moves fast. In an instant, your still-spasming core shrieks in both protest and pleasure as his thick girth fills you completely. The sudden intrusion overwhelms your senses, your eyes rolling back in your head as the tip of him nudges against that sensitive bundle of nerves deep within you. The shockwave through your body is so powerful that pleasure and pain meld together into an intoxicating blend that sets every inch of you on fire. “Do that again,” he growls, his voice low and rough with desire, as he drives into you with a force that makes the room spin. Each thrust is powerful, an unmistakable demand that sends waves of pleasure coursing through you. “Pull my hair… fuck, baby girl, you feel amazing,” he purrs, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he positions himself between your thighs, the heat radiating between you both nearly unbearable.

“Please,” his voice breaks with raw need, desperation lacing his words. You feel a primal instinct ignite within you as your fingers curl into his hair, tugging hard enough to elicit a deep, reverberating moan from him. It’s a sound that vibrates through your entire body, blending with the rhythm of his movements, a powerful melody of passion and urgency.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Gone is the soft, devoted lover who whispered sweet nothings in your ear; in his place stands a frantic god of lust, a creature lost in the throes of desire. His body moves with a hunger that drives him deeper inside you, each thrust igniting flames of ecstasy that threaten to consume you both. “Harder,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, but it cuts through the thick air of the room. He responds immediately, snapping his hips forward with renewed vigor, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating from your core, tightening your fingers in his hair.

His hands grip your hips, fingers digging in as he holds you in place, the intensity in his gaze turning molten as he watches you unravel beneath him. There’s a wildness in his eyes, a raw need that sends shivers down your spine. “You’re incredible,” he mutters as he burrows into your shoulder, mumbling affection into your skin, his voice thick with lust, each word dripping with devotion as he loses himself in you completely.

With each pull of his hair, a surge of power rushes through you, a tantalizing blend of dominance and submission that ignites the fire building within. You find yourself completely at his mercy, yet simultaneously commanding his every movement. He’s driven by your whims; every twist of your fingers, every scrape of your nails against his scalp propels him forward, urging him deeper into you.

The pleasure within you mounts, a wave rising higher and higher, threatening to crest and crash over you both. It’s a delicious build-up, a symphony of sensations that leaves you breathless. He leans down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, tongues dancing wildly together, the taste of raw desire mingling with desperate gasps for breath. “Don’t stop,” you urge, your voice a seductive blend of command and plea, dripping with urgency. His response is a low growl, primal and deep, a promise to fulfill your every desire and lose himself completely in you.

As he thrusts harder, you cling to him, your body arching in perfect harmony with his rhythm, wanting more, needing more. Every gasp, every moan becomes a part of the air around you, thick with longing. You cling to him, your body arching, wanting more, needing more, as the world fades away, leaving just the two of you.

#dionysus #kaos dionysus #kaos #kaos netflix #kaos spoilers #kaos show #dionysus x reader #dion

47 notes · View notes

likeapriceless-wine · 9 months ago

Text

Night Terrors

Guess what !! You can respond to this in character (if you want)! And if someone has already responded you can backtrack and start from the beginning with your character or slide in whenever you please the timeline is whatever we make it babes. Jump in wherever you see fit

Tw for sa implications and just general trauma and nightmares. This one may not be great for those with emetophobia as well, though I tried not to be too graphic bc I'm emetophobic too lmao

@glowsticks-soda-and-magic @cabin-12-resident-daddy-issues @dawn-lovelace @im-always-highhhh @childofthewargod

C.J woke up with a start, his eyes wide and his hands clutching the blankets so hard his knuckles were white

Dreams were never fun for demigods. They were almost always nightmares, sometimes damn near prophetic ones at that. Some were replays of past events that felt so horribly real that you had to do a reality check when you woke back up, and others seemed like they meant something, like something horrible was on it's way

Tonight's unconscious trauma movie that played in C.J's head was the casino. Gods, he fucking hated that place. The lotus in the air that earned the establishment it's name had long since worn off, and C.J remembered damn near everything that happened in there, whether he wanted to or not

