#i love arm but i cannot forgive the shirt just bc it shows skin

[fullwets]

guys I have to speak my truth. the shirt lewis is wearing is extremely ugly

[karliahs]

It’s been months since he was this close to anyone. It might have even been Jon the last time, too; helping him walk down in the tunnels. How did they get from there to here? How-

“Tim?” Jon asks softly, pulling back to look him in the face, and it’s the loss of that warmth and pressure that makes Tim realise he’s started breathing in great, shuddering gasps. He screws his eyes shut and Jon reverses their positions, pulling Tim into his chest with unpracticed but fervent hands. His T-shirt is soft against Tim’s face; he hadn’t thought Jon would own anything so soft.

Tim’s throat is burning, but as long as he keeps his eyes screwed shut then he isn’t crying. He isn’t crying on Jonathan Sims the night before they both-

“It’s alright, Tim,” Jon says, searching for words of comfort he only half believes himself. “It’s - whatever happens tomorrow, it can’t - we’re safe here.”

Tim laughs bitterly. “Nothing’s fucking safe.”

Jon seems unable to decide between rubbing soothingly at his back and just holding on as tight as he can. Tim shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be giving into this. But there's a reason he lost so much time when he should have been searching for the thing that killed his brother. The Institute was full of potential answers, but it was also full of bright, lovely distractions. He's buried in the arms of one of them.

Tim didn't used to think of that as weakness - but he didn't used to think there were worms that burrowed through your flesh, or creatures that took every true memory of your friend without you ever noticing, or monsters that played with skin, played with the fabric of who you were, because it was fun.

Tim doesn't know fucking anything, and maybe he never did, and now all that's left is to-

"What can I do, Tim?" Jon asks, and he sounds so honestly lost.

"Turn back time," Tim murmurs into his shirt. "Don't let go," he adds a moment later.

“I won’t, I won’t.” Jon clutches him impossibly closer. Tim’s world narrows down into warmth and pressure. “Tim, we don’t - we don’t have to do this. You don’t have to do this.”

The gentle vibration of his words is almost enough to distract Tim from the words themselves. He turns his head so he can speak un-muffled, and immediately misses the comfort of being closed in. “I do, Jon. I can’t…” Tim fumbles for the right words, wondering faintly if this is how Jon feels all the time, struggling to give voice to the unspeakable. “The worst thing in all of this, the worst thing would be if they hurt someone again while I’m just standing there."

Still not crying, not as long as his eyes are tight shut. He feels Jon hesitate, then push forward anyway. "Even if...Tim, even if you had moved, what could you have done?"

Tim squeezes hard at Jon's side and isn't sure if he means it as a warning or a plea.

"I'd never have met you," Jon says, so soft Tim isn't sure if he was meant to hear it.

"Was just thinking before,” Tim replies, because he’s fucked up enough that he might as well keep going, “I wish I'd met you somewhere normal."

Jon’s hands still, and for a moment the rise and fall of his chest does too. It’s the closest thing to absolution Tim’s ever offered. He’s glad he can’t see Jon’s face, can’t see whatever shock or gratitude is playing out there. At some point, he made himself into someone who no one expects to be kind. He wonders, vaguely, whether it counts as forgiveness, to want someone to spend what might be their last night on earth forgiven.

from: enemy of my enemy, aka jon and tim sit in various rooms and talk: the fic

thank you for asking!!! here we go:

It’s been months since he was this close to anyone. It might have even been Jon the last time, too; helping him walk down in the tunnels. How did they get from there to here? How-

do you ever just think about how fast things went wrong for the s1 crew...they were friends just a few months ago!! a few weeks in between no current supernatural experiences -> trying to survive supernatural experiences together by physically holding each other up -> complete alienation. some experiences just defy comprehension, emotionally speaking, even when you can see every step that led from there to here

i also like to make myself sad by thinking about the practical day to day aspects of everyone in the archives being alienated from everyone else. like...when were either of them last touched (non-violently)

so much has changed but they've circled back around to each other

“Tim?” Jon asks softly, pulling back to look him in the face, and it’s the loss of that warmth and pressure that makes Tim realise he’s started breathing in great, shuddering gasps. He screws his eyes shut and Jon reverses their positions, pulling Tim into his chest with unpracticed but fervent hands. His T-shirt is soft against Tim’s face; he hadn’t thought Jon would own anything so soft.

'person starts crying without noticing until someone points it out' is a trope i generally try to stay away from partly because i just can't imagine that ever happening to me and therefore it doesn't ping my realism senses, but i get one (1) because it is undeniably juicy

this fic is very zeroed in on tim's perspective in terms of small sensory experiences, for a few reasons - drive home emotions, portray dissociation, and because i like writing about how it actually feels to be in a romantic gesture, to make it more real than just like...an image of people holding each other

small detail that jives with bigger points - jon's shirt unexpectedly soft, jon's surprising ability to still provide him with gentleness and comfort

i think jon here has no idea what to do but has been given permission to touch so is living his best tactile life with this inexpert hugging and is hoping that does something

Tim’s throat is burning, but as long as he keeps his eyes screwed shut then he isn’t crying. He isn’t crying on Jonathan Sims the night before they both-

“It’s alright, Tim,” Jon says, searching for words of comfort he only half believes himself. “It’s - whatever happens tomorrow, it can’t - we’re safe here.”

Tim laughs bitterly. “Nothing’s fucking safe.”

tim spends a lot of this fic having his inner-monologue cut off to try and show as well as tell that he's struggling to stay present

that 'both-' hurts me, honestly. hurts more than it actually being spelled out, i think. write to upset yourself, maybe you will upset others in the process

half is a word i absolutely overuse in writing but cannot stop. no one ever does something all the way, they are half- believing, wondering, worrying, etc.

i'm never 100% sure if i'm accurately capturing the way that jon speaks in canon but i did always like and want to emulate the fact that he speaks kind of hesitantly, trips over his own words, etc

Jon seems unable to decide between rubbing soothingly at his back and just holding on as tight as he can. Tim shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be giving into this. But there's a reason he lost so much time when he should have been searching for the thing that killed his brother. The Institute was full of potential answers, but it was also full of bright, lovely distractions. He's buried in the arms of one of them.

Tim didn't used to think of that as weakness - but he didn't used to think there were worms that burrowed through your flesh, or creatures that took every true memory of your friend without you ever noticing, or monsters that played with skin, played with the fabric of who you were, because it was fun.

again, jon does not know what to do so he is just trying. just trying to do any kind of soothing hand thing

i thought quite a lot about reconciling the seemingly happy-go-lucky tim that gets presented to us early on vs learning why he came to the institute in the first place. tim here is framing that as a failing because he's miserable and traumatised and guilt-ridden, but i think at least part of it was actual healing. he was taking time and enjoying the people around him and trying to make the best of things, until it all went wrong

related, the self-recrimination of tim hating himself for not having seen any of this coming, even though they were not predictable events...very human nature after you have been through something terrible. how dare i have not anticipated every trouble that ever befell me

'played with skin, played with the fabric of who you were' - a lot of this story was me just enjoying the themes of stranger-horror. i love the terror of knowing there are creatures who can change aspects of you that should be unchangeable, physically in skin and otherwise in terms of identity and memory. love applying that to jon and tim, who have been fundamentally changed against their will by trauma and their roles in a story neither of them wanted. skin as metaphor for identity, and learning that people can take away your skin is then utterly terrifying to someone who already feels like his identity is being forcibly eroded. and then that shared terror brings them back together, just a little

Tim doesn't know fucking anything, and maybe he never did, and now all that's left is to-

"What can I do, Tim?" Jon asks, and he sounds so honestly lost.

