#i might just rest on my laurels

[smallratboy]

Geta's Favorite Concubine

You were Emperor Geta's favorite. In the dark reaches of the night, when you were curled up in his bed, your soft breathing ghosting over his chest, he might just admit he loved you. He always called on you, and you always gave him everything he asked. In the midst of pleasure, his presence filling you to the brim, you might just admit you loved him.

tw. smut! mndni!!

Emperor Geta sat on his throne, an imposing figure in his gold robe, a crown of laurels shining amongst his fiery curls. The senators milled about in front of him, arguing amongst one another. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. It had been this way for hours. 

He stood suddenly, causing everyone to stop and look up at him. He sighed, offering a tight-lipped smile to the men in the room. 

“Senators,” He said, “I can sense you are all weary. Please, rest and think on your conversations. We shall meet again tomorrow, and we shall make a decision.”

With that, he strode out of the room, his robe swishing behind him as he went. He let out a groaning sigh, glad to be rid of those twittering assholes. He found a praetorian monitoring the halls, and bade him to find a concubine and send them to his rooms. 

“Find my favorite,” He commanded, and the praetorian nodded, walking off on his mission. Geta strode through the halls, taking his time to relax before returning to his quarters. He wanted you to be ready and waiting by the time he got there. 

And ready you were. His cock twitched at the sight of you, spread naked on his bed. You flushed as you saw him, meeting his eyes and swiping your tongue across your lip. 

“Caesar,” you whispered, rising to your knees on his bed. Geta made his way over to you, cupping your face in his hands. He gazed down at you, his intense brown eyes stripping you bare. 

“Submit to your emperor,” Geta ordered, letting you go. He pressed down on your chest, forcing you onto your back. He removed his sandals slowly, watching you. Your eyes never once left him as he climbed atop you, jewels glinting in the sunlight. You felt very exposed, naked before him while he was still fully clothed, his crown of laurels shining in the late-afternoon sun. 

His head dipped down to the crevice made by your neck and shoulder, inhaling your scent. One hand was clamped firmly at your hip, while the other thumbed your nipple teasingly. You ran your hand through the hair at the base of his skull, giving a soft tug as he pinched your nipple. 

He left soft, warm kisses along your neck and collarbone, devouring you slowly, his lips leaving a teasing trail. Finally, his lips met yours in a starving kiss, your mind reeling from the intensity of his kiss. 

“Please,” You breathed as he pulled away, your cunt throbbing. You pleaded with your eyes, looking up at him from your position trapped beneath his body. “Please, Geta.” 

He groaned at the use of his name, tilting his head back. You could feel his length pressed against your thigh, hot and heavy and desperate. You ran your hands over his thighs, feeling the muscles beneath his robes.  

“Would you ever defy your emperor?” Geta asked, sitting back and slowly disrobing. Expensive jewels were dropped carelessly to the floor, fine fabrics discarded. His hairless chest glimmered with soft beads of sweat. 

“Never,” you whispered, your hands returning to his thighs. 

He manhandled your legs apart, gazing at your wetness. He licked his lips, his pupils blown. He slotted himself between your legs, his cock brushing against you teasingly. 

“And do you love your emperor?” He asked, lining himself up with your hole. 

“Yes,” you breathed, holding his neck and gazing into his eyes as he slid into you with comfortable ease. You knew one another's bodies so well it was like returning home to have him inside you, flooding all your senses and consuming you.

His lips crashed against yours as he began to fuck you in earnest, his rage and frustration breaking through and driving his thrusts with a flaming intensity. Your broken moans and whines could be heard above the slapping of skin, and you could feel Geta's hot breath on you as he panted. 

“Who do you belong to?” He asked, moving his hand between your bodies to rub tight circles against your clit.   

“You!” You cried, back arching in pleasure. “Always you,” Your nails raked down his back, arms wrapping around him to bring him closer to you. You wanted to feel him everywhere.

“Say it,” He commanded, his words coming out desperate and strained.

“I'm yours!” You moaned, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Your thighs shook around Geta's hips, and he let out a desperate groan as he came inside you. Slowly, he pulled out and wrapped himself around you, holding you close to him. 

You did not speak as you caught your breath, basking in the afterglow. Your limbs felt soft, and you were warm and sleepy in Geta's embrace. 

He idly played with your hair, watching you softly. You were held securely in his arms, his favorite concubine. His.

[beckyninja]

Endure

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemOC

Warnings: Implied flogging

Description: Leandros continues to try to break Sera. Vesta, Gadriel, and Chairon realize the difficulty of their position. And Titus experiences a strange foreboding.

Titus is on his way back, everyone! But will he be in time?

Find the previous parts of this series on my Masterlist. And feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the Taglist.

(Also, my Asks and DM's are open if anyone has questions or comments. I'd love to talk!)

Leandros’s hand trailed along the hanging implements of correction, caressing them with something approaching affection. He paused at the jagged, steel-corded lashes meant to penetrate the hide of erring Astartes. 

A single strike would leave her bleeding out upon the floor. No.

He moved on. Knotted cord. Worn hide. All stained with the holy blood of the penitent. His fingers rested upon one more darkly tinted than the rest.

The serf I caught sneaking away from his post. I remember his excuses. A sick child, was it? 

He sneered.

Never will he commit that sin again.

But, still too harsh for her, perhaps. He did not wish to permanently damage her skin. That skin she flaunted before his very eyes. Smooth and soft, barely hidden beneath a layer of sodden fabric. 

“Obscene,” he muttered, even as his blood stirred.

Finally his fingers curled around a whip of silken rope, less stained than the others. He could not remember its purpose. Perhaps a relic of the less zealous Chaplains who’d come before him.

Leandros thanked the God-Emperor he had not discarded it when he first took this post.

He lifted the tool, felt its negligible weight. He would need to mind himself as he used it. Rein in his righteous fervor. 

Her death, uncleansed, unredeemed… unbroken… would be a waste.

His fist clenched around a single, golden laurel leaf. “She will scream for me before I am finished.” 

Not you, Titus. Me.

Saliva pooled in his mouth at the thought.

***

Chairon’s fist left a dent in the steel wall. “We must do something!” 

Seated next to him on the cot, the little medica flinched. He softened his tone.

“We should inform the Captain.”

“And tell him what?” Gadriel had not stopped pacing since bringing them back to his chamber.

Chairon struggled to master his rising rage. “And tell him that a vital tenet of the Codex is being broken by none other than-”  

“The Chaplain.” Gadriel faced him, face contorted. “The Chaplain, brother! Need I remind you of his exalted position on board this ship?”

Before Chairon could snap back a reply, the little medica whispered.

“No one will believe us, will they?”

The despair in her voice wrenched something within him. Without thinking, he placed a hand upon her shoulder.

Throne, how small she is beneath my gauntlet.

“We will make them believe.”

“How will we do that?” Gadriel snarled. 

Chairon bit back his anger when he saw the turmoil in his brother’s eyes. The revelation of the Chaplain’s sins had hit him like a blow from a power fist. 

Even now, Chairon watched him struggle to rationalize.

“What do we know?” The Sergeant resumed his pacing. “He carries the woman’s bauble. That proves nothing.”

“But suggests everything.” Chairon spoke through clenched teeth. “And, do not forget, he haunted her steps for Throne knows how long.”

He felt the little medica lean into him. “Her nightmares began just after Lord Titus left.”

“For weeks, then.” Feeling her shudder, he drew her closer to his side. 

Gadriel stared at nothing. “I felt his hatred for the Lieutenant. It could have transferred onto the serf woman. But, why?”

“The Captain might know.”

A scoff. “I doubt he would take kindly to any inquiries. Acheran has more important matters to think about.”

More important than the abuse of those under his protection?

Chairon only realized he’d tightened his grip on the little medica when he heard her yelp. “Apologies, Vesta.” A thought struck him. “Would Apothecary Callistus be able to shed any light on the matter?”

She bit her lip and, again, he found himself oddly pleased by the sight. “I… don’t know, my Lord. We haven’t been with the Second Company very long. I could ask, but….”

“Speak, woman.” Gadriel snapped.

Chairon glared at him.

“I’ve heard stories of what the Chaplain does to serfs who displease him.” Tears filled her eyes. “He could be hurting Sera right now! Please, my Lords, we must move quickly!”

The sight sent an old pain through Chairon’s chest, one he hadn’t felt in a lifetime. Slipping off the cot, he sank to one knee in front of her. 

“We will do all we can. I swear it. Even if I must force my way into the Chaplain’s personal chambers!”

“Chairon….” He heard the warning in Gadriel’s voice.

The medica smiled through her tears. “Thank you, Lord Chairon. But… maybe, that won’t be necessary.”

He fought a sudden urge to cup her face in his palm. “Oh?”

Her little fists clenched on her lap. “I… think I have an idea.”

***

You awoke to warmth. And light. For a moment you dared hope.

Then you opened your eyes.

No…

The bare, metal room. The barred door. The altar. The corpse-like servitor. The nightmare continued.

But now a brazier smoldered next to you.

With a gasp, you tried to stand, only for a wave of dizziness to force you back to your knees. Undeterred, you crawled to the brazier and curled your cold-stiffened body around it. Blissful warmth soothed your aching muscles.

Thank you, Emperor!

For a long moment, you simply basked in the heat, in the feeling of your soaked clothing drying against your skin. 

He won’t be able to see me now. Won’t be able to look.

The memory erased any comfort from your mind. You hunched closer to the brazier, wrapping your arms around your knees as you fought a wave of nausea. Even with his face hidden behind a helm, you’d sensed the change. The coiled tension in his body. The measured way he’d stalked forward. 

Predatory.

You’d seen it before. But, with Demetrian, it invoked heat and excitement. A thrill down your spine at the thought of his touch.

Now….

He made me feel ashamed.

Tears pricked the backs of your eyes. You furiously rubbed them away. 

I need to think. There must be a way out of this besides… besides….

You could never give him what he wanted. The very thought of betraying Demetrian was unthinkable! 

Oh, Emperor, help me!

You pressed your face to your knees and shook. You weren’t a warrior. You weren’t even particularly strong. Or brave. You had no idea what he had in store for you. How could you hope to endure?

Yet, endure I must.

Vesta, Lord Callistus, Lord Chairon, Lord Gadriel. They must know about your disappearance by now. They must be looking for you. You would place your trust in them.

And Demetrian….

He would return. 

Wouldn’t he?

Footsteps. You didn’t dare look up as the door to your prison clanged open. You felt his presence like a physical manifestation of dread. 

Endure.

“Your perverse resistance is an insult to the God-Emperor Himself.”

Hard hands yanked you to your feet, spun you around, and pressed you against the wall. You yelped as they wrenched your own hands over your head, sending pain shooting through your shoulders. Something cold and hard clicked around your wrists. You couldn’t move.

Endure.

“You spit on my offer of mercy.”

The feeling of your robe being ripped from your shoulders dragged a cry from your throat. You pressed your bare body against the cold metal wall, desperate for a few more inches between you and your tormentor.

Oh, Throne, endure!

Hot breath against your ear. “And yet, I offer it once more. Denounce him.”

Tears ran down your cheeks. “No.”

I love you, Demetrian.

A deep sigh. “You brought this on yourself.”

I won’t break. I won’t! I will en-

Pain.

***

Titus’s eyes shot open.

He lay in the cold darkness of the quarantine cell. Across from him, Metaurus still slumbered. Titus spared a moment to listen to his old mentor’s hearts beating. Regular and strong. The Apothecaries had done their job well.

He felt a brief surge of relief.

I told you our time had not yet come, old man.

The relief faded all too quickly. Letting his head fall back against the cold metal of the floor, he pondered the source of his anxiety.

A dream?

He’d sworn he heard Sera’s voice crying out for him. His body trembled with the need to go to her, to press her softness against him. He’d fought through horrors to return to her.

Soon.

They’d done what he now knew was thought to be impossible. They’d defeated the abominable Sorcerer, slaughtered their way through hundreds of his maddened cultists, and come out alive.

Though not without a heavy price.

The thought of the way his brother Ultramarines had been cut down still sent flickers of rage through Titus’s blood. Had they known it was meant to be a suicide mission? He glanced at the sleeping form of his mentor once more. He’d known.

And yet, Titus could not bring himself to resent the old warrior. He’d done his duty. No, another deserved his wrath far more.

Leandros. He did not wish me to return.

“I can hear your teeth grinding, boy.”

Titus’s eyes shot to his mentor. “You are awake.”

“Thanks to you.” Metaurus groaned as he sat up. “Does our confinement trouble you so greatly?”

“No.” And yes.

He knew the protocol. He and Metaurus had come into close contact with Chaos. His brothers had to be certain they carried no corruption. Thus, the quarantine. He could not very well explain how every day spent locked in this cell was a day he could have spent with the woman he loved.

“Hmmm.” The veteran leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. “You say her name in your sleep.” 

Titus jerked upright. His hearts pounded wildly in his chest.

Throne! What have I done?! If anyone else heard-

“Calm yourself, boy.”

“Metaurus-”

The veteran held up a hand. “You are not the first.”

Titus could only stare.

His former mentor continued. “They are not acknowledged, and many Chaplains disapprove, but such… relationships… are not entirely unknown amongst our Chapter.” 

“Do you disapprove?”

Metaurus opened one eye. “The woman gave her consent?”

Titus leapt to his feet with a snarl. “I would never force-!”