He felt dirty handprints on his body, on his back and his chest, trailing all the way down to areas his pants covered

He heard disgusting, seductive whispers that made him feel like his last meal was coming back up his throat. He could feel the name 'Hermes' being whispered in his ear, and that finally did it

His stomach churned and he whispered a few curses under his breath and involuntary tears welled up in his eyes

Of course he had to be nauseous. After all, a nightmare wouldn't be complete without him hyperventilating, throwing up, or laying awake the rest of the night because his brain wouldn't let him risk another nightmare. Or some godsforsaken combination of the three if he was particularly unlucky

Tonight was looking like one of those nights

Most of the beds in the dionysus cabin were pushed together to make one big mattress, and Marjorie tended to use him as a pillow, so it was a bit of a struggle to scramble the way he was without waking anyone, or kicking Klaus in the gut

He ran off to the bathroom as quietly as he could, covering his mouth as his breathing started to get shaky

"Fuck fuck fuck" he murmured to himself as he shut the door, turning on the faucet and getting his empty flask out of his pocket to fill it with water

Drinking water would help, right? He at least hoped it would. He sipped it slowly, trying to calm down his breathing

'Cmon C.J, in through your nose out through your mouth. You're fine, you'll probably never even see him again' he thought to himself

'Goddammit, C.J, breathe or you're gonna hyperventilate and throw up or somethin!'

He tried humming Kate Bush's Army Dreamers to try and knock some sense into himself, but nevertheless he ended up throwing up in the sink

"Fuck" he whispered to himself, bracing his elbows on the edge of the sink and burying his face in his hands, wiping his mouth

He slumped down into the floor and pulled his hoodie up over his head, pulling the drawstrings in the hood to tighten it around his face and block out the light that was stinging his eyes

Great, it was gonna be one of those nights

#out of character #ray writes #the distinct scent of lotus

85 notes · View notes

odyswap · 2 days ago

Text

Log #7, Guiding God

So, the lovely sisters started their journey to Dionysus's frathouse palace! However, they stood no chance against him at the moment. And aditionally, ever since Dolius had died, both of them had been on edge, and their connection weak.

A god noticed this fact, and out of interest, decided to lend her aid. This was no messenger god, no Hermes.

Instead, Artemis stood in his place.

The Huntress did not deal in words like her charismatic brother. She did not dance around the point. Her lessons were not spoken, but taught by instinct, by action, by survival.

When Penelope and Ctimene entered the forest, Artemis was already waiting. She greeted them, but did not introduce herself. She merely pointed into the dense woods behind her and spoke only a single command:

"Capture the Golden Hind, together."

They knew what she meant. The Ceryneian Hind—golden-antlered, bronze hooved, fleet as the wind and sacred to Artemis herself. A beast not meant to be caught, for it could outrun even the swiftest of hunters. Yet they were given no choice. Either they would succeed together, or they would fail alone. And Artemis had made it clear: failure would not be forgiven.

Should they falter, she would turn them both into deer and leave them to fend for themselves.

Penelope did not hesitate. She surged forward, her instincts screaming to chase, to move. She had bested men and monsters alike—not with ease, but with the sheer force of will. The Hind would be no different.

Yet the harder she ran, the more it slipped through her fingers. Its hooves barely seemed to touch the ground, its golden antlers flashing like a taunt between the trees. No matter how fast she was, it was faster. No matter how hard she pushed, it did not tire. This was not a battle to be won with brute strength. But still, she chased. Because stopping was not an option.

Ctimene, however, did not move.

She watched, hesitant, frozen at the edge of the clearing. Her mind spun with options, with possibilities, with every way this could go wrong. She knew what the Hind was. She knew how it moved, how it could only be caught by Heracles, a true legendary hero, and she was nothing of the sort. To run after it so blindly—was Penelope mad? Did she not see the futility?

Ctimene’s grip on her bow was tight, her knuckles white. If she fired now, she would miss. If she ran now, she would fall behind. And if she failed—

She shook her head. She could not fail. But she could not act, either.

And so she stood still, watching, waiting, paralyzed by too many thoughts.