"Turn back time," Tim murmurs into his shirt. "Don't let go," he adds a moment later.

this fic...is so sad. why did i write this. why am i being attacked by my past self and their awful words on this day

explicit admission that tim wants/needs jon here...even a chapter ago he was like yeah i'm going to america with jon bc i am regrettably relying on him as my reality-anchor, nothing emotional here

“I won’t, I won’t.” Jon clutches him impossibly closer. Tim’s world narrows down into warmth and pressure. “Tim, we don’t - we don’t have to do this. You don’t have to do this.”

The gentle vibration of his words is almost enough to distract Tim from the words themselves. He turns his head so he can speak un-muffled, and immediately misses the comfort of being closed in. “I do, Jon. I can’t…” Tim fumbles for the right words, wondering faintly if this is how Jon feels all the time, struggling to give voice to the unspeakable. “The worst thing in all of this, the worst thing would be if they hurt someone again while I’m just standing there."  

Still not crying, not as long as his eyes are tight shut. He feels Jon hesitate, then push forward anyway. "Even if...Tim, even if you had moved, what could you have done?"

Tim squeezes hard at Jon's side and isn't sure if he means it as a warning or a plea.

warmth, pressure, vibration...continuing to be fascinated by the little tactile details of what it feels like to be close to someone

emotional logic is so powerful. tim moving most likely would have either made no difference to the outcome or worsened it (because both him and danny would have died) but of course for tim standing still while someone he loves was destroyed counts for everything about who he is. sometimes blame feels better than helplessness, which mirrors what happens with his friendship with jon - is it scarier if they are all helpless, or if this one guy is The Enemy

‘give voice to the unspeakable’ sometimes i like poetic descriptions of jon’s role as archivist

"I'd never have met you," Jon says, so soft Tim isn't sure if he was meant to hear it.

"Was just thinking before,” Tim replies, because he’s fucked up enough that he might as well keep going, “I wish I'd met you somewhere normal."

Jon’s hands still, and for a moment the rise and fall of his chest does too. It’s the closest thing to absolution Tim’s ever offered. He’s glad he can’t see Jon’s face, can’t see whatever shock or gratitude is playing out there. At some point, he made himself into someone who no one expects to be kind. He wonders, vaguely, whether it counts as forgiveness, to want someone to spend what might be their last night on earth forgiven.

:(

tim views talking with and connecting to people as fucking up. how much of that is even slightly shrouded in logic and how much is just - tim is depressed and deep in self-loathing, somewhere still at the core of him tim loves people and making connections, so of course doing the thing he wants to do is wrong

‘At some point, he made himself into someone who no one expects to be kind.’ tim has this thought once and then worries at it like a sore tooth because his default state is hopeless fury with himself, with everyone. i also think this demonstrates how new information/realisations often can’t help you out of a bad mental state on its own, because it’s all too easy to slot it into your existing thought patterns. pushing everyone away was making tim worse - he starts to feel like that was a mistake, but it just becomes more self-recrimination

forgiveness is one of those words that seems to encompass so many different concepts that i find it hard to know exactly what it’s meant by saying you forgive someone. specifying what’s meant by this little shard of maybe-forgiveness makes it mean more, at least to me

may i reiterate: :(

[thorsstorms]

Touch Me

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: Thor hasn’t tried to contact, what is life like with out him?

Warning: ANGST!, Sad Thor. Acohol abuse Mention, LOTS OF SMUT +18!! This is really just pure smut, something I never do. so enjoy touch deprived Thor.

A/N: This is the third (and last) part to Drunk Me, one of my favorites. Also, I always picture Thor with long hair in these. I wrote Drunk Me pre endgame (im psychic I know)  but was stuck on long hair Thor bc who isn’t.  

Masterlist.  -   Drunk Me  -  Sober Me

“Thor,” I called for him, opening his bedroom door. I just got off work, but he never left my mind today. I woke up determined. I figure dinner with him is enough to present a proposition.

“My love,” he called from the bathroom. When he opened the door, steam rolled out. He was fresh out of the shower. Skin glistening from the shining lights around the mirror behind him. “Forgive me, I was in the gym for hours.”

“Not a problem,” I had to fix my gaze away from his skin that I missed so much. “I picked up some dinner, meet me?”

“Of course.”

I turn on the TV, automatically searching for something on netflix, background noise at most. He used to like to watch FRIENDS with me, so I settled on it. A few chinese take out boxes were on the table, ready for him whenever, but was I? I stared ahead from my spot on the couch waiting to eat. The sun was setting out the windows, leaving an orange hue to dance across the room. His eyes were always a catch this time of day, the contrast was impeccable.

“Smells so good, Love.” He walked into the room fully clothed, to my dismay. “Thank you.” Clapping a friendly warm hand over my shoulder before trecking around the couch to sit beside me. He smells so delightful, a smell I used to bask in, drink in every night. It was signature, nothing would compare.

I kicked my shoes off and curled my legs onto the couch, pulling a blanket from the back rest. They were a must in the cold open room, especially when he is not as close as I want him to be, not close enough to keep me warm.

“Pick what you want, I’m not too hungry.” He leaned forward, lining up three boxes without even looking. I wanted to fast forward twenty minutes. The time was not too slow with my favorite show to capture my attention, but I took the liberty of laying across the couch, my head on his thigh. I do not have to look at him this way and feel a sharp yearning in my heart. I can feel him and his closeness, his proximity, but I do not have to look at him.

“Baby are you going to eat?” He questioned, almost concerned. I had been quiet, but I just want to touch him, its physically making me ache and I cannot stand it any longer. Who can have an appetite with that?

“No, I’m not hungry,” I mumble, adjusting my head and pulling the blanket over my shoulder.

“Love, what’s wrong?” What is left of the food is discarded onto the table and he sat back with a sigh. A small spike of anxiousness flooded through me, down to my core when I look at him again. He was just curious, that is all. And he has done so good at telling me what he is thinking, it is only fair that I do as well. It is hard, I will give him that. 

Sitting up to face him is so much harder than not looking into his curious eyes. 

My hand reaches the side of his head when he looks at me like that. Like I am his only source of muscle that makes his heart beat on time. Like I hung the stars in the sky, curious and worried. Its endearing, comes with a feeling that no other would be able to give me. A feeling of love, rush, excitement, nervousness, and curiosity of my own when his head leans into my touch. It was subtle but by senses had zeroed in on it. A small experimental circle of my fingers and his eyelids fall closed, he did it again. Arms falling lax in his lap.

“I miss you,” I whisper and his electric blues meet mine, freezing me.

“I’m right here.” He keens, seeming to wake up slightly from my touch.

“No, Thor.” Of course, he is right here with me. I see him, but I want to feel him. My body works on its own accord, finding myself working to straddle his thighs. I just want to be close to him, that is all. “No, I miss you.” I speak with as much conviction I can muster, though a rush from the bold move makes my brain slightly fuzzy, tipsy on him.

His shoulders drop, tension gone when his hands settle where they are always meant to be, on me, my skin that itches for him and feels like fire under his hands. As if it was involuntary, his head drops back into my hands that curled around the base of his skull, entangling my fingers into his hair. It was not even anything sexual, just a need to be touched.

“Really?” He begs for the reassurance. Practically purring into the massage of my fingertips around his neck.

“Yes, really. I need you, I love you.” He watches me with wide eyes at my confession, not knowing how to respond, luckily I have got that figured out. I leaned into him, my lips meeting his in a searing kiss. It is all I longed for, for so long. For his hands to dig under my shirt so he can feel my soft skin, all for him. He was quick to react, quick to draw out a strangled moan from his throat, not hiding his longing to be loved like this. To do good by me and make me know he’s changed for us both.