“Peace, boy!” The old marine huffed. “Time has not cooled your temper, I see. If she consented, I do not disapprove. I only warn you to be discreet, for her sake, as well as yours.”

Silence stretched between them. Titus sank back down to the floor, wondering at the comfort he took in his old mentor’s words. 

It seems, even after all these years, I still crave his approval.

As Metaurus’s breaths deepened in sleep once more, Titus allowed his mind to wander. He wondered if any of the Ultramarines he knew harbored such desires. He couldn’t imagine Gadriel turning his eyes away from the Codex long enough to look upon a woman. Chairon, though….

Perhaps. As long as that woman is not Sera. My Sera.

The foreboding of his fragmented dream rushed back. One thought in particular refused to be pushed aside.

Theoretical: Leandros knows.

Practical: He will not shy away from punishing her.

The thought made sleep an impossibility. What could Gadriel, Chairon, or even the veteran Apothecary do against a Chaplain’s wrath?

What could I do?

Only one thing was certain: he must return to her as quickly as possible. Soon, it would become apparent to his brothers that neither he nor Metaurus suffered from corruption. Soon, he would be on his way back to the Second Company.

I will hold you in my arms again, Sera. And God-Emperor help anyone who tries to take you from me.

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith @noncon-photobomb @sinistermojo @b-rabbitboss @vyzz-undercover

@missmannequin @rivalriotrenegade @iloveoutlinesiswear @jaghatai-khock @hatsubara-8chan

@justanothermemestrider @meervalv0 @grimdark-raccoon @garlickedbreads @riokunova

@ailujsenutna @emiemiemiii @astrohymn @synfiction @soul-of-leya

@n0cturn4 @mgrm99 @seirensou @zamzmak @elita1

@ilovewolvezz @primordialsneeze @summersong2262 @nereidof40k @ahrianee

@sunsetlobster @nekotaetae @toto-the-cactus @thevoidscreams @vithralith

@contemporaryslug @thisuserislilsilly @runin64 @gobs-archive @sovietstrange45

@nebulagem

[peachtarto]

Now or Never

Pairing : Luke Castellan x reader

Word Count :

Summary : Luke missed his chance to ask you an important question, and is painfully unaware of it.

Warnings: mostly fluff! nothing crazy- Luke is dumb, Clarisse is an overprotective bestie, talk of self-doubt etc.

Masterlist here!

A/N : thinking of making this a little series of moments in your relationship- let me know if that’s something you guys would like!

‘Don’t you think it’s a little much?’ You questioned, eyeing your own reflection with what some might call a generous amount of scrutiny.

Silena gave no indication that she’d heard and continued talking, ‘there’ll be such good food, and wine of course, lots and lot of wine..’

The pins in your hair were already beginning to ache, and you tried not to wince as she added yet another one to the elegant braid she was painstakingly creating.

‘- imagine if we made this much fuss for our birthdays,’ she continued, ‘like, I get that he’s the god of festivity but I’ve got to question why he wants to party with a load of hormonal teenagers. Not that I’m complaining, we could all use a good party.’

Silena was already dressed: a deep purple gown of silk accented with golden cuffs, and little combs fashioned like gilded laurel leaves swept her hair away from her face. She looked beautiful, and there was not a doubt in your mind that she was the daughter of Aphrodite.

She’d picked out your dress which had been a relief, a soft chiffon that seemed to float when you moved. It was simple but elegant, she’d insisted- perfect for a daughter of Athena. She’d also said that the hair should match, but it’d been half an hour since she’d started and it was starting to feel everything but simple.

‘And can you believe we’re allowed to switch tables tonight? I can’t wait! Charles said we’d sit together obviously and I’m sure the Hermes boys will join as and..’

Her smile faltered when she saw the look on your face and she quickly halted her movements, ‘oh, don’t you like it?’

‘No no, it’s beautiful!’ You stammered quickly; she’d curled and brainded your hair back in a thick, loose plait with little gold pins shimmering throughout. Even in cabin 10, her skills were unrivalled. ‘I just- do you think it’s too much?’ You questioned again.

‘Too much?’ She scoffed, and then her full lips parted in a dazzling smile, ‘of course it’s too much, that’s the point! We want every boy in this camp on their knees! Figuratively of course.’

You tried to hide the smile that tugged on your lips, ‘You’ve already got Charles drooling after you non-stop, leave some for the rest of us.’

‘Some?’ She said and grinned rather fiendishly, ‘or do you want me to leave just a certain son of Hermes for you?’

You rolled your eyes and gave her a smooth, and rather horrible gesture as she went back to toying with your hair, giggling to herself.

Silena had been the one to introduce you to Luke two years prior. She’d gracefully swept you into her circle the moment you’d arrived in camp, convinced you would be claimed by her mother too. Had Luke not intervened and taken you to cabin 11 she probably would’ve had you sleeping top to toe in her bunk; she’d reluctantly handed you over, but not before she’d seen the look that had passed between the two of you. Love at first sight she’d insisted, and maybe she’d been mistaken on his end, but she hadn’t on yours.

‘You know, he really does like you. I can tell, and you should believe me because it’s literally my thing.’ She sighed, stepping back to admire her handiwork. She pulled and prodded at a few loose hairs until she seemed satisfied, then dragged you over to the long mirror at the back of the cabin.

You didn’t know how she’d managed it, but for once you didn’t cringe at the reflection you saw and a part of you couldn’t quite believe what stared back. There was no denying she was a master at her craft.

‘You look so beautiful!’ Silena squealed, her hands clasped together in pride. Then, without warning she pulled you into a bone-crushing hug that had the air leaving your lungs. ‘Tonight’s the night, for both of us, I can feel it!’

You hoped she was right as you followed her out of the cabin, towards the glittering lights in the pavilion.

Luke stood with Charles and Chris at the edge of the party, sipping slowly on the glass of wine in his hand. He supposed Mr D had been granted a night of reprieve.

‘Seriously man, chill out,’ he whispered over Beckendorf’s shoulder, ‘she’ll be here. Keep frowning like that and you’ll pop a blood vessel.’

He could sense Charles shifting in his feet nervously and his mouth twitched slightly, he knew the feeling all too well. He’d been on edge all day too. Chris was smirking too, but his was all smugness; he’d asked Clarisse outright to attend the party with him and much to everyone’s surprise, she’d said yes immediately, which was lucky for him because the alternative would almost certainly have been the loss of a limb.

‘How can it possibly take this long to get ready?’ Charles said, turning to face Luke. It was odd to see the son of Hephaestus so flustered when he was normally immune to the whims of teenage hormones; apparently he was not at all immune to the power Silena Beauregard seemed to hold over him. ‘Maybe she’s not coming man, we should just go before- oh..’ he trailed off. His eyes went starry and Luke whipped his head around to see what had entranced his friend.

There was Silena in her finery, tossing her hair over a shoulder as she swept into the pavilion. She threw a dangerously beautiful grin at Charles who was beginning to look a little like he might faint.

‘Hi Charles,’ she offered as she sauntered over. Anyone else might’ve missed the shake in her voice, but Luke caught the slightly nervous wobble of her tone and smiled. Good for Beckendorf.

‘You look great Silena,’ he managed to cough out. He quickly eyed Luke who gave an tiny nod of approval as if to say ‘keep going buddy!’

‘I know,’ she sighed dreamily, giving a little twirl of her dress before looping her arm through Charles’ who was now definitely holding his breath. Silena giggled and patted his chest sweetly before throwing a mischievous glare at Luke, ‘Just wait till you see her, I think you’ll get a little breathless too Castellan. Now come on Charlie, let’s get a drink.’

Luke watched her lead his friend away to where Chris stood with an arm slung around Clarisse’s waist; she’d opted for a gown of stormy grey adorned with tiny silver chains, as close to armour as she could get he guessed. She looked slightly terrifying, until Chris whispered something in her ear that had a blushing like crazy and stepping even closer into his side.

‘They make a great couple, don’t you think?’

Luke spun around quickly at the sound of your voice and cursed silently, Silena had been right. All the air left his lungs in a great breath and he was instantly lightheaded at the sight of you.

Devastating was the only word that came to his mind. Truly devastating. You could’ve walked into Olympus then and there and they probably would’ve pronounced you a goddess in an instant. He was struck dumb, and silent. He wanted to say something about how beautiful you looked, or how he’d been wrapped around your delicate finger the day you’d walked into camp; instead his frantic brain settled on, ‘nice dress, did you borrow it from Silena?’

You flinched. ‘No. We were sent a trunk to pick from from her mother.’

‘Oh.’ Was all he could reply as his gaze raked over you again. ‘That’s awfully nice of her.’

‘Very.’ You said through gritted teeth, trying to stop the scarlet blush you could feel rising to your cheeks. What was his problem? It wasn’t unusual for Luke to be blunt, he always struggled to keep his opinions to himself and it had gotten you both in hot water a hundred times before; but it was unusual for him to be blunt with you.

He’d been distant all week, he’d managed to miss three sparring sessions with you and counsellor duties on several occasions. The first few times Chris had been polite enough to make excuses for him, but when the two of you walked into the arena one morning to find Luke and Travis swinging swords at eachother, he’d stayed silent. He didn’t have to tell you what was already painfully obvious. Luke wasn’t ill, and hadn’t ’slept in late’, he’d just been avoiding spending any amount of time with you. You hadn’t had any idea why; and now, standing in the pavilion with the air thinning in between you both, you were even more confused.

He ran his eyes over your dress yet another time and something seemed to snap in your chest. ‘If you’re going to keep judging my outfit,’ you managed to spit out, ‘do it at the dinner table, I’m starving and don’t have the energy to defend myself. Let’s go sit with the others.’

You span away from him so quickly you missed him opening and closing his mouth as he tried to explain himself. As you stalked towards the table your friends had gathered around you must’ve been wearing a murderous expression, because Silena quirked her eyebrow at him with a face that said ‘what did you say?’ He responded with a small shrug before slipping into the seat opposite you.

Luke tried, and failed, to catch your eye throughout dinner. Food came and went, and glasses of a sweet amber wine refilled themselves as soon as the last drop hit the drinker’s lips. Silena had made her way through at least five glasses by his count, and was whispering something in Charles’ ear that had the man choking on his strawberry tart. You’d barely touched yours, and had politely declined his offer to get you something else to drink. You’d barely touched your dinner either, pushing things around your plate with your fork until Connor had unceremoniously dumped the contents of it onto his own. He felt he should apologise for his brother’s behaviour, but when he’d tried, you’d turned to watch the campers dancing by the fire.

The soft light from the flames flickered over the planes of your face and he knew he shouldn’t stare, but after starving himself of you for almost a week, he was finding it hard to look away. If he was honest with himself, it had been almost impossible to endure. You’d spent almost every day together for two years; a week apart had him feeling like he was missing a limb.

But a week apart was better than a week of watching male campers saunter up to you in a flurry of proposals. He’d managed to stick around long enough to see two Ares boys crash and burn and that was more than enough. If the failures were that bad, seeing you agree to attend the party with someone would probably have finished him off. He wondered which insufferable git you’d given in to, which one you’d been stood up by.

Curious, he leaned forward and asked loud enough to get your attention- ‘where’s your date?’

You slid your eyes away from the dancers and faced Luke. He was toying with the stem of his glass. Your throat tightened, and your face warmed uncomfortably. ‘I don’t have one.’

‘What?’ He asked incredulously.

‘Loads of people came alone Luke.’ You said replied quietly, keenly aware of the sudden silence of the conversations between everyone else at the table. ‘It’s not a big deal.’

‘I know, I just thought you would’ve put someone out of their misery. Every guy at camp must’ve asked you.’

‘Almost every guy.’ Chris whispered into his drink, rolling his eyes.

‘A few asked, yes.’ You murmured.

‘And you came alone anyway?’

You could’ve sworn Chris was wincing now, and Clarisse had the good sense to find the lights strung above the tables incredibly interesting all of a sudden. Silena however, looked like she was about to explode. You didn’t even know where to begin, your cheeks weren’t warm anymore, they were burning.

‘Yes.’ You ground out, hoping he’d take the hint and keep his mouth shut for once.

Luke went to speak, but Charles cut in before he could begin. ‘We should go dance!’ He declared, slapping his knees over-enthusiastically and standing so quickly he nearly toppled over his chair. The others rose with murmurs of agreement, eager to get away from what was becoming an increasingly awkward conversation.

‘You guys go ahead,’ you said, rising from your chair ‘I’m going to get some fresh air.’

You hoped no one would mention that you were already outside, surrounded by fresh air, and thankfully no one did. Silena gave you an apologetic look but you shook it off. The lights suddenly seemed much too bright, and the table of your friends was starting to feel like an audience to your embarrassment. As they all walked towards the fire you began in the opposite direction, lifting your dress slightly to allow your feet to travel quickly towards the cabins.

Luke felt Silena’s hand meet the back of his head in a swift slap before he could reach out to stop it.

‘You are as dense as old bread Castellan!’ She hissed as he cradled his neck. The boys were looking at him disapprovingly, but Clarisse was just glaring at him like she was sizing him up for a fight.

‘Chris where’s my knife?’ She asked coldly, holding her hand out in her boyfriend’s direction.

‘Woah- what did I do?’ Luke exclaimed, which earned him a hard flick right in the centre of his forehead. Whoever said Aphrodite’s children weren’t vicious fighters was beginning to sound like a goddam liar, he thought.