It was not until much later—after Penelope had exhausted herself chasing, after Ctimene had let too many opportunities slip by—that the truth finally settled between them.

They were both losing. And they would continue to lose, so long as they stayed like this.

Penelope could run forever, but she would never catch it alone. Ctimene could see every possible move, but she would never act in time if she did not take the first step.

But together—

Ctimene breathed in, lowering her bow. "You can't keep up with it," she said, voice steady now. "But we can guide it."

Penelope met her gaze. For the first time, she stopped running.

And she listened.

Ctimene set the trap. She had studied the beast’s movements, its habits, its manurisms. Under the leaves, she'd hidden a hole to capture the creature. She explained this to Penelope and Penelope pulled her in close, their eyes locked. "I'm going to put my full faith into you, Ctimine, because I know you're more than capable of it."

Penelope took her place on the other end of the forest. Now, instead of chasing wildly, she moved with purpose. She drove the Hind forward—not with reckless abandon, but with pressure, with precision, cutting off every escape until the beast had only one path left.

Step by step, their plan unfolded.

The Hind bolted straight into the ambush, its speed finally working against it. As its hooves struck the leaves, it tumbled into the hole. It could escape in a moment—no more than a heartbeat—but it was enough.

Ctimene loosed an arrow. Not to wound, not to kill, but to scare it back, right into Penelope.

And then it was over.

They had done it.

Artemis watched from above, arms crossed, expression unreadable. But there was something in her eyes—approval, perhaps.

"You will not be prey today," she said simply.

Then she was gone.

The lesson had been learned.

#epic odysseus #epic the musical #epic the wisdom saga #jorge rivera herrans #odysseus #the odyssey #epic the ithaca saga #epic the vengeance saga #fancast #casting #warrior penelope au #odysseus x penelope #penelope of ithaca #penelope #artemis #ctimene #shes such a badass istg

17 notes · View notes

dpressadpresso · 5 months ago

Text

Where was your Greek Pride

Ft: Bernard Dowd, Son of Hecate

Just a silly crossover between PJO and DCU that's been gnawing in my brain for the past 2 weeks or so and I needed to get it out of my system!!

Crossposted to AO3, so if you happen to see it there... it's mine!!

Cerulean blue eyes met steely blue eyes, one pair seething with barely contained contempt, the other exuding an air of indifference. Bernard’s lip curled into a sneer as he watched her sit across him in the dining room of Wayne Manor. The Amazon sat with an ease that grated on his nerves, her regal posture a sharp contrast to the storm brewing within him. If he had been a dog, his hackle would be raised, ready to leap across the table and tear her apart.

Bending down to feign tying a loose shoelace, Bernard discreetly retrieved the celestial bronze dagger from his boot, slipping it into the waistband of his pants as he straightened. The presence of his blade was a reminder that he wasn’t powerless, not entirely, if a fight were to break out.

“Thank you for having me over, Bruce,” her voice warm and sincere.

“No problem, Diana. It’s always a pleasure to have you over,” Bruce replied, a warm smile gracing his features.

Gods, Bernard wanted to do nothing more than lunge across the table and wipe that smile off her face. The urge to lash out his anger was almost overwhelming, but he forced himself to stay seated, his hand inching toward Tim’s under the table. The half-blood grasped it gently, careful to not betray his rising irritation. Tim’s fingers squeezed his own, his thumb tracing soothing circles over Bernard’s knuckles. The simple gesture anchored him, even though Tim was blissfully unaware of the turmoil raging within Bernard.

“Please, dig in and once we’re done with dinner, we can move on to business,” Bruce said, inviting everyone to eat.

“Go to the crows,” Bernard muttered in Greek under his breath and stuffed a forkful of salad into his mouth. He caught a brief, questioning glance from Diana, and his stomach churned with loathing. The demigod let out a derisive snort, and the salad-turned-traitor decided that it was the perfect time to lodge itself in Bernard’s throat. Tim was quick to react and immediately thumped his back.