His emotions were pouring out in waves, cradling me to him as if I would want to be anywhere else at the moment. Lips and teeth and tongue clash in the heat, he cannot get enough. I was here and I was not leaving this time, he was not going to give a reason to.

I need to breath, heaving from our exchange but he does not want to waste one single moment of his lips on my skin. Drawing them across my jaw in open mouthed kisses, across my neck in a heating rush to taste my skin. It was all he had worked for. He worked against his own mind for this trophy, this mark of success.

I whined against the pull of his lips once again marking me as his. It’s been too long. “Please, Thor, please.” I do not exactly know what I want, all I know is that I want him, all of him, this is what I wanted. 

Just please don’t stop.

“Shh, baby. I’m here.”  He promised his heart away, memorizing my decollete like it had changed in the months of his absence, lips across my throat, collar bones, down to my chest his lips traveled. “I’ll take care of you. I’m here.”

I met his lips again, clinging to him as he held my legs in place, standing from the couch and blindly walking to the hallway. His promises whispered like burning secrets, and couldn’t force myself to do much but listen and drink them in and store them inside me.

Only mere seconds before he laid me against those ever so soft sheets of his unmade bed. I was right. My shirt needed to be gone to feel the soft sheets against my skin, and they were so soft, just like I had imagined. Or maybe I was biased with his lips drawing across my breasts, swiftly losing my bra in the process. I could not think, only feel his touch, feel his skin. My hands made their own work of his shirt, his body hot against mine. The distracting assault of his lips left my hands to wander his arms, cradle his head against me. 

Don’t ever stop, please.

“I need you, please, I need you.” My voice was too breathless, I am not sure he can understand me. He must have, my skirt sliding away, panties all the same. Burning kisses followed a pattern down my abdomen. Where I want him, where I was heating for touch.

Just touch me everywhere.

I was offering myself to him, waiting for him to take. I know he needs it just as much as I do, he has to. And he takes.

His arm weighed down my bucking hips for friction, basking in the sight of my slick all for him. I have waited too long. One thick strip of his tongue across my cunt, basking in the taste he had been starved of, is all he needs to flip his switch. Groaning in the familiarity that he longed to feel, my twitching from his tongue, my hands in his hair pulling, pleading for more. It was a drug, I can be his fix. It is almost a punch of air out of my lungs, lurching forward for hands in his hair to ground myself.

“Ohh,” I whisper, eyes falling shut at the feeling. I am so close already, my blood thrumming in my veins from the first touch of his mouth, ready to burst. His hands designated to my thighs, parting them in favor of him tasting me with soothing strokes of his tongue. His eyes close, lashes fanned on his cheeks as he kisses me there, relishing in it. He groans quietly into the soft skin of my thigh when he comes up for a breathe, pressing a sticky kiss there.

I am quivering hot to the touch while he eats me out slowly with the velvet slide of his tongue, sounding off soft little grunts of pleasure. I watched as his hips turned to bunch against the bed, for friction. He is hard for me, all for me and it makes my mouth water.

“I want you so badly,” I whisper to him. It makes tears prick my eyes but I blink them away. He feels it, he has to feel this invisible force stirring and drawing us together. The soft pulses of his lips work, closing around, and it shocks me. The sight undoes me too fast, I tried to hold on, tried to stay there, but a second of lost focus folded me in, my walls clenching, gushing on his face. The coil gave, tipping over the edge throwing my body into a pool of tingles and heat. My head dropping in syruppy pleasure.

Before my vision could clear he was leaning over me, naked in his glory. My hands went to him, I just want to touch him all the time, be close. His eyes are still dark, making him look almost feral for me to wrap my arms around his body as he loses himself while buried to the hilt. We need it.

My heart lurches, stuttering in my chest at his heavy cock dropping on my heat as he leans in for a meeting of clashing lips, begging for attention. I curl my hand around him with a tightly wound fist, he hisses into the kiss, leaving to teeth at my jaw, down my neck and throat.

I guide him to my entrance, crying out as he breaches my soaking hole. “Please, Thor. Oh, God.” He presses in further, stretching my walls around him. A pinch is masked by his words of yearning for this, for working towards this, words of his proclamation to love me and do right by us both.

He sits deep, drawing out a slow drag against my tight walls before sinking in again. My moans are exclaimed, he takes them with his mouth over mine, breathing in the lick of pleasure. The drag is torture, sending shocks of pleasure after not being touched by him for so long. The sink of his tip to the hilt, knocking me in just the right spot to send a black image through my brain, emptying out all thoughts in exchange for him occupying my every thought and stealing my soul. The sink has got to be worse than the drag out, impaling, grinding and stretching all the right spots, it is sinful. 

He groans, ragged as my hands press into his shoulders from behind, my legs wrapping him to hold hostage. His hips rut against mine in the most delicious sense, his muscle rubbing into my clit with fire. I cannot last long underneath him, not with his rhythm guiding me to come again all too quickly.

My eyes struggle to remain on his, unwillingly fluttering away on a wave of pleasure, taking me away from his glistening skin. The sound of his narrow breathes, clenching around his driven need to protect that no one understands but him, the heat fans over me in shaking draws.

My eyes come back with the sear of his lips and teeth, drawing me back to the surface. His skin is reddened, crawling up his chest and neck, thrusting out small grunts as if he does not know he is making them. He is lost in my touch. Primal and drowning in my taste and tight squeeze. It was a sight to come apart to.

I am dropped into a second, coming hard while he drills and rutts deep over and over again, his huffs stuttered when he feels my walls contract tightly over him, proving to be too much.

He moans deep and heavy into my neck sending vibrations down my spine, only adding to my shaking orgasm thats rolling through in big heavy waves. I clutch him close, guiding his face to mine, opening for him and trading trembling kisses back and forth.

A relief of mind floods through us both. He pressed through my aftershocks, legs twitching slightly before drawing out and laying himself beside me, his chest rising and falling hypnotically.  He does not go far for long, his hand cradling my jaw for a close proximity, pressing his forehead to mine. He wants to be near, I want to be a part of him somehow, eyes closing in exhaustion and mind almost sailing away too soon.

“Thor,” I murmur. A tremble wrecks through my body, the last of the shocks from an extreme high, and he presses his lips to my forehead.

“Im here, Love.”

[selfships-in-spanish]

UH YES HI HELLO CAN I GET ALL THREE ROBO BOYS AND ONA GETTING IT ON BC CONNOR, 60, AND RICHARD ?? WITH ONA ? FUCK YES, BRING ON ALL THE ROBO DICKS - filth anon 🍆

JFORGHFASD FILTH ANON!! I MISSED YOU AROUND HERE MY FELLOW SINNER. WELCOME BACK MY FRIEND!!!! But jesus fucking Christ, Ona is about to get thoroughly fucked by three very horny robots. RIP her pussy.

Also MILLION APOLOGIES for taking this long but the horny braincell didn’t want to cooperate. AT LAST! IT IS HERE! :D also a bazillion thanks to @tinmiss1939 for being such a sweetheart and helping me out when english also didn’t want to cooperate. I love you girl ❤️

But this is filth. Pure, unadulterated smut for your reading eyes :D enjoy!

 Whoever had the idea of making a field day for the police station as a fundraising with activities and such, was both a genius and a sadist. Especially in summer.

It was hot, you could hear the bugs chirping and people seeking the shadow of trees and tents if they were not engaging in any activity, cool drinks in hand. The water-gun fight was a godsend, helping those who were battling to cool down under the unforgiving sun.

But Connor thought it was absolute torture to be involved in the water-gun fight. Not for the fight per se, he actually loved spraying water directly into Detective Reed’s face, but because he had to fight against Detective Boix.