‘Do you know how many guys she turned down for tonight?’ Silena continued, ‘almost every guy at camp! And do you know why Captain No Clue?’

Luke just stared blankly until she let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Because she was waiting for you to ask her! I was hoping you’d pull your finger out by the end of the week but you didn’t, and you let her come alone.’

He flinched. Silena’s face tightened and her dark eyes flicked to Charles. Something unsaid flashed between them before she turned her gaze back on Luke; her anger was gone, replaced with something strangely close to pity.

‘You wanted to ask her, didn’t you?’ She asked- carefully. Her eyes were beginning to crinkle like she was about to burst into tears. She dashed forward and forced him down into a tight hug. ‘Oh Luke, I’m so stupid!’

Clarisse rolled her eyes. ‘Daughter of the goddess of love and you didn’t see this one coming? Even Chris figured this one out!’ She chided, then added sweetly in his direction, ‘no offence babe.’

He thought of every moment he’d spent with you; the hours of sparring sessions under the heat of the summer sun, the picnics out in the strawberry fields, sneaking between your cabins in the middle of the night to swap stories of your lives before all of this. He’d known the risks of falling for you, and he’d done it anyway. He’d thought about telling you a hundred times. He had thought about telling you that he didn’t want or expect anything from you in return, that he just needed you to know how he felt because it was torture to suffer it in silence. Over the months he’d managed to convince himself that you didn’t feel anything close to what he felt for you, and had resigned himself to living in the wake of your existence.

Luke’s heart stumbled, taking all the confusion and doubt with it, he blurted, ‘I should go after her,’ and started after you, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Even at a fast-paced jog, he only managed to catch up with you when you were rushing up the stairs to your cabin, the skirts of your dress billowing out behind you.

‘Wait up!’ he shouted through heavy breaths.

You didn’t let him continue and just increased your pace, rushing to get to the door. If you could make it inside and shut him out, perhaps he wouldn’t see the tears that had begun fall. A small part of you ached to stop and turn to him, but you knew what was coming. Silena would have tried to intervene once you’d left, and he was probably coming after you to let you down gently. You weren’t sure you could survive that.

‘Gods will you slow down!’ Luke yelled, ‘I want to talk to you!’

‘Don’t bother,’ you said bluntly, ‘I know what you’re going to say.’

‘Oh yeah? What am I going to say?’

He’d taken the Athena cabin steps two at a time and was right behind you now. You could hear his ragged breathing, had he ran here? He must really want to get it over with, you thought bitterly. ‘Does it matter? Just go back to the party Luke, they’ll be missing you.’

‘It matters to me. I don’t want to be there if you’re not.’ He said softly and reached out to grab your hand. His fingers grazed your own, warm and steadfast- patiently waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t, you couldn’t bare it.

As you turned to face him fully you realised you were close enough to share breath. In other circumstances you might’ve stared up at him with longing; now all there seemed to be was the awful sinking feeling that you were about to lose him.

You opted to not meet his eyesight, and instead studied the scuffed wood of the cabin porch beneath your feet.

‘Then why didn’t you ask me to go with you?’ You managed to ask. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your skin like a brand. ‘I thought we were friends Luke, I thought that would be enough to get you to tolerate me for one evening so neither of us had to go alone.’

‘That’s not..’ he took a deep breath before he continued. Now or never, he thought, and opted for now.

‘I didn’t ask you because I didn’t want to go as your friend. I wanted to go as your date. I knew you’d say no, because every guy here was chalking up how to ask you themselves and I couldn’t- I couldn’t stand it. I’d prepared myself to see you with someone else tonight and it caught me off guard to see you alone. I had all these things I wanted to say to you, about how beautiful you looked, but I panicked and said some really stupid stuff back there. And i’m sorry, for all of it.’

It was your turn to take a deep breath, and without thinking your fingers tightened around his own. The air was too tight, humming between your bodies, between your joined hands.

‘Ask me now then.’ You dared.

He was silent for long enough that you dared to look up and meet his eyes. You were sure your expression was mirrored on his own: shock, longing, and then something like amusement.

He was smiling like a kid on Christmas at your offer, broad and unrestrained. ‘You want me to ask you to go to the party with me? Now? After I’ve just poured my heart out?’

‘If you don’t want to that fine.’ You teased, a small smile returning to your face. ‘What was it you said about every guy at camp?’

Luke let out a laugh and took a step closer, ‘I don’t care about the party. Go on a date with me. Tomorrow, today, hell let’s go now. I don’t care. Just go out with me. I’m not waiting another two years for this chance.’

‘Of course I’ll go out with you Castellan.’ You replied softly. You didn’t even have to think about your answer, you’d been preparing it for months.

‘Really?’

‘Yes really.’ You laughed and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

With a sudden burst of confidence, Luke leaned down to brush his mouth against your blushing cheek. You thought you might burst then and there as he pulled you into his chest to whisper in your ear, ‘you look beautiful. You are beautiful. Always. Even covered in sweat during sparring practice, or windswept from the chariot races. I can never look away from you.’

He was blushing too when he pulled away, leaving you staring up at him, breathless again. His smile was nervous as he said, ‘I want to do this properly, I’ll plan something great I promise. But for now, I would be honoured if you’d come back to the party with me, as my date.’

You quirked an eyebrow. ‘Will you dance with me?’

‘Of course I’ll dance with you,’ Luke said, wrapping an arm around your waist, ‘I plan to show you off in fact. I’m pretty sure I’ve just achieved the impossible as far as the guys here are aware. I reserve bragging rights.’

[rileys-battlecats]

micaclan tumblr dash simulator

☁️ the-fluffiest-puddle follow

I cannot believe the things my friends talk me into. on an unrelated note where can you hide a baby coyote

#puddletalks #seriously where did they find that thing #and WHY did they keep it??

(3 notes)

⭐️ larkstar-unofficial follow

if you catch prey and eat it before bringin anything back to the clan i'll kill you on sight <3 many such cases, unfortunately

🌠 larkstar-official follow

Laureltail I know this is you. I've told you twice now to delete this blog. Meet me in my den this evening, we're having a talk

⭐️ larkstar-unofficial follow

chat i think im going to die tonight

#remember me #never forget my sacrifice

(24 notes)

🐆 speckled-trees-and-autumn-leaves follow

people looove to ask me "oh birchspeckle tell me the future, will the clan thrive this greenleaf, will i find a mate that loves me" but then the SECOND i tell them the exact time and date of their death suddenly I'M the bad guy?? like ok sweaty you're the one that was after forbidden knowledge you don't get to be choosy about what you learn

#justmedicinecatthings #seriously they get so upset when they learn this stuff like. how do you think i feel? #i just gotta sit on this information forever? im not allowed to vent?? #this is why i never hang out in the camp smh

(1 note)

🐦‍⬛ muddy-paws follow

anybody else finding the torment relentless

(0 notes)

💊 owlpounce-official follow

This is your reminder to stretch before partaking in any strenuous activity! The best way to stay healthy and happy is to take steps to avoid being hurt in the first place. Stretching first may seem like a waste of time, but I promise it's much better to spend a few minutes stretching your legs before hunting than to spend a few days in the medicine den recovering from a pulled muscle!

#PSA #selfcare #safe practices

(15 notes)

🍐 having-a-peary-good-day follow

I don't want to name any names, but I feel like we as a clan have an issue with delegation of labor when it comes to the care of our most vulnerable members. Watching the kits is all well and good, but as the only current queen in the nursery right now, I find myself doing so much repair work for the den walls all by myself. Nominally, our apprentices ought to be doing much of this work, but quite frankly, our 'paws simply don't have the necessary experience to fix the more delicate areas, and I have ended up redoing much of their work myself. This isn't to disparage our apprentices, they've been doing their best, but I have ideas as to how we might better address these issues as a clan.

Keep reading

#genuinely I think we could be doing this so much more efficiently #like I understand that the 'paws need the learning experience #but not at the cost of our kitten's warmth and safety #you know? #and that's not even mentioning the elder's den

(7 notes)

💫 swooping-hawk-rising-star follow

fffksnkd. Ssssssksdjsj,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,h

🪷 white-tipped-tail follow

You ok, Hawkpaw?

💫 swooping-hawk-rising-star follow

COYOTE PUP ON MY KEYBOARD

#HELP

(4 notes)

🦊 foxjaw-official follow

The dawn patrol spotted bear tracks this morning just past the northeastern border, near the old hemlock tree. The tracks were old, and did not lead into Micaclan territory. Be that as it may, remember to remain on guard, and to travel in groups of 3 or more until it can be confirmed that the bear has not remained close by.

#PSA #patrol reports

(15 notes)

🏞️ gullys-tuft follow

Why is Sandleap retching into the bushes

#should i really be asking? #do i even want to know?

(2 notes)

🌸 resting-on-your-laurels follow

gonna stuff a frog inside a squirrel for my morning meal. surf and terf

🌸 resting-on-your-laurels follow

dont do this

🔥 embers-and-sparks follow

you can't tell me what to do

🔥 embers-and-sparks follow

dont do this

🏜️ pocket-sand follow

It can't be that bad!

🏜️ pocket-sand follow

dont do this

#the texture #its so bad #i dont want to waste prey but. i dont think i can swallow this #not pogchamp

(13 notes)

—————————————————————————

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 61 Chapter 61 | something golden, something hollow⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Time blurred after Hermes brought you back inside.

You weren't sure how long you stayed there. How many songs you played for Apollo, fingers moving across the strings like your body remembered even when your thoughts didn't.

He asked for melodies you didn't know the names of. Tunes that danced through your ribs and caught behind your teeth like breath. Sometimes he hummed along. Other times he just watched you—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, like you were something holy. Or his. Maybe both.

The first time you returned from your little outing—still shaken from Zeus, still tethered to Hermes by the tilt of your smile—Apollo looked up from his seat, and his expression cracked just slightly. Just enough. Hermes caught it, finding endless joy in it.

"Oh dear," he said, fake-sweet. "Was I not supposed to bring her back?"

Dionysus only grinned and passed you a goblet behind Apollo's back. "Drink this," he whispered, winking. "It's not strong... probably."

You did; it was warm and sweet and made your lips tingle.

After that, it became a game. Hermes dragging you around to show you off to minor gods and gossiping nymphs, only to bring you back to Apollo like a stolen prize.

Dionysus plucking you from your corner with a new wine to try and a dramatic story to tell.

Apollo never said anything directly—but his silences got heavier. His hands lingered longer when he brushed hair from your face. His compliments got sharper, wrapped in gold and warning.

Hermes noticed. He always did.

"You're sulking, big brother," he said, floating aboveyou all with one leg crossed lazily over the other like it belonged to him. "Not very sun-god of you."

"I'm not sulking," Apollo said, absolutely sulking.

"You're glaring holes in the sides of our heads," Dionysus chimed in, barefoot seated on the edge of the table. "One might think you hate us."

That earned him a look that could've shattered marble. You giggled behind the rim of your drink.

Apollo scoffed a sharp little exhale through his nose, eyes narrowing as he shifted in his seat, golden laurel wreath tilting just slightly with the movement. He looked at Hermes first—then Dionysus—and the glare he gave could've singed wings and grapes alike.

"Why are you both still here?" he asked, his tone bright but bitten at the edges. "Father's hall has plenty of room... Or have you forgotten how to find your own seats?"

Hermes grinned like he'd been waiting for that. He drifted down slowly, sandals whispering against the air, until he hovered right beside Apollo's shoulder. Then—with a little hum—he reached forward and flicked the edge of Apollo's laurel crown with two fingers.

"What fun is that?" Hermes cooed. "All that space and no one to bother? I'd rather be annoying up close. Especially to my big brother." He grinned wider, resting his chin on Apollo's shoulder for a beat—just long enough to be annoying, before flitting back like a leaf caught on breeze.

Apollo didn't flinch, but the sharpness in his jaw said he wanted to.

And then Dionysus spoke, voice low and sing-song, drawn out like warm honey. "Mmm, he's got a point, golden boy." He leaned further into his seat beside yours, one leg still kicked up, the other lazily brushing your ankle beneath the table. "I couldn't help myself either."

He gestured vaguely with his goblet—toward the way his ornate vine-wrapped throne had somehow migrated beside yours. Closer than before. You didn't even remember him moving it, but here he was—draped comfortably—his entourage spilled around like offerings at his feet.

A satyr snored gently under the table, one leg twitching. A forest nymph with skin like moss leaned across Dionysus' armrest, plucking at the grapes braided through his curls. Another was curled up beside the base of his throne, hair spilling over his knees like ivy.

They didn't match Apollo's nymphs—clean, elegant, gold-kissed things perched like birds on marble. No, Dionysus' followers were all earth and laughter and tangled limbs. They didn't sit straight or stay quiet, they giggled when you smiled and stole fruit from Apollo's platters without shame.

And yet somehow—both groups were seated at the same stretch of table. A few of Apollo's attendants exchanged wary glances with Dionysus' wild-eyed ones, but no one dared speak.

Apollo, for his part, didn't speak either. He just looked between the two gods seated near you—his half-brothers. One grinning like he'd just stolen the sun, the other humming like the whole evening was a lullaby.

And then he looked at you.

Still seated between them.

Still sipping from Dionysus' cup.

And gods, if looks could burn.

His fingers tapped once against the armrest of his throne. A quiet beat of frustration masked by poise. And if you weren't mistaken, the light around his shoulders flickered—just for a moment—brighter.