Bernard’s face burned with embarrassment as he spat the chewed-up salad onto his plate. He couldn’t bring himself to meet anyone’s gaze, instead accepting the glass of apple juice that Tim handed to him. The taste of artificial apples and sugar-coated his tongue, momentarily making him forget about his blunder and dulling the shame simmering beneath his skin. Had Bernard looked up, he would have seen that stupid fond smile on Tim’s face as Bernard downed the drink.

“So, Tim, how have you been?” Diana asked, her tone conversational as she cut into her steak.

Bernard fought the urge to roll his eyes but knew the gesture hadn’t gone unnoticed based on the disapproving look he received from Bruce. He ducked his head sheepishly and chewed on his fork. The half-blood couldn’t help it. He despised everything about her—her voice, her presence, even the way she breathed. It grated on his nerves like how the sound of Styrofoam made his ears hurt.

“Well, I recently met up with Cassie, Kon and Bart for movie night and it was kinda fun,” Tim began, his eyes lighting up in excitement. “Though Bart did ask an interesting question though—if we were demigods, who would our godly parent be?”

Bernard’s grip tightened around his fork and he clenched his jaw shut. The last thing he wanted to do was to engage in a friendly conversation with Diana, but Tim was talking, and for Tim, Bernard would endure it—even if it made him want to die.

“I think I’d be a child of Athena, even though she’s a maiden goddess,” Tim continues, oblivious to Bernard’s growing irritation. “Bart’s dad would definitely be Hermes and Kon would probably be Dionysus’ spawn.”

Bernard hummed in agreement at Tim’s answers. With his intellect and blue-grey eyes, he could easily pass off as a child of Athena. Bart’s mischievous nature and speed were textbook Hermes traits, while Kon’s charisma and love for fun reminded Bernard of a pair of twins back at camp before one of them perished. A small, wry smile tugged at Bernard’s lips as he made a mental note to never let the three teens meet any of the campers—he could only imagine the chaos they’d unleash on others and themselves.

“And Bruce here would for sure be a child of Nemesis, right? Mr. I-am-the-night, I-am-vengeance,” Tim added, pulling a chuckle from both Bruce and Diana.

Huh, did all rich people chuckle like that? You know, those rich people type of chuckle. It made Bernard wonder whether Tim would develop one in the future because Rachel and Piper would occasionally chuckle like that too. Their laughs sounded expensive when the two ladies were first warming up to each other, but now they would cackle like hyenas around each other.

“What about you, Bern? If you were a demigod, who would your godly parent be?” Tim’s innocent question blindsided him after he was lost in his own thoughts.

Caught off guard, Bernard choked on his drink, the apple juice burning his throat as he coughed violently. Once again, Tim was there, his hand on Bernard’s back and Bernard grumbled. Twice in one night—were the Fates laughing at him from wherever they were?

“Maybe you should take it easy on the drinks tonight,” Bruce joked, but Bernard could sense the underlying concern in his voice.

He managed a weak smile, nodding in response to the older man as he tried to regain his composure. Bernard took several deep breaths and turned to Tim.

“Hecate,” the son of magic declared, his cerulean eyes shining with pride as his mother’s name rolled off his tongue like a badge of honour.

A cold gust of wind swept through the dining room, causing everyone to turn towards the source. One of the windows was cracked open, allowing the cool night air to flow in. As the wind touched his skin, Bernard felt the familiar warmth of his mother’s magic wash over him. It might have been a trick of his imagination, but Bernard could’ve sworn he felt a pair of lips brush lightly over his browbone.

“Oh?” Diana tilted her head, one of her eyebrows cocked in curiosity. “Why her?”

“Why not?” Bernard shot back, his temper flaring once more.

“She’s just known to be… stingy with her magic,” Diana mused. “I highly doubt that you’d receive many benefits from being her child.”

Bernard bristled at her comment.

Unlike ancient demigods, who were merely more durable and agile than regular mortals, modern demigods are blessed with specific skills or abilities that reflect their affiliation with their godly parent. Children of Apollo are gifted in medicine, archery, prophecy, and more. Children of Demeter are blessed with chlorokinesis—they basically have a green thumb but on steroids. Children of Athena excel in craftsmanship and war planning.