Detective Boix who is a complete drenched mess.

She’s laughing, ducking behind a barrel while another officer tries to soak her even more. Connor cannot remember the name, and right now he couldn’t care less. All his processing power is currently occupied with preconstructions about sneaking behind her, aim with an unmatched precision, soak that patch that is resisting so bravely, making her turn around so he can add even more water to her front and–

“If you continue with that train of thought, you’re going to self-combust.” Richard, the RK900 that was found, awakened and deployed on the DPD, spoke behind him. He was close too, and judging by his red LED, he wasn’t fairing better.

“The same could apply to you.”

“I still have more processing power.”

“All that mighty power goes south when dear Detective Boix is near.” another voice identical to Connor spoke on their left side. This was the RK800-60, the version generated to confront Connor at cyberlife tower. He liked going by the name of Killian, trying to distance himself from his double and his upgraded model. It gave him a sense of self.

Richard looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a glare that clearly indicated “that is utter bullshit and you’re not immune either”. He would never admit to his bratty predecessor that he, indeed, had certain malfunctions when the detective was near. He was designed to be superior than them, faster, stronger, more resilient…

Killian and Richard heard Connor produce some sort of noise, a mix between a whimper and grinding metal. They looked at him, a little bit concerned, and then at Connor’s hands gripping tightly the gun. If he added a little bit more pressure, he would break it. His eyes were glued ahead, watching Ona squealing and then laughing again when Tina aimed right at her butt.

Ona was wearing shorts that hugged her… assets rather nicely. Her legs were on display, honey skin glistening with water. If the three RK prototypes focused on the freckles and cute moles sprayed on them like constellations, nobody could blame them for that.

The sound of footsteps alerted them, but they were more focused at the view in front of them. Ona ducked another water spray and aimed her water gun, hitting Tina right on her stomach. The droplets moved down her skin, their eyes following the paths and even preconstructing where would they end up. The RKs knew the footsteps belonged to a male, judging by the way the person moved, and as their processors detected, they belonged to a coworker. A young male.

Without looking away, the three androids raised their water guns and with deadly accuracy, sprayed the poor soul who thought they could sneak on them. They heard a yell and colourful curses, their victim stomping away.

“Fuck you, you plastic pricks!” Gavin shook the water off his face, blinking rapidly as Richard’s jet hit him right in his eyes. Connor hit his torso, while Killian soaked the front of his jeans, leaving Gavin to feel very uncomfortable every time he took a step.

“That’s what you get for sneaking behind three state of the art androids, you fool.” Hank laughed while making his addition to the soaked mess that was Gavin. He aimed to his shoes, knowing they would do squeaky noises until they dried. He walked over the three androids, chuckling to himself. “I know better than to try to soak you three, but I must tell you that you look creepy as fuck right now. I suggest moving your asses and join the battle and stop ogling our darling detective over there.”

Connor gasped, slightly offended. “I am not ogling!” At least he had the decency to slightly blush.

“We are merely assuring Detective Boix is alright, should she need reinforcements.” Richard knew Hank was staring at him with his bushy brow raised and giving him the “oh really?” face. He had to try.

“Oh yeah? Then why not assist her now? She clearly needs help.” Hank nodded in Ona’s direction.

Ona ran away from the combined power of Chris and Tina, laughing and blindly shooting jets of water. Somehow, Chris managed to get a Super-Soaker model with way more water capacity; he could drench you in seconds.

“I guess I’ll have to be her knight in shi–” Killian took a few steps forward until Connor shoved past him, Richard sprinting behind him. He cursed and ran after them two, not wanting to be the last to arrive.

Hank looked at the three of them, crossing his arms and chuckling. “State of the art my ass.” He went back to the forgiving shade of a tree where Fowler and her wife and kids were chatting with Ben, who was being victim of the kid’s water guns. Hank saved him and sprayed them lightly, making them squeal.

Meanwhile, Ona managed to escape from Chris and Tina and took this opportunity to go refill her gun and take a breather. It had been a long time since the entire precinct had a good time. With the whole android revolution mess, the changes that came after and everything… it had been chaos, stressful. Everyone was on edge, everyone was confused and trying their best, so this was truly an opportunity to wind down and forget about the stress for a while.

She entered the visitors locker room behind the courtyard where they were having their fight.

Detroit’s high-school lended their facilities, the trackfield and locker rooms too, to the DPD’s fundraiser. Even the kids helped with some decorations and they proudly showed the artwork, making sure no jets of water hit the decorative paper garlands and banners. Richard would make sure the murals survived, he still didn’t know how to react with the fact that some kids decided to draw him, but he would protect it.

Ona hoped nobody was there; she just needed a little bit of quiet. She sighed blissfully, smiling as she felt the cool air caress her wet skin, and walked to one of the multiple sinks while opening the water-guns’s refill chamber. The sound of water splashing inside the empty plastic filled the locker room, the sounds of children giggling and screaming muffled and in the distance. She looked at herself in the mirror, letting out a soft laugh at her appearance. Her t-shirt was completely drenched and her white curls were glued to her forehead and face, some droplets falling down. She thanked whatever deity that was there that she decided to wear a bikini, knowing Chris and Tina had a massive competitive streak and would absolutely target Ona.

She did not hear the door of the visitors locker room opening and closing, too busy thinking about strategies to fight back against Chris and Tina. Once the water-gun was filled to the brim, Ona closed it and left it on top of the sink, stretching her arms and back like a cat, even letting out a sigh when some parts popped into place. She was suddenly hit by an ice-cold water jet on the last dry spot on her back.

Ona let out a loud shriek, jumping and bumping her hip on the sink. Colourful curses followed while she went for her water-gun, turning around to see Connor, Killian and Richard standing right there with Connor’s water-gun raised. He had the decency to look a little bit guilty about it. Ona left the gun back on the sink.

“Me cago en la leche, you scared me!” She had her hand on her chest, feeling her heart beating wildly while the other one cradled her bruised hip.

“Sorry Detective.” Connor lowered his arm and kicked at an imaginary stone. Ona marvelled at the completely human reactions he had sometimes.

“You are not sorry at all, Connor.” Killian crossed his arms, smugly smiling at Connot for being scolded.

Ona sighed, ignoring Killian and Connor’s guilty face for a second and noticing Richard way more silent than he already was.

“Everything okay there, Richard?”

He stood into attention, nodding, but all he could process was ‘wet shirt, bikini top, wet skin, freckles, wet translucent shirt…’.

“Yes Detective Boix, everything is functioning at its optimal—“

“He’s about to fry his CPU.” Killian stopped Richard mid sentence, trying to stifle a laugh at Richard’s murderous expression thrown at him.

“What?” Ona gasped, stopping whatever action Richard may have done. She ran to his side, carefully grasping his uniform jacket. “Oh my God Richard, did something happen? Did water get in someway? Do we need to take you to a Cyberlife technician? If it’s this bad we need to take you to one.” Ona went on and on, alarmed at the led spinning violently red.

The three androids internally cooed at her, her distress making them feel appreciated. Richard tried to say something but all his processing power was focused on to not accidentally overheat and the wet white t-shirt that clung to her snugly, not leaving anything to the imagination. Now that she was closer, he could see her glistening skin, feel the warmth of her body, and he honestly was only a good little android trying so hard to be a good little android.

Killian wasn’t a good little boy scout like Connor or Richard. He was a handsome devil and he knew it. He approached them and stood right behind Ona. Grinning, he let his lips brush her ear as he spoke.

“This is solely because Mr. ‘Faster, Stronger and more Resilient’ is having his processing power go south.”