Hotter.

But still... he didn't ask you to move.

He didn't say a word.

Not yet.

You leaned back slightly, caught between them all—and smiled. Because even with the tension thick as honey, even with the wine buzzing behind your eyes... it was nice.

Nice to be wanted, catered to.

Even if Apollo's hands itched to pull you closer.

Even if Dionysus winked every time you laughed.

Even if Hermes never sat still long enough to stop smirking.

It was chaos—warm, glittering chaos.

And now? Now, you were walking through a garden that didn't quite feel real.

The sun was warm on your face, too warm maybe, and everything smelled like nectar and green things. Your feet were bare—why were your feet bare? There was a fuzzy, distant thought about sandals. You'd had some, you were sure, but they were gone now. Lost somewhere between laughter and wine and music that still rang faintly in your ears.

You stumbled over a stone path, catching yourself on a hedge that shimmered with pink blossoms. They smelled like honey, or maybe peaches, or maybe that was just you. Everything felt like a blur—soft and slow, like the air had thickened with perfume.

The flowers swayed gently beside you, brushing against your ankles, brushing against the edges of your thoughts. Above, golden light streamed through high, leafy arches, dappling your skin with soft shadows. You felt flushed, dreamlike, like you could fall asleep standing up and the world would keep blooming around you.

You didn't know where you were going, didn't really care. Somewhere behind you, you heard Dionysus laughing again—probably at something Hermes said, probably about you—but the thought didn't stick. Nothing really did anymore.

You just kept walking, and the garden kept blooming.

You turned a corner—ducked beneath an arch of ivy curled over two marble columns—and rounding a hedge, you pushed aside a spray of flowering vines—and stopped. Everything in you stilled as a small cove stretched out before you, tucked between groves of myrtle and twisted olive trees.

A smooth pond sat in the center—glass-still at first glance, but pulsing with soft ripples from a tiny waterfall trickling down a curve of black stone. Sunlight pooled in golden puddles across the clearing, catching on the water's surface, flickering like stars.

And there, scattered across the grass like royalty grown from earth—

Peacocks.

Dozens of them.

It wasn't just beautiful. It was otherworldly.

Your breath hitched and you didn't move.

Not because you couldn't, but because you didn't want to break the spell. They were just... there. Moving slow. Lounging like they had nowhere to be for the next century.

Some sunned themselves along the edge of the pond, their long, shimmering trains curled in lazy spirals behind them. One dipped its head to drink, beak cutting delicate circles into the water's reflection. Another flapped its wings with a low, vibrating call that echoed through the trees. Others strutted among the berry trees—blackberries, wine-dark and bursting, hung low from vines that curled like beckoning fingers.

But it wasn't the movement that held you still.

It was the color.

Not just the deep blues and velvety greens—but silver. Gold. One with feathers that shimmered like moonlight spun into silk. Another with a body the color of dusk, the ends of its tail tipped in coppery fire. A few stood tall and elegant with feathers so pale they were nearly translucent, and when the wind moved through their tails, they looked like ghosts of starlight.

You couldn't help it, you smiled. The kind of smile that bloomed slow, quiet, like your body had remembered how to do it without asking your mind.

So, you just stood there—shoulders loose, mouth parted, arms slack at your sides—as the garden garden unfurled a secret meant only for you.

A hidden pocket of quiet wonder.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?"

You jumped, the sound shot straight through your spine. A yelp caught in your throat, your heel sliding slightly on the mossy ground as you spun toward the voice, freezing again.

Apollo stood beside you.

You hadn't heard him, hadn't felt him, hadn't even sensed the warmth that usually trailed behind his presence. But he was there now—close enough to touch, yet not reaching. Just... watching.

His golden goblet hung loosely in one hand, fingers curled around the stem like he'd forgotten it was there. His laurel crown was crooked, tangled a bit in the curls falling across his forehead. His hair looked windblown, like he'd been moving too fast or pacing too much—like he hadn't sat still since the last time you left his sight.

His eyes weren't on you, they were on the cove. Soft, steady, a little far away.

You swallowed hard and turned quickly back toward the water, your face warm. "Y-Yeah," you said, voice catching at first. You cleared your throat, tried again, quieter this time. "They're... they're beautiful."

It wasn't eloquent, it wasn't god-touched or poetic, but it was real. And that felt like enough.

He didn't reply, not right away. Just let the silence stretch and settle around the two of you like soft fabric draped over the moment—something fragile and wordless.

You shifted your weight, letting your bare toes curl into the moss below. The softness grounded you. So did the faint sound of water lapping from the pond, the rustle of leaves as one of the peacocks shook out its feathers, sending a fan of silver and blue into the air like an afterthought.

Your voice came quiet, almost hesitant. "Are... Are they mortal souls?"

Apollo glanced over, brow raised.

You kept staring at the birds. "Like... your lambs," you added, a little softer. "The ones you said were once people."

There was a beat. Then a sharp scoff, so light it was almost under his breath.

"Of course not," he said, a note of offense curling in his voice like you'd just insulted the lambs—or worse, him. "Hera isn't... that kind."

You slowly turned to look at him.

"She's not the type to waste her breath reshaping the afterlife for a few adoring mortals," he went on, voice laced with that golden sort of condescension that only an immortal could pull off. "These aren't spirits. No tragic souls trapped in animal skin. They're just... birds."

You followed his gaze as it swept over the clearing.

"She keeps them here because they're hers," he said, gesturing faintly to the dozen lounging near the pond, "She likes them. Lets them breed. Eat her berries. Wander around being decorative."

He took a sip from his goblet, then huffed a breath that wasn't quite a laugh.

"It's the most 'benevolent' thing I've ever seen her do," he muttered, voice dipped in dry amusement. "Letting something live without demanding it worship her for the privilege."

He shook his head and tilted his goblet lazily toward one of the gold-feathered birds pecking at the grass. "Honestly? I think she just likes how they look against the marble."

You didn't answer. Just watched one of the peacocks stretch out its wings, the spread so wide it looked like a fan of stars, and wondered—quietly—how something so simple could still be enough. Even here. Even among gods.

The thought rolled over you again—soft, quiet, and just a little unbelievable. Your gaze drifted back to the peacocks, to the way they walked without fear, basked in the warmth, dipped their heads to drink from the pond. Unbothered. Undemanded. Free.

Since arriving on Olympus, you'd come across gods who bent light, who moved people like pieces on a board, who changed the rules just to win. Gods who touched you with hands wrapped in honey but hearts too sharp to hold.

Apollo, with his obsession disguised as worship. Dionysus, wrapping vines and words around you like wine-laced ropes. Even Hermes—kind, clever Hermes—he never moved without meaning.

Everything here had a cost. Everything was taken, pulled, named.

But this?

Hera—of all Gods—doing nothing but letting a dozen peacocks wander through a hidden garden? Allowing them to live, to nest, to preen, to eat, to simply exist without being turned into stories or symbols?

It rattled something in your chest. Tugged at the threads of every myth you'd grown up hearing.

Hera, the goddess queen.

Hera, the storm behind every scorned marriage.

Hera, cruel and vengeful, the goddess who punished women for the desires of her husband. The one who cursed, who broke, who smote.

Hera... gentle?

Your brows pinched faintly. "She..." you began, the words catching. You hadn't meant to say anything—hadn't even realized the thought had turned to sound—but your lips kept moving. "Hera...?"

Apollo looked over, brows lifting.

You felt your face warm, your hands fidgeting at your sides. "I just... I don't know. I didn't expect that from her," you admitted quietly, words falling slow and hesitant, like you weren't sure if they'd offend the air around you. "The myths. She's always painted so... angry. Spiteful. Cruel."

You turned your gaze back to the birds, voice softening. "But this? Just letting them live here like this—?"

You didn't finish the sentence, didn't have to.

The question hung between you—raw and real. Because for all the gods who called you their muse, who wrapped you in silk and kissed your name into song... she was the only one who hadn't reached for you.

And maybe—just maybe—that's what made her feel the most human.

You stood there a little longer, letting that settle—like a small stone dropped in deep water. The thought didn't quite ripple. It just... sank. Quiet and strange.

Beside you, Apollo hummed. Low. Noncommittal. The kind of sound someone made when they weren't really listening, but didn't feel like being rude. His gaze stayed forward, detached, eyes sweeping lazily over the garden like it was a backdrop, not a moment.

You glanced sideways, catching the shift in his posture—the slight roll of his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed once around the golden goblet in his hand as he stepped past you and down the slope of the garden, sandals forgotten like yours, bare feet brushing over soft moss and scattered petals. His long white chiton flowed behind him, trailing faintly in the grass.

The sunlight curved with him—no, followed him, like the garden bent to keep him gold.

He crossed the clearing and wandered deeper into the cove, between tall flowering shrubs and lazy, low-hanging trees, until he reached the pond's edge. There, tucked half in shadow and half in bloom, sat a wide, flat stone—smooth from weather and water, ringed with tiny star-shaped blossoms. He settled onto it easily, the goblet set beside him with a soft clink.

Around him, the peacocks stirred.

One lifted its head, sleek and dark, a shimmering green-blue sheen across its neck. Another rustled from behind a tree, gold-feathered, near mythical in the glow. And then—soft, careful steps—came a smaller one. A chick. Pale down with hints of ivory and gray. It blinked up at him, curious, then tottered over, hopping clumsily onto the rock with a faint chirp.

Apollo chuckled softly, eyes crinkling as he turned to look at you. Then, slowly, he reached out a hand—palm out, fingers curled just slightly, beckoning.

"Come." 

At this point, the command no longer caught you by surprise due to having hear it much of the night, as well as your time with him. But now, he looked... different. Not godly. Not burning with pride or prophecy or golden hunger. Just—boyish.

Hair tousled from the walk, laurel wreath a little askew, one curl dangling near his brow. His cheeks flushed from the heat, his smile crooked, uneven. Like he'd forgotten what pose to hold and had let something real slip through instead.

And gods—he looked handsome like that. Unpolished. A little too sun-warm. A little too soft at the edges.

His fingers curled again, and for a moment... you didn't move. Just watched him, heart stuttering like maybe it didn't know what to do with this version of him—the one who wasn't a god, or a sunbeam, or a poet who thought the sky owed him love.

Just a boy on a rock in a garden, waiting for you to join him.

You blinked, breath catching like your body had just realized it was holding something too tightly. The haze around you didn't lift—it was still warm, still soft, still draped like dream-light across your skin—but it wavered a little. Enough to shake you loose.

You stepped forward, your gait was slow, uneven, like your legs weren't entirely sure this was real. You stumbled once and you felt the heat rise to your face once more.

Apollo chuckled, the laugh dancing through the air like sunlight between trees.

When you reached him, the pond still rippled beside the stone, the little peacock chick now curled near his knee, blinking sleepily in the sun. Apollo's hand rose without a word—smooth, steady—meeting your hip and guiding you gently down.

You didn't sit so much as you were settled. His touch was careful, slow, coaxing your body into place like he already knew the shape of you. One of his arms slipped behind your back, the other curled around your waist. Your legs bent instinctively, draping across his own, one knee tucked slightly over his thigh. The hem of your dress spilled down around you like water, warm against both your skins.

He adjusted you once—just a little, enough to tuck you closer—enough that your ribs brushed his when you breathed before sighing a soft, deep sound.

You felt it more than heard it. The way his chest rose and fell behind you. The way his head tipped slightly against yours. The hand at your side drifted lower—resting warm and broad over the curve of your thigh. Not heavy. Just there. His thumb began to trace slow, absent circles into your skin, the contact feather-light but grounding.

The arm across your back tightened, pulling you deeper into him. You could feel the heat of him now—sun-soaked and steady—seeping into your bones.

His voice was the next thing to reach you—Low, warm—barely more than a hum.

"So, tell me..." he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear, "How have you enjoyed Olympus, my muse?"

You didn't answer right away because gods—how were you supposed to?

Your mind raced, trying to find words that didn't feel too small or too big. Your hands twitched slightly in your lap, fingers brushing the edge of your dress as if touch might give you language. You swallowed once, twice, and then—

"...It's...it's kind of... unexplainable?"

Apollo hummed as if encouraging you to go on, the weight of his arm around you shifting just enough to keep you close.

You glanced down at the peacock chick still nestled nearby, its feathers puffed out, half-dozing in the sun. Your voice followed, quieter at first, then spilling a little faster than you meant it to.

"I mean—it's beautiful. Obviously. Everything's glowing or enchanted or blooming. And people float instead of walk, and no one really blinks when wine pours itself or marble sings. It's... It's like a dream and a storm all wrapped in silk and gold. Like a temple made from breath and sun."

You laughed under your breath, cheeks warm.

"And it's loud? And soft? Like it's everything I imagined Olympus to be, but also... nothing like it at all. Like I didn't realize how alive it'd feel. How big it is. Or how lonely. Or warm. Or..."

You trailed off with a sheepish breath. "Sorry—I'm rambling."

Apollo didn't say anything for a moment.

Then—he chuckled.

You felt it in his chest before you heard it, that soft, fond sound rumbling beneath your back where you leaned into him. His hand—still resting against your thigh—gave a slow, affectionate squeeze before stilling.

"You're so cute when you do that," he murmured, voice thick with warmth. "Get all flustered and poetic like I haven't already decided you're the most charming thing on this mountain."

His other hand came up, tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear before he pressed his cheek to your temple. His smile was audible in his next words.