As a proud member of Cabin 20, Bernard can proudly say that Hecate was very generous with her gifts. Everyone from Hecate’s cabin could manipulate the Mist and some could even travel using it. However, their most impressive aspect is their natural affinity for magic. Each of Bernard’s siblings has their own niche: Alabaster specialises in protection spells and runes; Lou Ellen excels in transfiguration; and Bernard himself, is quite talented in the darker aspects of magic. Basically, anything Harry Potter can do, the Hecate Cabin can do better.

“Children of Hecate are known to be manipulative and violent, as seen from Circe. So, if you were to come across any of them, I would urge you to turn around and run away as fast as possible,” Diana warned him sternly, her voice edged with contempt. “Who knows what they’d do to you,” she added with a shiver of disgust.

Bernard’s eyes twitched, his hands instinctively drifting toward the dagger tucked at his waistband. The meal before him, once enticing, now seemed as appealing as a plate of ashes. Diana’s careless and venomous words had pierced him deeper than any blade, not just insulting him but every one of his siblings. A storm of fury swirled within him, threatening to burst free. But he was seated at the table with Batman and Robin—both vigilant and dangerous. He knew that the Bats would not hesitate to subdue him should he last out. Yet, he held himself back. It wasn’t that he couldn’t fight; it was that he couldn’t bear to fight Tim. He’d rather die than hurt him. So, instead of giving in to his instinct to spill blood, Bernard gripped the steak knife and attacked the meat on his plate.

Tim, ever perceptive, caught the shift in Bernard’s mood. His eyes flicked between Diana and Bernard, concern tightening his expression. Bernard’s eyes met Tim’s and felt his silent question: Did she say something wrong?

Bernard fought the urge to blurt out his truth – yes, she just insulted me and my siblings whom she knows nothing of. Her entire existence is an affront to my own exitance—but he couldn’t. Not here. Not now. He forced a small, brittle smile and shook his head instead.

Across the table, Batman was observing him, his gaze sharp as a blade, dissecting Bernard’s every move. Bruce Wayne, Batman, knew that Bernard was fuming, and he could feel the weight of Bruce’s scrutiny, cataloguing every twitch, every clench of his muscles.

“Are you saying that there are other demigods out there?” Bruce and Tim asked simultaneously, their tones thick with curiosity; one with fascination and one bordering an interrogation.

The question cut through Bernard’s fraying composure like a knife. He glanced around the table, noting how the others continued eating as if this conversation were completely normal. His appetite, however, was long gone. The topic was treading dangerously close to revealing the existence of half-bloods—an ancient secret, guarded for millennia. His stomach churned. The very idea of Batman and Red Robin learning about his people – of hunting them down, discussing if they were threats, developing contingency plans to neutralise them—was unbearable. Would they torment the children of Athena with their arachnophobia? Use snakes against the offspring of Apollo?

His hand unconsciously drifted to the beaded necklace hanging around his neck.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.

Nine beads, each one marking a year of his survival since he first arrived at camp.

I have fought against gods, titans and monsters. I fought through wars and came out alive each time. My friends and siblings are safe.

They were all safe. For now.

Diana’s voice broke through his thoughts, her words as cold as ice. “The gods never stopped procreating, and I don’t foresee it stopping anytime soon. However, if you do come across any half-bloods, not just children of Hecate, do not approach them at all costs. Unlike their predecessors, they are quite violent, and one would even consider them savages.”

Bernard’s grip on his necklace tightened, his knuckles white. She was wrong. So fucking wrong. The children of the gods were dangerous, yes—but only when provoked, only when forced to fight for their lives, or in a match of capture the flag. They were not savages. They were survivors.

“Are you calling Cassie a savage, then?” Bernard asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He tried to keep his temper in check, but Diana was seriously pushing him to his limits.

Their eyes locked, blue against blue. Bernard’s were burning with barely restrained fury; Diana’s were cold and unyielding.

“Never! She has never come across those heathens and I refuse to allow it—which is why I avoided Montauk at all costs,” Diana exclaimed, her voice thick with offence as she shivered at the thought of her dear mentee being exposed to such company.