Killian made Ona jump and gasp as he tugged her t-shirt back, tightening and gluing itself on her body. Her bikini top pattern became more apparent and Richard let out a soft frustrated sound, raising his hands but not daring to touch yet. Killian chuckled, sending pleasant shivers down Ona’s spine.

“You have been a bad girl, Detective,” Killian sneaked a hand around her body, exploring her belly and toying with the hem of her shorts. “A bad, bad girl, teasing us three with such indecorous clothing.” Killian knew it was a very cheesy line, but Ona’s sharp intake of air made him grin, knowing she was getting on with the program.

On the corner of his eye, Killian saw Connor silently move, walking to the visitors locker room entrance and locking the front door. The click of the lock felt as if a rubber band snapped. Richard dropped the plastic gun to the floor and grasped her face in his big hands, pulling her to his lips. Ona’s little moans were engulfed by Richard, her hands desperately holding onto him on his passionate onslaught.

Richard knew humans needed to breathe and Ona was not an exception. He let go of her lips, feeling her pants on his wet ones. Killian wasted no time, he let go of her to turn her head to him, crashing his lips into hers hard. He was demanding, hungry, needy, desperate, and Ona couldn’t help but be consumed by the pure lust he emanated.

Her moans fueled him further, his hands touching and grabbing all the flesh he could. Ona felt Richard go to his knees, his warmth disappearing momentarily. He unfastened her trousers and pulled them down, looking up in time to see Killian give her a moment to breathe. She looked down and whimpered, her blown pupils swallowing her green irises. Richard was a sight to behold, all disheveled and visibly affected, opposite to his usual composed and perfect self.

Connor sat down on the bench close to them, enjoying the show in front of him, for now. Killian was always impatient, wanting to go quick and dirty, while Richard wanted to take all the time in the world to make sure Ona wouldn’t be able to even lift a finger. He was patient, alright, but her heaving chest and arched back was bewitching him.

Maybe he accidentally projected some of that eagerness to join in the fun, because Killian looked right at him while leaving a sloppy trail of kisses on her neck, perfect teeth nipping the soft skin. Connor frowned, not entirely happy with that.

“Don’t leave marks, Killian. At least not on visible places.” Killian groaned, upset that Connor discovered his intentions. He loved to mark her up and let everyone know she was his, to see her flesh react to his actions. It was such a treat to hear her sweet moans.

“Party pooper…” Ona could feel Killian’s whispered words on her neck, his tongue following after.

Richard busied himself with her thighs, kissing the droplets away and following the pattern of freckles on her skin. He took one of her legs and lifted it gently, placing it down on his shoulder. He left a trail of more kisses and soft brushing of lips, raising goosebumps on its wake. Richard’s hands traveled up until he found the strings of the bikini bottoms, toying with them. He decided to leave them on, for now.

Ona’s leg trembled, followed by a whimper, and Richard decided it was time to do what every single biocomponent was begging him to. Slowly he traced a finger on the bikini hem, travelling up and down until he hooked it and pulled the fabric to the side, just enough for him to see what he was looking for.

She was a soaked mess, her juices dripping out of her. Richard licked his lips in anticipation.

A soft mewl tore itself out of Ona’s mouth, her hands going immediately to Richard’s head and gripping his hair tightly, the moment Richard’s tongue shyly lapped her up. He gave kitten licks, enjoying her squirming and trembling thighs, and pleasedly sighed when he buried his face between her legs. He loved to be surrounded by her warmth, her scent, her taste… and to pull the most lovely sounds from her lips. Richard decided he could be bolder, lick a stripe up and busy himself with her clit that was begging him for attention. The response was immediate. Ona moaned loudly, a curse following after as the hands tightened their hold and pressed him even closer to her.

Connor loved watching Ona get eaten out by Richard. He was meticulous, he always gave everything to it and left Ona an absolute mess. But her fucked out expression was a treat. He could feel himself constricted in his clothes, his biocomponents begging for fresh, cold air. He could wait. Okay, scratch that, he couldn’t, her moan made that patience fly out the window.

The sound of Connor’s belt buckle being undone made Ona look to the side, letting out a soft mewl when she saw Connor touching himself while focusing all his attention on her. It felt exhilarating, to have these three gorgeous, brilliant men (who happened to be the most advanced prototype androids ever made) having their way with her and enjoying every damn second of it. Killian didn’t like how her attention was on Connor, and he made sure she knew by biting her exposed neck. Connor’s growl made Ona wetter, which in turn made Richard let out a pleased groan at the feel of her juices coating his mouth and chin.

“I said no visible marks, Killian.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t deny how much it turns you on to see everyone look at you green with envy.”

“I don’t like to cause distress to the Detective.” Connor stopped his hand, a cutting edge on his words.

Richard had enough of his predecessors’ bickering. With regret, he tore himself apart from her sopping wet cunt and smoothly stood up. He could hear Ona mutter a breathy curse at the sight of his glistening mouth, his tongue unconsciously swiping over his lips. Killian knew he got himself in trouble judging by the angry frown the RK900 unit sported. Richard shoved him away, making him release the detective’s body so he could sit her next to Connor. Reaching behind him, he took out his issued handcuffs.

“You are being a brat,” Richard grabbed him by his shirt and shoved him to the bench behind them. “On the floor. Now.” One would be wise to not question Richard, even less when he was horny.

Killian thought about spitting a retort, but Richard’s angry scowl made him rethink his life choices. He obeyed, sitting down.

“Hands behind your back.” Killian put them and pitifully whined when Richard blocked his perfect view of Connor making Ona sit on his lap after getting rid of Ona’s shorts. He had the beautiful sight of her ass in front of him, full and plump.

Connor knew how much he liked it, so after Richard finished cuffing him to the iron bench leg, Connor grabbed a handful and squeezed, making her whimper. Killian groaned, really wanting to do that himself.

“Don’t you dare break them.” Richard warned him as he went next to Ona and Connor.

Connor busied himself with peppering her neck with soft kisses as he played with her ass, grabbing her with both hands so he could grind his cock up at the same time he pushed her down. Ona wrapped her arms around his neck and began moving on her own, pressing down desperately, needing more. But Connor wasn’t going to move along soon, loving the feel of her bikini bottom’s fabric on his cock, so she had to take matters into her hands. Literally. With an annoyed grunt, Ona unglued herself from Connor and grabbed his cock, positioning it right where she wanted it. With her other hand she pushed aside the slippery fabric of her bikini and sank herself down. Connor moaned out loud, his cock twitching at the burning sensation engulfing him.

The three androids loved when Ona rode them. She took what she wanted, riding them with wild abandon. And right now Connor let himself be used. She had been played with by them, teased, edged, and now she really, really needed to have her brains fucked out. Connor helped her when he was able to gather his wits, thrusting up at the same time she went down. That made her moan out loud, a breathy “fuck yes” whispered out right after.

The sight was maddening for Killian. He had the most perfect view right in front of him, he could see the jiggle of her ass as Connor pounded into her, Connor’s cock disappear in that wonderful tight heat… he felt himself throb inside his trousers, probably staining the front of his dark jeans. Ona let Connor take the pace now, falling to his chest and taking what he had to offer. She turned her head, hair plastered on her forehead, to Richard. Her coy smile invited him to join them both. And he couldn’t refuse, not when that mouth was so tempting and open, letting the three of them know how much she was enjoying it.

Richard unbuckled his belt and lowered his trousers enough to free his aching cock. Ona was both surprised and pleased that Richard decided to forgo underwear today. Richard stood astride the bench, feeling Ona’s warm breath on the exposed tip. She let her tongue playfully lick the tip, using the rocking motion of Connor’s hips to let her tongue taste more of him.