"You can keep talking if you want. I could listen forever."

Your breath caught between ribs that didn't know whether to tighten or loosen. He said it so easily—like a secret he didn't care if you heard. Like your voice was a gift he'd already unwrapped and was just waiting to play with again.

You didn't need to, not really—but you thanked him anyway. A soft murmur against his shoulder, barely a breath. He smiled at that, small and satisfied, the sound sinking into his skin like something he'd tuck away for later.

Apollo then grabbed his goblet, the gold flashing in the sunlight. He brought it to his lips and tipped it slightly, taking a slow, measured sip like the whole moment existed just to taste the wine.

A drop escaped.

Just one.

It caught at the corner of his mouth and rolled slow—lazy—down the curve of his jaw. Bright gold, like it might burn through his skin and yours if you touched it. Not yellow like candlelight, but glowing.

It shimmered too bright to be real, brighter than it had looked inside the banquet hall without all the shadow and velvet. Here in the garden's natural light, it didn't look like wine anymore.

It looked like something sacred.

A drop of ambrosia let loose from a god's mouth.

You caught yourself leaning slightly toward him—just barely, just enough for your breath to still against his cheek—and you weren't sure if it was instinct or gravity.

Apollo's eyes flickered down, and gods, the moment you realized—you looked away, like a kid caught reaching for something she wasn't supposed to want. Your cheeks flared hot, gaze snapping back to the pond, to the peacocks still dozing in the grass, to anywhere that wasn't the golden god whose lap you were sitting in.

But his mouth?

It tilted into that crooked, knowing smile—the kind that didn't ask if you were enchanted. It just assumed you were. He didn't say anything, didn't tease, just let the smile stretch, slow and smug and soft all at once.

And he didn't wipe the drop away. That bit of gold still clung to the corner of his mouth, shining in the garden light. He let it stay, letting it gleam like an ornament, like a dare.

Like he liked being watched.

His thumb curled again against your thigh, tracing a new shape now. His other arm adjusted behind you—not tighter, just... firmer—like he wanted you to know how steady he was. How he wasn't just holding you, but reminding you that he was.

As Apollo turned his head slightly, breath brushing your cheek, the scent of wine and something sun-drenched curled at the edge of your jaw. His lips—still sweet, still golden—barely grazed the top of your ear. Then his voice—low and soft, barely a whisper—slid into the space between your pulse and his mouth.

"You want a sip?"

Before you could answer—before you could think—he shifted the goblet toward you, tilting it gently like an invitation. His hand cradled the base, wrist angled just so, and the rim hovered inches from your lips.

The gold inside shimmered. It caught the light and swirled, thick and sweet, glinting like melted sun.

You could smell it now—warm berries and summer, touched with something older, something that buzzed just beneath your ribs.

Apollo watched you.

Not with pressure.

Not with command.

Just that same half-lidded softness. Like he already knew you'd say yes. Like part of him was already savoring the sight of it—the way your mouth might close around the cup he'd touched. The way you'd taste what he tasted. Sweet and divine and just a little dangerous.

And gods, you didn't move. For a moment, you just stared down at it. The liquid inside shimmering, thick and bright, casting a glow against your chin.

The word crawled back through your memory like a whisper from another room.

Ambrosia.

You recall both Dionysus and Apollo drinking it, how the latter held it up to his lips as the feast spurred on around you both.

"It's deadly to mortals. It burns the human body. Tears it apart from the inside out," he'd said, so casually, like it was just a fact.

And now—here it was. Balanced on the edge of your mouth, held steady in his hand.

The thought slipped out of you before you could catch it.

"...You said it was deadly," you murmured. "For mortals."

Apollo chuckled, the sound shaking you loose.

Your eyes lifted, breaking from the trance of the wine and landing on him again—his face close, watching you with that same steady heat. The light in his eyes shifted, gold catching gold, and then he moved.

His arm curled tighter around your waist, pulling you closer. Your hip met his, your chest brushing his shoulder, and the rim of the goblet pressed firmer against your lips. You felt the warmth of it kiss your skin, tasted the barest smear of sweet on your bottom lip.

Apollo leaned in, breath fanning soft across your jaw. His voice followed—low, purring, coaxing. "Didn't I tell you, you're not like other mortals?" His nose brused just beneath your ear, lips dragging slow along the line of your jaw; a touch so soft it didn't even feel like pressure. "You're not some girl from a song," he whispered. "You're my muse. My flame. My chosen."

He tipped the goblet again, just slightly.

"Drink."

His thumb resumed its slow circle against your thigh—slower now. Like a metronome keeping time with your heartbeat.

And gods, it was loud.

Because everything in you was suddenly awake—too warm, too aware—pressed to a god who spoke like prayers were promises and poison could be sweet if it came from his hands.

Your mouth parted, and the wine touched your tongue.

It didn't taste like wine.

Not really.

It tasted like heat. Like sunlight cracked open and poured straight into your mouth. It bloomed warm against your tongue, then slid down your throat like honey laced with thunder—soft and thick and golden. It didn't burn. It warmed.

You felt it spread through you. Slow at first—like a breath. Then faster. Down your spine. Through your ribs. Into your fingers, your toes, your thighs pressed to his. A glow. A hum. Like someone had lit a flame behind your ribs and it was spreading outward, licking at the edges of your skin.

You inhaled sharply—only it wasn't sharp. It was soft. A gasp and a sigh all at once. Your lips parted wider, greedy for more, and just when your body began to lean into it—

Apollo pulled the goblet back.

You made a sound, a small one, but it slipped out, low and caught in your throat—disappointed, unthinking, like a child told no after the first bite of sugar.

Apollo laughed.

Gods, he laughed.

Not loud. Not mocking. Just amused. Teased.

"Easy. You'll give yourself a headache." The goblet dangled in his hand now, just out of reach. He tilted it lazily, watching the gold inside swirl.

"Or worse," he added with a grin, "you'll start thinking you can handle more than one sip."

He looked down at you—flushed, wide-eyed, breath short—as his fingers found your chin, tilting your face up.

"You like how it feels?" he asked, not really needing the answer. His thumb brushed against the corner of your mouth, catching a lingering drop. He stared at it for a beat—like it belonged to him—then licked it from his skin.

The wine in your blood pulsed louder, and you couldn't think.

And honestly, you aren't sure if you even wanted to.

Not when the warmth still curled in your belly. Not when your lips still tingled from where the wine had touched them. Not when his voice was that low, that soft—like he could see every thought you were trying not to have and liked them all anyway.

You didn't answer, and Apollo noticed.

Of course he did.

He watched you for a moment longer—eyes flicking over your face, your parted lips, the daze in your. Then, slowly, he set the goblet aside. It landed on the moss with a quiet thud, wine forgotten.

His other hand came up, cupping your face in both palms now—gentle, but firm. His thumbs brushed across your cheeks, warm and steady. His fingers curled along your jaw, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

He hummed, low in his throat. Not teasing this time. Not entirely.

"You do like it," he said. Not a question. Just fact. His smile was small. Crooked. Knowing.

Your breath hitched as he slowly leaned down. His eyes dropped—to your mouth, ingering there for just a second. Maybe less. Then they lifted again, locking back on yours.

"And you look... so blissed out right now."

You looked up at him, lips parting to breathe—but there wasn't enough air. Not with him this close. Not with his hands still cradling your face like you were something precious, something soft—like a doll.

"You could feel like this all the time with me." He tilted your chin slightly, his words coiling around your ribs. Tight. Sweet. Heavy.

"You don't even know what I could give you, do you?" he asked, almost to himself. "You don't even know what it could mean."

And gods—he looked at you like he'd give it anyway.

Like even if you said no, even if you didn't understand yet, he'd still try. Still pour gold into your hands and say it was yours to keep.

"You were always meant to be mine."

And then—he moved, leaning in, closing the space like it had never mattered. Like the garden, the wine, the gods watching from above had all gone still just to watch this moment unfold.

His hand slipped behind your head, fingers threading through your hair, gentle but possessive—cradling the back of your skull like he was afraid you'd vanish if he didn't hold tight enough.

And then he kissed you.

Hard.

Like he'd waited eons.

Like this kiss had been echoing through time, waiting for your mouth to exist.

You gasped, your hands clutching at the fabric of his chiton without thinking, fingers bunching at his chest. He was warm everywhere. Blinding. Gold pressed against your skin.

His mouth moved against yours with something deeper than hunger—something desperate and reverent—as if he were trying to memorize the shape of you with every tilt of his head, every drag of his lips.

And you let him. Gods, you let him.

Because in that moment—sunlight pouring down through the ivy, peacocks fanning their feathers in the distance, the taste of ambrosia still on your tongue—it almost felt right.

Almost.

Because even as your heart fluttered too fast, even as you were wrapped in his gold-touched warmth—something in you flickered.

Your eyes had fluttered shut without meaning to, the motion as natural as falling asleep. But when the darkness behind your lids took shape—when the kiss bloomed into feeling—it wasn't sunlight you saw.

It was Telemachus.

A flash. A split second.

Your mouth on his, salt on your lips, calloused hands cupping your jaw—that shy, unpolished touch that made you feel real. Like someone chosen, not claimed.

The thought was selfish. Disloyal. You hadn't meant for it to happen, but it did—like a string pulled too tight in your chest, snapping behind your ribs.

And then—

Apollo licked your lips.

Gods, it was like a spark—not the kind that ignites you, but the kind that wakes you.

Your body went still.

The fog didn't lift, but something inside you did—a breath, a whisper, a quiet no. Not loud. Not angry. Just there.

Present.

And before you could question it, before the heat could drag you deeper—you pulled back.

Not harsh. Not rejecting.

Just... overwhelmed.

Your lips parted from his with a soft, breathless sound, your hands still resting on his chest, trembling just slightly.

Apollo stilled.

You didn't look at him yet—you couldn't.

And Apollo, of course, mistook that stillness for shyness.

A low chuckle rumbled from his throat, warm with amusement, pleased—as if you were just flustered, as if you'd melted from the taste of him rather than recoiled from the hollowness it left behind.

Blinking dazedly, you watched as he leaned back just far enough to see your face. His cheeks were flushed, golden in the light. His eyes darker now, pupils blown wide like he was drunk on the moment. His tongue swept over his lips as he licked them—slow, savoring—his gaze staring down at you like he couldn't believe his luck.

Like you were already his.

"There's no need to be shy," he murmured, cradling your face with a touch too practiced to be truly tender. His thumb traced your cheekbone, his smile radiant, fond—the kind of look that made it dangerously easy to forget he was a god.

"You're allowed to get lost in your god... you're allowed to get lost in me."

And gods—you wished it were shyness. But this wasn't hesitation.

Wasn't nerves.

It was ache. A flicker of grief for something you couldn't name. The echo of lips that should've felt like fire but instead felt like air. Like the ambrosia still burning in your veins had conjured a want too big to carry—and it wasn't yours.

Not really.

But before you could say anything—before you could even pull a breath deep enough to speak—a voice cut through the air like a blade dipped in frost.

"I'd be careful, if I were you. Hera wouldn't be too pleased to find this level of intimacy being performed in one of her sacred gardens. Especially not by those unmarried."

You froze.

Apollo did too.

Your heads turned at the exact same time, the haze still clinging to your skin like mist, and there—leaning with her arms folded against a myrtle trunk, half-shadowed by twisting leaves—stood Artemis.

She looked unbothered. Cold-eyed, straight-backed, mouth twitching with something that might've been amusement—or judgment. Maybe both. Her tone hadn't been cruel, but it hadn't been kind either—just... honest. A kind of warning wrapped in courtesy.

Apollo scoffed—soft, more breath than bite. Not angry. Just tired. Frustrated. "Oh, she'd be upset regardless," he muttered, still not looking away from his sister. "Hera's idea of grace is pretending the world still runs on loyalty." He reached lazily for his goblet again, tipping it toward his lips. "Can't blame her for being bitter. When you're married to the biggest cheat in Olympus, I imagine it poisons the way you view love."

The words hung heavy.

Scathing.

True.

And as if on cue—a low rumble cracked faintly across the sky above the garden.

Not loud, but real.

Like Zeus himself had heard his son's voice across the clouds and growled in warning.

Neither of them flinched.

Not Apollo, who took another slow sip from his cup.

Not Artemis, who raised a single brow and said nothing.

They just stared at each other in that tight sibling silence—centuries old and steeped in quiet tension—and didn't look away.

Then Artemis exhaled softly, the sound almost a laugh. "You're incorrigible," she murmured under her breath, shoulders dipping with a shake of her head.

But her tone shifted when she straightened—chin tilting, eyes sharpening with quiet purpose.

"The sun's nearly due to rise on the mortal plane, and since you're already on thin ice with Zeus..." Her eyes flicked to you for half a second—barely long enough to sting, but long enough to be noticed. Then back to Apollo. "I suggest you be ready. And on time."

With that, Artemis turned—no flourish, no dramatic exit—just a pivot and silent steps into the hedges, her silver-trimmed cloak flashing once more before the garden swallowed her whole.

Apollo groaned—low, aggrieved—the sound of a man dragged from something sweet against his will. He slumped back against the stone, tipping his head toward the sky, his sunlit curls a lion's mane around his sulking face. Handsome. Put-upon. Too golden for someone complaining

"Unbelievable," he muttered, as if to himself. "My own twin. Always so quick to chime in, so eager to ruin the mood."