A mental record scratch momentarily halted Bernard’s rage. Did she just reveal where camp was to mortals – to Batman and Red Robin, no less? His mouth gaped open, then closed, as he processed her words. Surely, she couldn’t have been so careless, so reckless.

But then Bruce spoke, confirming Bernard’s fear. “And Montauk is where all these half-bloods or demigods, as you say, reside?”

Yeap. Diana had done it. She had revealed the general location of Camp Half-Blood to the world’s greatest detective and his protégé. Bernard’s heart hammered in his chest, his palms growling slick with sweat. The Mist would obscure their path, but with time, determination and aid from the Justice League Dark, they would find it. And then what? What would Batman and Red Robin do once they located camp?

Bernard didn’t want to find out.

Unbeknownst to him, Batman had already figured it out. Bruce’s keen eyes saw through the cracks in Bernard’s façade, and now, he was watching the young demigod not with suspicion, but with cold, calculating interest. A threat assessment.

“Hold up, you’re saying that there are other demigods around, but Cassie doesn’t know they exist?” Tim asked, his voice breaking through Bernard’s spiralling thoughts.

“Gods, no,” Diana replied, shaking her head, amusement colouring her voice. “Like I said, they’re not the right type of company for Cassie. I understand that you are close friends with her, but you must never tell her of what I just said. She must never meet any of those people for they will corrupt her or even brainwash her. As you know, Cassie if blessed with powers from her godly heritage, and some of these other demigods have this ability called ‘charmspeak,’ which can bend other to their will without them even realising it.”

Bernard’s hands trembled as he pushed his plate away. “Nah, I think Cassie deserves to know that she’s not alone in the world, you know?” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His voice was weak, barely a whisper. He wasn’t sure why he was pushing this. Maybe he wondered how things could have been different if Cassie had known her heritage. Would she have fought with him or against him during the wars? Maybe he was angry that Diana had kept her away from the only people who could truly understand her. His heart ached with the thought of what could have been.

“Do not speak of things you know nothing about,” Diana scowled, her eyes blazing with anger. “Cassandra is the daughter of Zeus, King of the Gods, and with her lineage, these half-bloods would use her for their own gain. And if she refused, they would kill her. You have not seen them with your own eyes, but I have. They will, and have, killed each other for their own purposes, or for having differing views.”

Something in Bernard snapped. All the anger he had been trying to suppress and all the rage he had buried deep within, burst free in a torrent.

“Fuck you,” he snarled, standing abruptly. His hands slammed onto the table, causing it to tremble. His chair toppled over with a crash, and the chandelier above flickered ominously. Magic, heavy and dark, filled the room, wrapping around him like a cloak, Bernard’s face contorted with fury, the air crackling with his power. “You’re the one who doesn’t know shit. Why the ever-loving fuck would we kill one of us when we’re already so small in numbers?”

All three stared at him, stunned. Bruce remained calm as if he had expected this. Tim’s eyes widened in shock, his breath catching as he took in the flickering lights and the shaking table—he had never seen Bernard this angry before or knew of his magic. Diana’s flicked with between surprise and alarm as she instinctively stepped back, her instinct kicking in at the sudden surge of power in the room. Her gaze darted around the room, then back to Bernard, a mixture of caution and readiness setting in her eyes.

“You’re a half-blood,” she said, her steak knife now tightly gripped tightly in her right hand.

Bernard scoffed, pulling out his own weapon—a celestial bronze dagger hidden at his waist. He twirled it effortlessly, letting it glimmer under the manor’s light. “And you’re an art project gone wrong,” he spat back.

Despite the tense atmosphere, Tim couldn’t suppress a snort at Bernard’s jab. Bernard’s anger briefly waned as he glanced at Tim, relieved to see his boyfriend’s amused reaction. Maybe, just maybe, things wouldn’t end as badly as he feared if Tim still found him amusing.

A flash of silver in the corner of his eyes brought him back to the moment. Diana lunged at him; her knife aimed for his head. Bernard ducked, the blade whistling above him and embedding itself in the wall behind him. If he hadn’t moved, it would have been lodged in his skull.