Connor decided to slow down a bit, to grab her hips and pull her down so he could slowly grind up to her. Ona moaned softly, closing her eyes at the feel of Connor hitting all the right places. The feel of her plush lips kissing and and brushing along Richard’s cock made him mutter a curse, biting his lips and using all his willpower to not thrust into her mouth. Ona liked to tease, the three of them knew it all too well, and now it was Richard’s time to suffer it. She slowly wrapped her lips around the tip, applying the lightest of suctions, while her tongue shyly curled around it. Connor kept moving, watching enraptured as Ona took more of Richard’s cock inside her mouth. Richard was made to be bigger, more intimidating, and their designers made sure every part of him matched. So it was always a wonder how Ona managed to take him all in.

Killian’s fingers twitched, itching to just break the handcuffs and join them. He would show them. He would teach them how to thoroughly debauch her and—

“Don’t you even think about it, RK800-60”. Richard’s growl made him freeze, like a deer in headlights.

Connor’s eyes had a dangerous glint too, watching Killian like a hawk. But while Richard was distracted, Connor took that opportunity to tear Ona away from Richard’s cock with a wet pop and take off her soaked t-shirt. He was hypnotized by the way her breasts bounced, and he needed to see them without any clothing in the way. Connor pushed aside the bikini top, and he cursed when he saw the perky nipples begging him for attention. But what made him lose it was the visible tan line. It fascinated the three androids, but it was Connor’s weakness.

A hand on Ona’s back of the head reminded her of the aching need in front of her, and while Connor was still distracted, she inched closer to take Richard back inside her mouth. She tore away one of her hands holding her in place to grab whatever was closest to her hand and urge Richard to take what he wanted. She could take it, and right now? She needed it.

Richard could never deny her anything, and he began moving his hips to a comfortable rhythm until her hand tugged at him again. Connor regained his senses and started moving again, bouncing her on his lap while his hands squeezed her breasts. But his hands weren’t enough, he needed more, so he bent until his lips brushed her skin, kissing and nipping the tan line until his mouth engulfed a nipple. Ona moaned around Richard’s cock, and Connor could feel her walls tightening on his. By the mess Ona was making between her legs, Connor knew she was close, and judging by the way Richard’s hips stuttered on his perfect rhythm, he needed more than her mouth. Connor sneaked a hand between them, his thumb rubbing her slippery clit. The reaction was immediate.

Ona arched her back, making Richard’s cock slip out of her mouth. She moaned without a care, rocking her hips. Connor kept playing with her nipples and found himself with a mouth full of it, making him groan pleasedly, when Ona wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him closer, lost in the onslaught of pleasure Connor’s thumb was making her feel. Thank God he didn’t need to breathe.

Connor kept snapping his hips up, but he was losing his perfect rhythm as he felt his own orgasm approaching. It felt as if every single biocomponent was on fire, burning with electricity that pooled down his groin. Connor chased that euphoric sensation, the slapping of skin against skin echoing inside the locker room and only arousing him more. Ona kept moaning his name as she felt herself be close, bouncing on his lap. Connor knew by the way Ona said his name, breathless and as if she was devoting herself to him, that he could not stop now.

Ona cried out one last time, her nails digging into Connor’s skin as she went still, feeling herself dissolve into a pleasured puddle. Connor followed her, letting go of her nipple and groaning into her feverish skin, feeling her squeeze his cock and milking him dry as he buried himself deep inside her, moaning a mixture of curse words and her name. Their panting felt loud in the now quiet locker room. Connor searched for her lips, whispering a soft “I love you” just before he kissed her reply away, a content and sated feeling washing over him at her “I love you too”.

Killian softly cursed at the mess that trickled down her thighs, the sight right in front of him, as Richard helped her get up after letting her bask in the afterglow on Connor’s arms. Still dazed, Ona let herself be guided by Richard’s hands, using him as support as her legs were threatening to give out. Richard softly kissed her lips, so sweetly at first, just a chaste press where he enjoyed the velvety feel of her lips on his. He kept kissing her slowly, taking her breath away by the passion behind every swipe of his tongue, every nibble. The hand that was on her back slowly made its way down, caressing the naked flesh until Richard squeezed her buttock, making her giggle and prompting her to lift her leg up. Richard’s hand caressed her flesh and held the leg in place while he kept kissing her.

“You are just plain cruel. Both of you.” Killian kept staring, hypnotised. He licked his lips, squeezing his bound fists in frustration. Richard made sure Killian could perfectly see the globs of cum trailing down Ona’s thigh, and like the saucy little minx she was, Ona spread her cheek further, knowing it would only drive Killian up the wall even more. He could see her pleased smirk. “So fucking cruel.”

“You deserve it for being a brat.” Connor spoke from the bench, already tidying himself up and tucking his now soft cock inside his pants. He got up and sat down on the bench Killian was cuffed to. “And for that, you only get to watch.”

“Oh, c’mon! You have to be kidding me!” in his frustration he tugged against Richard’s handcuffs again, which made Connor lean in and coldly warn him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. If this is cruel for you, we haven’t even started then.”

Killian swallowed hard at Connor’s phrasing—he didn’t need to swallow at all he was an android for fuck’s sake! But Connor’s angry frown, the freezing cold stare he gave him… Richard was down right terrifying, but Connor knew how to exactly exploit your weaknesses, and right now Killian was his target. Connor distracted him long enough so Killian didn’t see Richard hauling Ona up and walking them to the nearest locker, resting her back on the cold metal. Her pleased groan as Richard filled her echoed around the locker room. Richard chose to undo a few buttons of his shirt earlier and Ona took that opportunity to sneak one of her hands under the layers of clothing Richard wore like armor.

Richard set a fast pace, already too pent up to take it slow. Killian could only watch and listen. The absolutely filthy but arousing squelching sounds of her filled up cunt only served to rile him up further. Ona opened her eyes, her gaze fixed on Killian’s one as she rested her head against Richard’s neck, panting against his exposed skin and sending pleasured shivers down his spine. Killian unconsciously mimicked her, opening slightly his mouth too to help his biocomponents cool down as he panted. After a perfectly spot on thrust from Richard, Ona’s eyes closed as she moaned loudly, biting his skin to quiet herself down. She kissed the abused flesh, apologising for being harsh, but it spurred Richard on, pressing her harder against the locker and thrusting into her with wild abandon. Ona’s legs squeezed his body, a dead give-away of how she was close again. The three androids always made sure to take advantage of Ona being multiorgasmic, and right now it wasn’t an exception. Richard kept pistoning in and out, whispering to her ear all the praises he could think of, and letting gravity help him in filling Ona up. Richard sneaked a hand between them, much like Connor did earlier, and rubbed his fingers against her clit in the same rhythm his hips were snapping into her.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck– I’m so close, so close!” Ona was feeling light-headed, drunk with pleasure. Her nails dug into his jacket hard enough for Richard’s sensors to feel the pressure, mewling softly into his skin, as her other hand gripped his short hair and tugged. That made Richard let out a pleasured grunt as he shoved harder his hips against hers.

Richard jerked his hips a few more times until he went completely still, pressing her body against the locker with his body. He let out a low groan, his big hands squeezing her heated flesh, as Ona came around him, crying out his name. She could feel Richard’s cock pulse inside her, filling her up to the brim and adding more to the mess left by Connor. It was sinfully perfect.

Ona sighed, content and sated. Richard carefully let her down, not missing his chance to run his hands up her legs and caress her ass, holding her close to him when her legs trembled. She couldn’t help but to snicker, resting her sweaty face on Richard’s chest, not believing they sneaked off to have some sort of a sex-marathon in the middle of work hours.