His hand dragged down his face, voice souring. "The man sleeps around for half of eternity, leaves chaos in his wake, and somehow I'm the one scolded for sneaking kisses." A slow shake of his head, jaw tightening—then the tension melted, light sliding off marble. "But no. Duty first. The sun must rise. Father watches. Artemis always watches. Gods forbid I take what I want."

You stayed quiet, cheeks still warm, heart still knocking against your ribs.

He sighed, louder now. "Duty," he repeated flatly, as if the word tasted bitter. Then his gaze found yours again—quieter now, threaded with something gentler. Regret, maybe. Or just the slow resignation of a god pulled back to duty.

"A shame," he murmured, not without longing. "But she's right. I'm already tempting fate with Zeus."

He reached out, brushing his knuckles against your cheek in a soft line. "I suppose it's time," he said, the words sigh-soft. "Time to return you to the mortal plane."

And with that, the warmth between you began to shift. Still tender. Still sun-drenched. But no longer meant to last.

A/N: ahhhh! see i wasnt gonna have a kiss in there at first while planning this, but i just had too 😭😭 y'all i know apollo is supposed to be yandere but i like my men a lil obsessed 😩 only in books though!!! cuz a man got 1 time to try it for real in real life and im screaming 😭. like yall dont understand how deep i am in the delusions with Apollo, the way i have so many ideas it's wild, i legit have to make myself/re-edit to mak sure i'm not being too delulu. even then, i enjoy how my writings came across, showing that it's not all good things to be the obsession of soemone--let alone a god. plus, the only reason i wrote mc like this/showing yandere as a negative thing cuz tbh its not fr---especially in real life---so i kinda wanted to try my hand at the realism of having a mc outisde of the 'yandere books trope' (i.e her being okay, being just as delulu) but best beileve, MC in the isekai fic will be in the grey area---especially since the characters will be her fav book characters, so it should be fun with her trying to grapple with wheather yandere is still good or not since it'll technically be 'real' to her since she's now in the book.. ahhh let me stop rambling 😭😭  take care lovelies ❤️❤️

also i've been blessed with more fanart, hehehe ❤️❤️❤️ (email: wattywriter04@gmail.com | tumblr: winaxity-ii) also because wattpad/tumblr is being a meanie, i can't show 18+ drawings on here, even if edited 😭😭 but don't worry i shall still sing my praises! but good news! i have them available on archiveofourown (ao3) and have my account/books to where guests can see so you guys don't have to make an account ❤️❤️ also, if you haven't seen my last update/PSA i'm no longer doing personalized notes under each art i receive the way i used to do them, i'll now post them with credits, and when given the chance come back and post my thanks/what i love about them! this way, i can share my babies and also still keep grinding/writing, thx for being understanding lovelies ❤️❤️❤️

from simp_0207

[APOLLO AND DIONYSUS OUTSIIIDDEEE❗❗]

[HERMES AND MC]

[MC VIBING]

[MC AND HER DIVINE BABYDADDIES]

from wishesonstars39781

[TELEMACHUS DOODLES PRT.1]

[TELEMACHUS DOODLES PRT.2]

[TELEMACHUS DOODLES PRT.3]

from asteriaangeline7

[MC DESIGN]

from m0rl

[MC AND HERMES FT.SUN APOLLO]

from Francsy/Franie (@idkanyonealrr on tumblr)

[GODLY THINGS DOODLES (IN ICONIC-IDIOT-CONS ARTSTYLE)]

from aetherlive

[MC AND APOLLO__CH.54]

from yang

[MC PLEADS TO ODYPEN TO GO TO LYRAETHOS]

from penesauce

[MC DESIGN]

from Sushiiin

[ANDREIA]

[ANDREIA PRT.2]

[MC DOODLES PRT.2__ch.30]

[MC DOODLES PRT.2__ch.30]

[MC AND TELEMACHUS__ch.27]

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

[annie-creates]

I don't wanna be friends

Pairing: Imogen Cardulo x reader

Genre: angst to fluff

Words: 3800

Note: Imogen seriously needs more love and fanfiction. A warning of silly pick up lines for this one. Please be aware not every detail might be completely true to the canon source material.

You were a social butterfly, it was the first thing anyone noticed after you crossed the parapet. You made friends on day one, and even the unmarked kids had trouble not to have a smile show in your proximity sometimes. It was almost undue seeing someone so carefree and full of life in a place as cruel as the riders quadrant. Xaden Riorson himself struggled to keep his calm and broody composure of ignorance in your presence from time to time, which spoke volumes.

He and his group helped train you and the other first years before threshing to give you the best chance possible to survive the war college. At any night practice in the gym you always carried a smile in, even if a little tired and sometimes bloodied from a mean punch. No matter how many defeats you endured, you always got back up, ready to try harder the next day. Noone survived their turn against Garrick or Imogen by just sailing through and hoping for the best.

At threshing, you mentally thanked every single one of them for the skills they drilled into you. The knowledge of working against a hidden opponent and provisionally patching up your own wounds saved your life that day, and at sundown you turned up on the flight field with a gorgeous green dragon. Bodhi shot you a proud smile, everyone expected the best from you, and an intelligent beast just like you was the perfect match to your bright personality.

Even though the challenges were suspended for the time being, you couldn’t rest on one’s laurels. There were still cadets who were after your throats, and now also the unbonded ones hoping to snag your dragons for themselves. You made it a point to train with the makeshift squad of marked ones at least three times a week, their watch interchanging. Usually it would be Xaden accompanied by Garrick or Bodhi, uncommonly the later two training you together. Imogen however made it her point to be present any time she could, taking the drills as her personal responsibility.

On Tuesday evening you find her standing by Bodhi, leaning on the wooden pillar of the gym. Both are sporting tunics without sleeves, the relics intricately swirling around their arms like angels of death, too many of irresistible biceps showing. Their watchful eyes scan the room for potential weaklings, hushed conversation flowing between them.

“Damn, I hope you know CPR. You’re taking my breath away.” You shoot them a wink on your way to the shared showers after training.

You were always fun to be around, but once you started flirting, it was impossible to break away from you. Whoever didn’t get to be the target of your advances enjoyed watching you do it, the words flying from your mouth with minimal effort or shame. And any time you pushed a pick up line into your conversation, the smile that adored your lips was brighter than the sun.

“I need you to practice that on me.” You laugh as Imogen and Xaden leave the mat after a sparring match that ended up with them intertwined on the ground.

On Saturday some cadets used the free time to train on the mat or with dummies while others occupied the smaller gym to strengthen their muscles or improve their agility. On your water break you watch Garrick and Imogen in a silent bench-pressing tournament, sweat dripping from both of them as they push themselves to their maximum weight limits.

“You can bench press me anytime.” You comment with a smirk, wiping your own sweat off your forehead. “I’ll be the only bodyweight workout you’ll need.”

You were never known as one to take random hook ups to your bed, more like the sweet and innocent girl who no one had it in their heart to corrupt. So if you were flirting so openly, you must have picked up an interest in someone, but who? That was a riddle not even your best friends could solve.

“You need to work out more Y/n, these weak thighs won’t pin anyone down.” Imogen scolds you as she helps you off the mat where she had you pinned not even a minute ago.

“Maybe you can help me work out? You know, in private?” You offer shamelessly as Xaden stands next to her.

They both shake their heads at you in amusement, the little flower started growing fangs it seems. It was hard to tell if it was your powerful dragon or the time at Basgiath that made you so bold, but they couldn’t say they didn’t enjoy watching you bloom into a confident woman. The next Monday practice is overwatched by Imogen and Garrick.

“Do you have a band-aid?” You ask innocently, limping a little in their direction after your brutal sparring session with a second year. “I scraped a knee falling for you it seems.”

“Y/n you are shameless.” Garrick laughs at you, already rummaging through his bag for a bandage.

“Thank you!” You smile at him proudly.

Your antics started to brighten everyone’s day, even more than your presence did before. You just had this happy effect on people, and you didn’t even need a signet to do it for you. That’s why Bodhi already knows this is gonna be another unforgettable day as he stands with Xaden and Imogen, overseeing the last practice before the spring round of challenges.

“I’ll need a map.” You exclaim seriously as you reach them.

“You’ve been here for over half a year, why would you need…” Xaden doesn’t get the chance to finish as you cut him off.

“I will if I keep getting lost in those gorgeous eyes.” You explain with a smile before getting to your own opponent for the evening.

On another Thursday you join the training right from the flight field exercise that left your butt sore and muscles hurting from all the effort to stay on your dragon. You’ve heard some picked up on the habit of catching their riders if they fell off, but you didn’t want to test this theory on your own one personally.

“Do you want me to spot you while you do those squads?” You call out to Imogen who already has Garrick standing right behind her. “I promise to watch very carefully.”

That was a lost cause but you tried to shoot your shot anyway, you never backed out from a challenge, even if you set it up for yourself. That’s why you’re watching Bodhi’s and Imogen’s sparring demonstration so intently, you tell yourself. It definitely wasn’t their effortless movement and her perfect butt handing him his ass.

“Excuse me? You dropped something.” You inform them as they leave the mat.

“What?” Bodhi looks at the floor expecting a paper tissue or something.

“My jaw.” You smile at them, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Seriously, it’s not fair I have to keep picking it up after you.”

It was safe to say you were almost driving them crazy. Not that they didn’t mostly enjoy it, but not knowing your motives was driving Xaden, Garrick and Bodhi mad. No matter how thoroughly they discussed it, they still couldn’t find the reason for your flirting.

“Guys it can’t be me, Y/n isn’t the type to go after someone who’s basically taken.” Xaden ponders.

“Well maybe if you made your relationship finally a thing, she wouldn’t.” Bodhi argues.

“My money is on Bodhi, you’d fit nicely together. She’s bubbly like you.” Garrick joins the debate.

“Or, she’s into the wall of muscle and toughness you are, petite girls seem to have something going on for that kind of thing.” Xaden retorts and smirks. “Take it from someone who has one.”

“Guys why don’t we just ask her.” Bodhi offers, earning both of them looking at him like he’s crazy. “What, it’s the only way to know for sure.”

“Yeah, that’s a terrible idea. Girls don’t like that.” Garrick states.

“And how would you know?” Bodhi argues, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe she’ll be happy we noticed her.”

“I don’t think she has any doubts about that.” Xaden muses. “But I agree asking her is the most efficient and sensible way.”

That’s why they cornered you in the courtyard on one April Friday after dinner, or rather just waited for you to show up, cause you never missed an opportunity to talk to them if you could. The three of them together were a frightening combination, so your smile involuntarily froze when you saw their much too serious expressions.

“Oh no. Did I do something?” You ask timidly.

“No, why would you think that?” Xaden starts, sharing a confused look with the other two.

“Uhm, maybe because you’re looking like someone has died or you’re gonna expel me from the club.” Leave it to you to always make a little joke out of everything.

“No, you’re not in trouble Y/n.” Garrick assures you with a smile and they all ease up.

“Oh good! I wouldn’t wanna stir any troubles with you… even though I can handle you.” You claim with mocked confidence.

“We just wanted to ask… We couldn’t not notice your flirting.” Bodhi starts like a deer in headlights.

“Well good, I’d have to question my skills if you didn’t.” You laugh.

“But who are you flirting with? I mean, who are you into? It can’t be all three of us… or can it? No shame in that, if that’s your thing…” Bodhi’s mouth is suddenly unstoppable. “Not to shame that or anything, I mean if that’s what you’re into that’s fine, we’re just not really good at sharing…”

“I wasn’t flirting like that!” You cut him off with a laugh, releasing the tension.

“You weren’t flirting..?” Xaden asks dumbfounded.

“No! I mean, I was, but not with you.” You shake your head.

“Then who were you flirting with..?” Garrick asks with a deep wrinkle between his brows as he thinks.

“Imogen.” You whisper after a moment, suddenly unable to meet their eyes.

“Oh… Oh!” Xaden exclaims, all their eyes slowly widening in realization.

“Yeah, oh. Just… don’t tell anyone, okay?” You plead with them, suddenly too conscious about the secret you now shared with them.

“Alright. Well, thank you for being honest.” Xaden praises you after a minute with a very rare genuine smile.

“Thanks! I’m glad we’re friends.” You jump around his neck in relief before finally leaving for your dorm.

The next ten days you’re almost flowing on the clouds, your mood as cheerful as always. You won a challenge, the college was exceptionally drenched in sunny weather and you aced your battle brief exam. Everyone saw the glow you had around yourself and wanted to bask in it for a little while, automatically improving their own mood. Your streak of luck however came to a halt when you asked Imogen to spar with you the next practice.

“Hey, you have a minute?” You ask with your usual friendly smile.

“For you? Absolutely not.” She barely spares you a glance.

“What? Why? I thought I was getting better..?” Your brows furrow, your smile disappearing.

“You can never be a good enough match for me Y/n.” Imogen insults you without looking back.

She avoids you for the rest of the training, always too busy or too uninterested in you. You didn’t want to hog up her time of course, but she practically raised you in training, taught you everything you knew. Most of the strategies and tactics you achieved were thanks to her. She never said no to helping you train, ever. The sudden coldness places a permanent wrinkle of bother between your eyebrows.

“Hey, is everything okay?” You ask her timidly at the end of the practice.

“Why wouldn’t it be.” Imogen states harshly.

“You never say no to training…” You try to show her your reasons but she doesn’t let you.