Bernard’s eyes darkened, the dining room plunging into near darkness with his fury. The shadows clung to him like a second skin. Bruce and Tim screamed in alarm as they realised what just happened—Wonder Woman had attacked Bernard with the intent to kill in front of them, breaking their Bats’ no-kill rule.

“Stand down,” Batman barked, his voice deep and gravelly.

“No, no,” Bernard grinned, audacity filling his body as he tossed his own celestial bronze dagger at her feet, his eyes glinting with a dangerous challenge. “Go ahead,” he taunted, his voice low and menacing.

Diana’s eyes flashed with rage as she accepted his challenge. She picked up the dagger and lunged at him with deadly intent, ignoring Batman’s and Red Robin’s protest. Thanks to Bernard’s enhanced reflexes, he sidestepped her attack, the blade plunging deep into his flesh and embedding itself deep above his collarbone.

For a moment, the room went quietly still except for his blood dripping onto the pristine marbled floor. Then, Bernard heard a sharp intake of breath, not from himself, but from Diana, who dropped to the floor, writhing in pain. He grinned; his expression twisted with dark satisfaction. He turned himself into a living voodoo doll, transferring his pain onto hers. While his body bore the physical marks, he felt no pain until he chose to release the spell.

“Bernard Dowd, Son of Hecate, at your service,” he mocked, bowing low and winking at Diana. “It’s a displeasure to meet you, Diana Prince, Princess of Themyscira.”

“Hecate,” Diana hissed in disdain, glaring at him murderously. Bernard’s grin only widened.

In a fluid movement, Bernard dropped to the floor beside her, sitting cross-legged as if they were simply having a chat. Diana winced, likely feeling the knife shift within his flesh. But Bernard didn’t care, the pain was all hers.

“You call us uncivilised and quick to violence, yet you’re the one who drew the blade first,” Bernard’s voice was steady but his eyes gleamed with a dangerous intensity as he pointed to the steak knife embedded into the wall and the dagger sticking out of his body.

“I should have known you were her spawn,” Diana huffed, ignoring his words. “How cowardly of you to use such underhanded tricks. Where is your Greek pride?”

For a moment, Bernard blinked in confusion, his mind stumbling over her words. He mouthed them silently, trying to make sense of her accusation. Then, something inside snapped. He blinked once, twice and then he lost his shit.

“Where is my Greek pride, oh mighty Diana of Themyscira?” His voice low and venomous as he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head up to face him. His breath was hot against her skin as he snarled, “You bring up my Greek pride but where was yours five years ago, huh? Where was it when were out there, literally fighting for our lives against the Lord of Time? I was out there with everyone else, holding Manhattan without aid from the gods. I watched my friends and family get ripped apart alive by monsters and people we thought were family; I stayed with them as Thanatos claimed them. I killed and I bled for the Greeks— the very same Olympians that you and I worship. That is my Greek pride. Where was your pride then?”

Bernard’s eyes pricked at the last memories of some of his families, sharper and more vivid than ever. He could see it all again: the desperate bloodied faces of his friends, the dying gasps of children too young to have known anything but war. Little Elenor, his eleven-year-old sister, crying out for her father. The child of Demeter, screaming as a pack of hellhounds tore him apart. The battlefield was littered with bodies—Greek and Roman alike—torn apart, eyes wide and unseeing.

“Bear, darling,” Tim’s voice, soft and full of worry, pierced through the raging storm in Bernard’s mind. His iron grip on Diana’s hair slacked, letting her head thud heavily onto the cold marbled floor.

The trembling demigod slowly turned to face his boyfriend, his breath hitching as Tim’s face swam into focus. The worried lines of Tim’s brow, and the way he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, all pushed away the blood-soaked visions clawing at his sanity. Tim’s calloused hands cradled his face with a gentleness that broke through the last of his defences.

The raw, agonised sob that ripped from Bernard’s chest was the sound of a man who had held on too long, who had seen too much. He collapsed into Tim’s open arms, clutching him as though he were the only thing tethering him to the present as if letting go meant being lost to the darkness of war.

#dcu x pjo

16 notes · View notes