Honestly, it wasn’t the first time it happened. But it still made Ona feel a little bit guilty. Just a little bit.

“Are you alright?” Richard whispered in her ear, kissing her neck as he still held her in his arms.

“My legs feel like jello. And I’m sticky.” Ona didn’t want to look down. “And I need to clean up ASAP.”

Connor and Richard looked at each other, an idea already forming in their heads. They both glanced at Killian, who stared at them back. That wasn’t going to end well for Killian and he knew it. When those two played masterminds and he was the victim, it wasn’t fun. Usually.

“I think someone may be able to help you with the cleaning.” Connor stood up, dusting off his clothes.

“After all, you have been obedient. You deserve a reward.” Richard kept kissing her shoulders, following the trails of freckles.

“Let’s put that tongue to good use, shall we?”

Richard helped Ona walk over Killian, who was eagerly awaiting her with his mouth slightly open and eyes glued to Richard’s cum trickling down her thighs. Killian licked his lips, ready to blow her mind with his devilish tongue. He unconsciously tugged at the handcuffs.

He’d never say it out loud but he fucking loved this.

When Hank finds them later, going on their merry way to join the water-gun fight once again, he completely ignores the red mark on Ona’s neck, having an idea of why they disappeared for so long. Also, Richard forgot to button up the last button of his shirt.

Hank snorted, taking a sip of his beer. Kids. Let them have their fun.

[aj-artjunkyard]

Trials Of Apollo Oneshot Series CHAPTER THREE

It had been a hectic few weeks, so naturally, I figured I’d earned some alone time. I lay facing the  twinkling stars on the roof of our borrowed (see: stolen) Ford Transit van, in the middle of nowhere, plucking at the strings of my combat ukulele. I closed my eyes and played a tune I had written for my mother many millennia ago…

572 BC

“Phoebus Apollon!” My mother laughed as she slapped my arm playfully. “You cannot insult the Queen of the gods like that!” 

“Ah, but you know she deserves it.” I said, bumping my shoulder into hers. We sat on the highest cliff on Delos, watching the sunset. The golden light made mother’s bronze skin glow, and her silky, caramel hair whipped around her face, sometimes obscuring her kind eyes. I gazed at her in awe, having no doubt why my father had fallen in love with her. Or why queen cow-face was so jealous. I myself appeared as a twenty-one year old, with my usual shoulder length blonde hair and golden toga. My head sat just a few inches above my mother’s.

“How is your new job?” Leto stirred my out of my reverie.

“Hmm?”

She smiled again, showing her dazzling white teeth. “The sun chariot, yiós.”

“Oh. It’s good. The sun horses moulded their personalities to suit mine after the first day. Most of the palace did actually. I named the horses too. And I don’t use the whip like Helios did. I think they’re grateful for that. The whip, I mean, or lack thereof. Though I do hope they like the names I gave them. They’re all sun related; Blaze, Flame, Dawn and Fire, though I may change that last one as it seems quite unoriginal-” I glanced over at my mother, only to see her smile had melted.  She looked out at the sea, her head slightly bowed. Tears threatened to fall from her soft blue eyes.

Realising my mistake, I quickly took her hands in my own. “I’m sorry. I should have been more sensitive. I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut sometimes, huh?” I tried for a smile, and manage to coax a sad one from my mother. 

Leto could have rivalled even Hestia’s serenity and kindness. Of course she had taken the disappearance of her two cousins, Helios and Selene, to heart. They had both been such good souls, neither deserving of extinction. But such is the life of an immortal. Someday we would all fade from human memory. I fear that day. 

Leto wiped a tear from her cheek. “I am glad you are not using the whip, child. I expect nothing less from such a kind-hearted young man.” She knew of my hatred of slavery. She knew everything about me, more than any mortal lover could ever comprehend. I did not have to pretend to be unrelentingly optimistic when I was around her.

“And what of the names?” I asked. Leto giggled, her dimples deepening.

“Very catchy.” she said, resting her head on my shoulder. “What about your other domains? Have you written any new songs lately?” In response, I willed my lyre to materialise in my hands. Leto cuddled closer to me as I strummed my latest tune, and closed her eyes when I sang softly along to the calming melody. 

Leaning my head down on my mother’s, we watched the last traces of the sun melt beyond the horizon. It was a glorious sunset, if I do say so myself. Of course, it was all for the best mother in the world.

Present 

As the final note dissipated, a jarring clang rang out from my right. Startled, I sat bolt upright and huffed at the source of the noise.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep, Meg?”

“You’re not sleeping either, dummy.” My demigod master clumsily climbed the rest of the way onto the roof of the van, and plonked herself down beside me. We sat in silence for a while. That was alright with me. I figured this was as close to ‘alone time’ as I would ever get as a mortal. “The song you played,” Meg said suddenly, “who was it for?” I said nothing. I looked up at the stars again. They hadn’t changed. Maybe a few new ones, but mostly, they were the same. I tried to say something, just to make meg’s painful question go away. I opened my mouth and felt a sob swell up in my throat. I closed it again. After a while, Meg’s stare became too much.

“My mother,” I conceded. Meg nodded, as if this answer was worth an hour’s explanation. A few more minutes silence followed.

“Were you close?” I thought it strange that my master of few words and more kicks would be asking two questions in a row. Was she trying to comfort me in her own Meggy way, perhaps? I studied her expression. As always, she was hard to read. The tilt in her eyebrows gave a concerned look, though the rest of her face was unchanged from her usual closed-off/blank character. Part of me wanted her to back off. My past was my business. But I reminded myself that she had only had a proper parental figure for a few years. Then he was gone. I was lucky. One of my parents had always loved me and stuck by me, and I took her for granted. I feared I may never see her again. It was my duty to spread the warmth she had given me to a young girl who had never had the comfort of a parent for long.

“Yes. Though I doubt I was as attentive a son as she was a mother. I was always ‘too busy’. But when I did see her, she was always forgiving of my stupid excuses.” I gestured vaguely at the dark sky in front of us. “We did things like this. Sit up in the highest, quietest place we could find, and watch the sun set. Sometimes, she would ask me to sing for her. I’d teach her my best songs, and we’d sing them together. I wrote a lot of songs that were only for my mother and I on those peaceful evenings. We’d dance too. Her waltz is only rivalled by my friend Terpsichore, the muse of dance. Even she has complemented my mother’s gracefulness.” I sighed. Meg stared at a star, squinting her eyes in and out of focus.

“We did that too,” she said.

“What,” I said. “Dance?”

“No, dummy.” Meg punched me in the arm. I bit back a retort, knowing she may be about to share something sensitive. Unless she decided I was too stupid to understand and said nothing more. I waited for her to elaborate, but I admit I wasn’t expecting anything. To my surprise, she continued.

“We watched the sun set. Then we stayed for the stars. My dad used to name all the constellations.” She picked at a callus on her hand, a seemingly frequent habit of hers. “He was smart like that.”

I nodded. “Where you had a father, I had a mother. At least that’s one thing we have in common. Though I feel you and Demeter would get along like a… well, you’d agree on most things.” I looked away and blew out my cheeks. I had almost said they’d ‘get along like a house on fire’. I am doubtless our little session would be abruptly cut off if I reminded my young master of the house-fire that drove her and Phillip McCaffrey out of Aeithales. 

“Would we agree on how dumb you are?”

I shot her a glare, but for some reason the sheer bluntness of her question amused me more than usual. “I suppose you would,” I snickered.

Meg leaned back on her palms. Her rhinestones glittered in the starlight, illuminating her moss green eyes. “She missed out.”

“What do you mean?”

Meg shrugged. “Aeithales. Dad. She missed out.”