“I want to have nothing to do with you Y/n. You aren’t good enough match for me, not here, not on the mat and definitely not anywhere else.” She scowls at you, clearly hinting at things that make you blush. “I don’t want to have anything to do with you, you hear me?”

“Jesus fine, you don’t have to be so rude about it…” You counter.

“I don’t think you’d get it into your thick head otherwise. Leave. Me. Alone.” The stormy look she gives you before stomping out of the gym would put any storm made by general Sorrengail to shame.

With a heavy sigh you get back to your own backpack, slowly putting everything back in before heading out yourself. It was possible Imogen finally caught onto your flirting, but after weeks of not noticing it didn’t seem likely. As you open the door to see Garrick and Bodhi heading into the gym, you’re sure it must have been their fault.

“What did you do.” You pass through gritted teeth at them.

“What..?” Garrick asks foolishly.

“All of a sudden, Imogen wants to have nothing to do with me. So what did you do?” You press them, anger evident on your face.

“Ugh, I’m so sorry Y/n, it just slipped…” Bodhi tries to coax you, both their expressions terrified now. “We didn’t mean to tell her about your crush…”

“I asked you for one thing, just one! And you just had to take a walk with your mouth, didn’t you!” Your outburst of frustration genuinely scared them, no one has ever seen you this angry. “You’ve ruined everything!”

They try to come up with some weak excuses but you’re having none of it. As you storm your way back to your room, you suddenly feel emotionally exhausted, unsure if you’re supposed to be angry, sad or upset first. The tears that make their way down your face are equally angry and hurt, mourning a loss of friendship you valued over everything else.

You surely weren’t Imogen’s best friend, but she was your everything. Your mentor, your best friend, the girl you thought about when you couldn’t sleep. And suddenly all of her roles were ripped away from you, degrading her to someone you weren’t allowed to know anymore. The worst part is that you’re missing her in aspects of your life where you didn’t even notice her before. Her half-smile at breakfast. Her pestering of first years who didn’t make it to class on time. How she joked with Xaden about taking him down before each of their matches.

After all the little things missing there were only empty holes now, denting your confidence and lively enthusiasm. With each day she avoided you your inner sun shined a little less brightly. The things that excited you before, even unimportant ones, were now leaving you completely uninterested. You preferred to spend your nights in the library now, content with the calmness and emptiness. People noticed you withdrawing of course, but nobody knew what the reason was, except a few.

“Hey. You okay?” Xaden surprises you on one lonely evening.

“Never been better.” You answer him shortly, not looking up from your book.

“Look, Bodhi and Garrick really screwed up, but they didn’t mean to. They feel really shitty about it now.” He explains quietly.

“Well so do I.” You admit wish a sigh, closing your book. “Imogen hates me now, no thanks to them.”

“Well Imogen is… complicated.” Xaden tries desperately to make you feel any better but comes up empty handed.

“I know. It’s fine. It’s not like I can make her like me.” You shrug, your tired voice carrying all your sadness.

“But you still have friends Y/n. Don’t turn away from them just because you’re sad now. Other people can make you feel better, you know?” He tries to encourage your spirit.

“Hm…” Is all you answer before you pack up to leave for bed. “I was never good at pretending.”

It seems like in the following weeks, Imogen makes it her point to make a spectacular show of bringing random men to her bed. Either you never noticed it before, or she was doing it now more to spite you, either way it was not your business anymore. She could sleep with and date and love whoever she wanted to. The knowledge unfortunately didn’t take the pain in your heart away. It only made it bleed harder seeing as her doors were apparently open to anyone but you.

Even when you catch a glance of her passing in the hallway or sparing in challenges, you feel like you haven’t really seen her for months. She stopped training you or interacting with you completely. Seeing as you were still blaming Bodhi and Garrick for your situation, there weren’t many people to train you who you were at good terms with right now. The sleepless nights and overworking yourself over classes instead of going to the gym also signed at you and your form, so it’s no surprise when you lose your next challenge barely minutes after it started.

“That was the worst form I have ever seen.” Imogen’s voice startles you, you almost forgot how it sounded… if you could ever really forget anything about her.

“Yeah you don’t really have to… remind me of what a failure I am. So… is it just something you like to do for fun?” You finally meet her eyes and the surrendered look in yours takes her by surprise.

She doesn’t have anything to say to that, how would she? She’s the one who suddenly stopped training you, the one who turned her back on you. Whether she liked to admit it or not, she was the reason you lost your spark, and that was a hard pill to swallow. She never wanted to see you give up. Your loss of excitement and cheerfulness was like a punch to her gut. Only because of her own stupid insecurities. She did this.

You weren’t blaming her of course, you were too nice for that. Nobody could command their feelings, you just wished she was a little nicer about it. Lost in your thoughts you walk over the courtyard during lunch hour, not paying too much attention until you hear some unmistakable rude teasing. It wasn’t uncommon for people to pick on first years, girls, or marked ones around here. But as you noticed, today’s victims were all three of these things.

“Hey! Pick up on someone your own size.” You step between the three girls and two bigger men.

“Who are you to talk, traitor.” One of them insults you. “We’ll pick on whoever we deem needed. Now get out of my way, before I start with you.”

“I’d like to see you try.” You smirk, your hands ghosting over your daggers.

The bigger one launches at you first, but you’re fast. You don’t let him land many punches, which obviously frustrates him. The other guy joins the fight to make sure they win against a girl seeing his friend struggling against you. The smaller one is easier to deal with, the moment you get an opening for one of your, or more specifically Imogen’s, high kicks he’s knocked out cold. The other one uses the moment to slice your thigh with his own dagger, and the bruises along your jaw you got along the way pulse painfully. You get him into a choke hold after a few minutes, refusing to let him go until your own vision goes out, the screaming of a wingleader the last thing you hear before slumping into darkness.

You wake up to bright lights and a sterile white bed, your nose immediately hit with the smell of disinfectant. You must be in the infirmary. You groan as you try to move each of your limbs, your left thigh responding with a shot of pain. Your brain slowly starts working as you overcome the fog sitting on it, coming back with memories of the fight in the courtyard.

“You shouldn’t move too fast.” A familiar voice warns you. “You took quite a beating.”

“What do you care.” You frown as you slowly sit up, hanging your legs over the edge.

“You protected a group of girls against two opponents much bigger than yourself…” Imogen avoids your question, not looking you straight in the eye. “I’m honestly impressed. But you were always incredibly brave. Or stupid.”

The end of her sentence rings out in almost a laughing tone, but you must be mistaken. Imogen never laughed, and she certainly wouldn’t be laughing with you now. You let a silence stretch between you, and after it gets almost unbearable, she finally gathers the courage to look you in the eye. Your jaw was painted in all different colors, but to her it was a beautiful symbol of your incredible bravery.

“Look Y/n…” She starts as you talk at the same time, letting you finish.

“Imogen, I understand if you don’t wanna be friends with me anymore…” You say honestly, letting the silence stretch as she ponders her answer.

“No I don’t want to be friends.” She agrees, placing her hands on your shoulders as she stands in front of you.

“O-okay…” You expected it but the pang of hurt still rode through your heart like a freshly sharpened dagger. “I understand if you don’t want to have anything to do with me…”

Your words are cut off by her hands taking your face, holding it in place to kiss you. You freeze before reciprocating, melting into her hold, as if it’s the place you were always meant to be. You place your hand over hers, grounding yourself in the reality of the moment. You half expected it to be just another of your cruel dreams that would let you wake up into a very disappointing reality.

“I’m sorry I was a chicken afraid of my own feelings and hurt you in the process.” She admits quietly, leaning her forehead on yours. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You soothe her, your bright eyes boring into hers.

“No I am. I never want to see you sad again. Especially because of me. Not a single tear will fall off this gorgeous face because of me.” Imogen promises, and you knew she wasn’t giving promises out too easily, because she’d never break her promise.

“It’s okay. You’re here now.” You whisper to not disturb the moment.

“It is not okay. But I’ll make it, if you let me.” She moves away just far enough to look you in the face properly. “If you still want me, that is.”

“I will always want you Imogen.” You admit sheepishly.

“Good, because you aren’t getting rid of me now. That’s a promise.” She assures you.

She was always your everything and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[yuri-is-online]

TDB Episode 7 Thoughts

So this episode sort of felt like a filler chapter between "Meeting the Ghouls" and "the Laurel Crown" arcs of the story. I didn't mind since I really like Yuri and Jiro's dynamic, but the pacing of the story was very quick and not a whole lot happened, after an Episode as loaded with action as Obscuary's it can feel a bit like a let down.

Now as for specific thoughts:

I want to start by saying I appreciate how Yuri doesn't believe in the prophecy because it isn't scientific but 100% thinks he is the chosen one, the champion anyway. Yes, have that self confidence that is nothing but a paper shell built on lies to cover your insecurities king! We love a pathetic meow meow in this house!

His connection to Frostheim... I have had this crack theory in my head that he is related to Jin somehow, like maybe he's his brother or something, but I do think how he talks about Frostheim makes me think he is either a transfer to Mortranken or used to be closer to Jin than he is now. We all are pretty sold on Haku being the one who sold Jin out, but there is a chance it could have been Yuri too I suppose.

We were right! Zenji and Jiro are brothers! And we have Zenji's real name, Taro Kirisaki! He doesn't seem to hate it or anything he is just really proud of his role as a man of the quill so he uses a pen name.

Zenji really loves his brother huh. "If anything were to happen to him I might not survive it this time round" I'd be willing to bet that whatever happened to the Krisaki brothers was connected, it's just that Zenji got dumped at Darkwick General while Jiro was taken in by Yuri. Zenji's voicelines about a brother "in his rebellious phase" and his struggle to express his love for his older brother makes me think they might have been at odds before the clash... maybe Jiro hated how laid back Zenji was when he literally made a deal with a demon? Of course he did too... but maybe Zenji's was related to trying to make Jiro healthy? He seems to have some sort of auto-immune disease and while that could be a side-effect of the coma but it could also be something Jiro's always struggled with and explain why Zenji is so protective of him. I bet they were killed by the same anomaly...

Sorry I have a lot of feelings about the Kirisaki brothers... what happened to them? Why does no one care that they're dead and dying other than Yuri? I don't think Zenji cares that much that Jiro doesn't remember him so long as he's alive... but would it bother Jiro if he could remember? Does he ever find himself making tea and turn to scold someone for talking too much, he's being annoying again but there isn't anyone there and he doesn't know who he's scolding because it wasn't Yuri... does he know how to make tea because Zenji insisted on teaching him? Is Zenji the one who he would tease about being afraid of dead bodies before MC?

Right on not simp notes: we have more information about the murder, the victim was from Ultio! And the murder predated the Clash so it's pretty safe to say the inability of the school to find the murderer is probably what kicked things off.

We also have hints of a mermaid student, so be patient fish fuckers we- I mean you will be getting fed soon. This student seems to be known to Yuri and Haru, and Haru's reaction suggests he might think of him as a friend? He's not beating the Steve Irwin allegations is he, I'm surprised Ed isn't obsessed with him at this point. Then again I think Ed would resent me implying he's an animal, but we've seen the inside of his room so I rest my case.

Nicholas appears to be in hot water with the Institute, and he is not trusted by Yuri. Cornelius references something he calls "the Dionysia breakout" as being Nicholas's fault to contain... given that those students are missing and Nicholas has only recently found them... I want more information before I say anything but Yuri's explanation of how he sees anomalous anything illnesses I think it makes sense to say an anomaly outbreak occurred in the Dionysia dorm that was not contained by its ghouls, something the school blames Nicholas for.

The school knew the MC was going to turn into an anomaly and did not tell her "for her mental health." I like MC's mixed feelings on this. On the one hand I don't think she would have handled it well if we had learned it immediately. On the other, I am a firm believer that information is not something that should be gate kept, and hey. It's the MC's life she deserves to know what happened to her. I think I land on not trusting Darkwick but I do trust Yuri, I want to know why he's so determined to cure MC but I don't doubt his sincerity in the slightest. If I had to say who is most determined to see MC cured, I'd say its Yuri and Haru. And Zenji but he's out of commission at the moment. Yuri has an ego the size of his forehead, but he does seem very passionate about curing anomalous diseases and takes failures a bit more personally than he'll ever admit to. Haru is just a stand up guy who seems like he wants the best for those he loves, and he really does seem to love MC! He says he'd trust her with his life! That's my dorm captain he's literally the best <3

The tree is curious, one of the fruits looked a bit better, but then it shrunk after the announcement of the Laurel Crown and the Gala coming back... which I guess makes sense? The ghouls are fighting again, technically, and if their hate for each other is what makes the tree sick then I don't think it is going to get better. Speaking of the tree... poor MC.

Yuri's description of an anomaly that could destroy the world does match up with how Ed describes the Kyklos. Dani and I talked about this already, but that name (in addition to being super similar sounding to cyclops explaining why she has one eye) is ancient greek for cycle. It is typically used to refer to a theory about human history that depicts it as being a cycle between Dark and Golden ages, how this monster came to be is something I'd be super interested to learn about... I have some theories but they're 100% pure Colombian crack with no evidence.

That being said, Ed knows what it is but Darkwick's staff does not... Ed revealing the MC is going to turn into a monster to the whole student body makes a lot of sense for him to do actually. He sees it as him helping the MC because he wants the ghouls to compete to cure her, and knowing how he thinks of humans he probably assumed they wouldn't do so unless there was an incentive so that's why he made that the goal the dorms would have to meet to win the Laurel Crown.