I wanted to explain that even if Demeter wanted to visit, she couldn’t have. Zeus’s laws forbade it, as we would get distracted from our godly duties. But as I looked up at my sister’s peaceful chariot, I thought about the sun, and how it would continue to soar across the sky even if there were no one driving it. It would take the form of a barque or a star. It made me wonder if Zeus’s excuse was even close to an acceptable one. Definitely not something I would be able to stomach telling my children to excuse my absence anymore, anyways. 

“You tried to kill your dad once,” Meg noted.

“Not exactly, but I know when you’re referring to,” I said, confused. I failed to connect what an unsuccessful revolution thousands of years ago had to do with our present talk about good and bad parents. 

“It didn’t work.”

I sighed. “I am aware.”

Meg looked me right in the eyes, giving me the unsettling feeling that overtook me when she issued me an order, but somehow without uttering a word. She appeared to study me like a patient on an operating table - proof that she was a far more complex being than she seemed. I fidgeted a bit. Her gaze became heavy, and I found my eyes were flicking around for a safe place to land. I forced myself to stop and look her in the eyes, though it took some convincing. I wasn’t sure if I’d overstepped my mark and made her angry, and believe me, an angry Meg is not someone you want to sit next to in the middle of the night with no witnesses around to call her out. Not that Meg cared that much about witnesses, mind you. Thankfully, instead of kicking me, Meg began to speak.

“If it had worked,” she said quietly, “Would it have been worth it?” 

I admit, I was more taken aback by that question than I should have been. Of course she would compare my daddy issues with her own. Although I would never admit it out loud, I had privately compared Zeus to Nero on multiple occasions. Sometimes I would try to put myself in her shoes to predict what her reaction might be before I said anything. The other times I would forget, and end up with an elbow in my ribs.

I sighed. “I will never know, Meg. But I do know that Nero needs to be stopped, and we’re the only ones who can do it. We don’t exactly have the choice to flee.” Meg’s shoulders slumped. That was not the answer she’d been looking for. 

“I wasn’t taking about Nero,” she muttered.

“Of course not. But if it makes you feel any better-”

“It won’t.”

“-I don’t along with my father either.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Duh,” she mocked, lifting my shirt and gesturing at my pathetic mortal flab. I promptly snatched my shirt back from her grip and glared daggers at her. She only snickered, which I found quite annoying.

“I meant that I never got along with him. One time he forgot my name and called me Aspirin.”

Meg smirked. “I bet you’re still bitter.”

“I am!” I cried, throwing my hands up for dramatic effect. “It's not even close!”

“Kinda is.”

“And to make matters even worse, we were at lunch! All the Olympians were there,” I huffed. “Hermes wouldn’t shut up about it for years.” 

Meg snorted. “There’s gotta be one time you agreed on something.”

1335 CE

“Apollo!” A low voice thundered around the white walls of my palace in Delphi. I jumped, dropping the tub of oil paint I was using to decorate the whitewash. It showed my newest prophetic vision: an era of renaissance was ahead. I shook my hands (which then became clean), tucked the loose strands of my long, blond hair back into it’s man bun, and turned to see my father, Zeus, standing menacingly behind me. His were fists locked at his sides, and his electric blue eyes sparked. I tried my best not to shake. My father did not mess around when he was angry. I gave him a nervous smile.

“Father,” I greeted. “Is something amiss?” His scowl only deepened. 

“One of my sons just visited your oracle,” he growled. “She told him his death would be by your hand.”

I gulped. “W-well, I believe her exact words were ‘you shall be slain by the arrow of ill health’. That could mean many things, I am sure. Perhaps it is a metaphor, and he simply dies from sickness. Perhaps he gets bitten by a venomous serpent. I also have reason to believe he will enlist in a war in around fifteen years, perhaps he will be struck by a poisonous-” my anxious ramblings were cut short when a lightning bolt flashed into existence in Zeus’s right hand. I looked up at Zeus’s face, hoping, believing I would see some kind of reassurance. There was none there. 

“Father, you cannot truly think I can change the prophecy, do you?” Zeus starting striding towards me. Like the brave god I was, I backed up. Cowardly, I know. But I had no intentions to fight my father. I did not want to be vaporised. 

“Do not tell me what I can and cannot think, boy.” He scowled. His bolt began to spark more furiously, as if reflecting its master’s rage. I held my hands up in an ‘I surrender’ gesture, locked eyes with him and hummed a slow tune, hoping it would calm either my father or myself down. Zeus simply tensed his shoulders and muscled his way through the magic. 

With blinding speed, the lord of the sky reached out and roughly grabbed my upper arm, yanking me into his bolt. It erupted from my side and the pain overtook me. It seared every part of my body with a fire that could not even compare to Hephaestus’s hottest forges. I screamed a very ungodly scream. 

After an eternity, it ended. I hung limply in my father’s grip. My feet tried to support me, but my knees buckled like I was holding a herd of elephants on my back. My head hung as if my neck had been severed from my shoulders. My hair, now free of it’s man bun, dangled by my face, sticking to the sweat on my forehead and cheeks. 

A crackle sounded from beneath my chin. The bolt, as full of energy as ever, flickered madly, ready to give another shock at any moment. It was raised, forcing my head up to look at my father. His face showed no sign of regret. 

“Let us try that again,” Zeus snarled. “You will erase my son’s memories, take him to your oracle, and she will give him a different prophecy. Understand?”

I swallowed the taste of ichor in my mouth. “I can give him a different prophecy,” I wheezed. “But I cannot erase what my Pythia has already spoken.” 

That gained another bolt to my godly chest. Its razors tore though my lungs, my stomach, my heart, until I retched ichor and yesterday’s ambrosia. My eyes were overtaken by blinding light. I felt like I was floating, everything hurt so much that I couldn’t differentiate between the pain and the pressure of my feet on the floor or Zeus’s fist around my arm. 

When the light died down, I was lying on the floor, Zeus’s sandals an inch from my face. The pungent smell of smoke filled my nostrils. My skin was sizzling softly. I knew my form would begin to fix itself shortly, and I technically could take another hit, as I could not die, but to put it simply: I did not want to see or feel that bolt for at least another million years. A rough hand dragged up by the back of my robes, and held nose to nose with Zeus. 

“Would you like to test my offer again?”

I shook my head, already thinking about how great it would feel when I finally did slay that demigod. I would enchant that arrow with such awful diseases, such terrible sicknesses that would overcome his corpse and spread to anyone with mile of the body. I wanted that boy to suffer the way I suffered. Father was wrong. I could not change the prophecy. But I would let the oracle tell him of his greatest days - his victories, his legacies. I would paint him a picture so great that he would never see his death coming. I would wait. I would wait until his best day - that would be the day I would cut him down. I hated that boy. I hated that accursed lighting bolt.

I did just that. In the end, it was me that killed the boy. Zeus knew who did it - deep down, he knew prophecies could not be changed. I would still be the one to kill his son. I was not sorry. I almost welcomed the excruciating torment of the bolt.

Present

“No. I don’t think we ever agreed on much.”

Meg blew a raspberry. “You're so petty.”

I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. I remembered killing many innocent people for the singular reason that I was too scared to be angry at my father. I had never before looked back. But now, it was no wonder that demigods had short lifespans. I was not alone in being too afraid to challenge the lord of the sky. My sister, Artemis, was guilty. So was Ares, Hephaestus, Hera and everyone else. Poseidon would always be the only one to challenge him. But he was not innocent either. 

“We should get some sleep. If I remember correctly, we found some blankets in he trunk.”

Meg jumped off the roof of the van, and called back, “Dibs on the big green one!”

Ugh. Typical.