Speaking of which... Sho. Shohei. Hyde has him doing a special mission, wonder what that is huh? Whatever it is, that's suspicious. That's weird. I've got both my eyes on you Mr. Playboy, Lyca wouldn't do this to me maybe he should get to keep the babygirl title.

... also I really love the "if it were not for the laws of this land I would have killed you" vibes Rui, Tohma, and Haku had during their little conversation. I was dying, "oh hiiiii Rui :D so nice to see you NOT IN THE SHADOWS STALKING ME. DID YOU KNOW HE CAN DO THAT MC? GO INTO SHADOWS AND STALK YOU? NO???" Haku just being like "teehee maybe MC and I are a thing Tohma" and Tohma leaving that on read because who cares? Not him his interests are classified but I swear its ntr- *i am shot and dragged from the premises*

[libraryofgage]

Life in Miniature (One)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedediah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One (you're here!)

There will be more Jedtavius in the next parts I promise, I just thought this would be a funner introduction to the AU lmao

I just love those little guy dudes from the museum so much hfjdks and now we get two pairs of them

Also, fun fact, I took Steve's Roman name from, like, an actual king of Rome. The actual sixth king. He seemed like a chill dude.

Anyway, there's a meme at the end and as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

---------

When Robin took this job as a night guard, she didn't think the previous guard's words about history coming to life at night was, you know, real. She thought it was a joke, a predictable and corny joke, but a joke nonetheless.

But now, after being chased by a T-Rex, getting saved by Theodore Roosevelt, and almost being taken captive by fucking Attila the Hun, Robin thinks this job definitely isn't worth $16.50 an hour. Then again, this is the best paying job she's had in a while, and she was living a nocturnal life anyway.

Robin groans, leaning against a wall in the diorama exhibit, and slides down to the floor. She lets her head fall back against the wall, her eyes slipping shut as she slides. "This is crazy. This is insane. I need to find a fucking weapon or something," she mutters.

"Pardon me," comes a voice close to her head, "but might you be the goddess Diana?"

As pick-up lines go, it's not the worst one she's heard. And, based on what she knows of Greek and Roman deities, it wouldn't be too far off. Still, she does not want to be hit on by whatever weird historical thing is trying to flirt with her.

Robin takes a deep breath, opens her eyes, and says, "Do I look like a goddess to you?"

She looks to her left where the voice came from, blinking when her gaze falls on a figurine that would barely reach her ankle. He's dressed in a toga with a chest plate, wrist guards, a sword on his waist, and a deep purple cape over his shoulders. His hair is, honestly, the most impressive thing Robin has ever seen, made only more impressive by the golden laurels resting perfectly against his temples.

He's looking at her with wide eyes, more awed than anything else. "Yes," he says. "I have heard the gods are larger than life."

Okay. Fair.

"Why Diana, man?" Robin asks.

He tilts his head, studying her for a moment, looking her up and down. "You give me the same feeling as statues of Noble Diana with her Huntresses," he explains, pausing for a moment before adding, "A feeling of kinship, perhaps?"

Oh. This...this is like ancient Roman gaydar, right? Robin snorts and turns, resting her elbow on her knee. "I'm definitely not Diana. My name is Robin. I'm the new night guard."

His eyes brighten some, his smile growing wider and certainly charming enough to make the hearts of a few girls and guys flutter. "I am Servius Tullius, Sixth King of Rome, son of Vulcan, weapons master of the gods, and adopted son of Jedediah, Cowboy King of the Wild West, and Octavius, general of the Roman army."

Robin nods, letting all of the those words process in her head before saying, "Mind if I call you Steve? You look like a Steve."

The Sixth King of Rome blinks, looking slightly confused before his eyes light up with understanding. "Ah! A nickname! Yes, I am familiar with this concept. You may call me Steve, Lady Robin, as a show of our newfound friendship."

"Yeah, don't call me Lady Robin. Just Robin is fine," she says, hesitating before offering her hand to Steve.

"As you wish, Just Robin," he says, stepping carefully onto her hand and remaining steady as she raises him higher.

Robin blinks, frowning slightly and about to correct him again when she sees his smile and realizes it's a joke. "Okay, very funny, dingus," she says, carefully poking his side.

"Is dingus another nickname? It sounds like an insult."

"It usually is, but it's affectionate when I say it."

"Oh! Yes, like when Ockie calls Jed a philistine."

"Uh, sure," Robin says, nodding once as she lets Steve move to stand on her shoulder. He quickly sits, holding onto the collar of her jacket as she carefully stands up. "Hey, you know what I'm supposed to do about the dinosaur bones?"

"Rexy? Yes, he enjoys a game of fetch."

"Fetch. Of course."

----------

"What's going on in that head of yours, little man?"

Steve blinks, looks over at Jedediah, and raises an eyebrow at him. "I'm taller than you," he says, gesturing to the good inch he has on Jedediah.

"As long as you're my son, you're a little man."

Doing his best to not laugh, Steve nods once and points to the new diorama set up in the middle of the room. It's a circular diorama, centered on an equally circular stage divided into sections. A cacophony of noise echoes from it, clashing as each slice of the stage fights for dominance. "I'm trying to figure out what in Jupiter's name they're doing over there," he says.

"Well, most of it sounds like music," Jedediah says, "I think."

"It's not any music I've heard before," Octavius says, coming to a stop next to Jedediah and frowning at the diorama. "I would have assumed it the unholy shrieking of the damned."

"Perhaps it would be nicer if they weren't all playing at once," Steve suggests, hands on his hips as he tilts his head.

"Oh, boy, there it is," Jedediah says, his grin audible in his tone. "He's got the King Face."

"What are your intentions, my boy?" Octavius asks.

Before Steve can answer, Robin strolls into the room, grinning when she sees the raving diorama in the middle. She walks over to Steve, Jedediah, and Octavius, crouches down, and says, "Hey, guys. I see you're checking out the History of Rock display."

"History of Rock?" Steve asks.

"What in the sweet hell do rocks have to do with that mess?" Jedediah asks, gesturing to the noisy stage.

Robin rolls her eyes. "No, like, rock music. It's a genre. Anyway, it was sponsored by some musician, so it's a permanent display now."

"And they will be...playing every night?" Octavius asks.

"Probably."

Steve frowns a little more and nods, rolling his shoulders back. "If they are a permanent fixture in our hallowed hall, they must be welcomed. As Sixth King of Rome, this duty falls upon my shoulders. Fathers, I shall return shortly."

"Woah, woah, hold your horses there, little man," Jedediah says, moving to stand in front of Steve. "You're not going anywhere near that snake pit without some back up."

"A few centurions, at least," Octavius agrees.

"I will have Robin. What better protection is there?"

Jedediah and Octavius glance at each other before looking at Robin. She grins and offers them a two finger salute. "I'll guard him with my life," she says, "It's literally my job."

With that reassurance, Jedediah and Octavius move out of the way. Steve steps onto Robin's hand and settles on her shoulder with practiced ease, ignoring the nervous flutter in his stomach at greeting the new museum residents. He hopes they'll get along, but he also knows the might of his Roman army and the railroad workers can crush any who stand in their way.

Robin stops next to the diorama, tilting her head as she studies it. This close, Steve can see the bands playing on each slice of stage, the instruments and fashion shifting as his gaze travels around it. "Uh, excuse me," Robin says, raising her voice.

The raucous noise from the diorama screeches to a halt, the feedback making Robin and Steve grimace slightly. "Uh, hi. We're the official welcome crew for the Hall of Miniatures here. So, I'll need someone to represent your, like, whole display," Robin says, glancing over the bands until she finds one she recognizes. "Okay, I know you guys, so I'll be designating you the spokesband. Now, could the lead singer step forward?"

Steve watches as someone on the "Corroded Coffin" (what an odd name for a band) slice of the stage steps forward. Robin offers her hand to them, carefully lifting it away once they step on. "Great, uh, carry on, I guess. But, like, maybe play some of your quieter stuff for a bit," she says, her words barely out before the music starts up and the crowds start screaming once more.

She sighs and just walks over to the bench, letting off the person on her hand before letting Steve slide down her arm in a move they spent nearly three weeks practicing if only because they knew it would look cool.

When he hops onto the bench, Steve walks up to the other miniature, a man his age with long hair and odd clothes with tears that Robin once said were fashionable. His instrument is still slung over his shoulders, resting casually against his hips much like Steve's sword. Steve suddenly finds himself thinking that the man looks a little like a warrior. An odd one, to be sure, but a handsome one nonetheless.

He flashes his most charming smile, lets his shoulders relax, and says, "My friend here is Robin, Guardian of Brooklyn. I am Servius Tullius, Sixth King of Rome, son of Vulcan, weapons master of the gods, and adopted son of Jedediah, Cowboy King of the Wild West, and Octavius, general of the Roman army. You, however, may call me Steve."

-----

As far as Eddie was concerned, nothing mattered so long as Corroded Coffin got to keep rocking in an endless concert. The energy never waned, the set list never grew boring, and the music never stopped. He was ready to inform this welcoming crew of just that and promise Hell on Earth if they tried to disrupt the music (angry concert goers are a force of nature), when the words just died in his throat.

Because the most gorgeous man he's ever seen slides down that giant lady's arm, easily and smoothly landing on the bench. Somehow, his hair is perfectly windswept, the golden laurels glinting in the lights above them. His purple cape flutters softly as he walks closer, his toned thighs on full display with the toga hem that falls to the middle of them. There's a sword on the guy's hip, a chest plate that Eddie wants to pull off, a smile he wants to taste, and a pair of freckles right next to each other on the guy's cheek he wants to drag his tongue across.

He misses most of the introduction because he's too busy staring. He gets the important bits, though: Robin, a king, son of a god, adopted son of two dads. Eddie licks his lips nervously, a grin of his own tugging at his lips as he steps forward and playfully bows. "It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty," he says.

It's supposed to come out joking, a little poke at the guy's authority to see if he can be riled up. It actually comes out way too genuine, and Eddie has a sudden realization that he meant it. He absolutely will accept this guy as his king, actually. He'll fall to his knees before him right now if asked, and not just because it might give him a little peek under the dude's toga.

"Please, just call me Steve. There's no need to be so formal."

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, hoping Steve doesn't realize that the things Eddie is thinking about (the things he wants to do to and with Steve) are just about the least formal things on this earth. "Good to know," he says, relieved his voice sounds normal as he stands up straight and offers his hand. "Name's Eddie Munson, uh, lead singer of Corroded Coffin."

Steve blinks, and his smile becomes a bit more genuine as he steps closer and clasps Eddie's forearm. "A fellow leader," he says, squeezing Eddie's arm. "Welcome to our museum."

"Y-yeah," Eddie says, his arm still tingling when Steve lets go. He clears his throat, idly tugging on a few strands of hair. "So, uh, what's the deal around here? I mean, giant women...Roman kings...cowboys, it looks like."

"Our noble museum is home to Pharoah Ahkmenrah and his tablet, which brings the exhibits to life each night," Steve explains.

"There's a few rules, though," Robin says, sitting down on the bench behind Steve. "One, no getting into fights. Two, be back in your display by sunrise. Three, no leaving the museum at night."

"What? Why not?"

"We have lost good exhibits to Sol Invictus's morning rays," Steve says, frowning slightly. "So, be careful."

Eddie stares at Steve with wide eyes as he nods, amazed at the fact that Steve seems to talk like that so genuinely. And the fact that Eddie is...kinda into it. Holy shit, that's not helping with Eddie's whole "fall to his knees" thing. He wouldn't mind some good old-fashioned worship if Steve would just smile at him again.

Maybe his prayers are heard, because Steve smiles at him again. "Wonderful," he says. "Now, Eddie, could I interest you in a tour of the museum tonight?"

"Oh, you could interest me in a lot of things, sweetheart," Eddie blurts out, his mouth running faster than his brain.

He snaps his jaw shut, relieved and horrified at Steve's slightly confused expression and Robin's "I know what you are" thousand-yard stare from over his shoulder. Before he can try to backtrack, Steve snaps, understanding in his eyes. "Ah! Sweetheart is a nickname, yes? I accept your offer of friendship."

Eddie clenches his jaw, stopping himself from saying that it's more than friendships he's offering, and smiles. "Yeah. A nickname. That's all. I'm just...a nickname kinda guy. I'll probably think of more, too, Stevie. Like that."

Steve practically beams, and Eddie feels his knees go weak. "I look forward to it," he says, turning on his heel to look at Robin, who thankfully schools her expression. "Robin, this is where we leave you for the night. You have my word that Eddie will be back in place before sunrise."

"Well, you two kids have fun," she says, grinning in a way that immediately puts Eddie on edge. "I'd better not hear about any funny business, though. Absolutely no bases should be reached tonight, and you'd better not do any conquering or pillaging."

She definitely looks at Eddie when she says that last bit. Eddie stiffens, doing his best to hold back a blush when Steve glances over at his, the confusion clear on his face. "Conquering requires more planning than this, Robin. I've told you before."

"Don't worry about it, dingus. Just have fun. Here, I'll even call a ride for you," she says, winking at them before turning, holding her fingers to her mouth, and whistling sharply.

Steve walks over to Eddie right as the ground starts to shake, easily catching him around the waist before he can lose his balance. "The shaking does take some getting used to," he says, his tone full of sympathy and obliviousness to the crisis Eddie is experiencing.

When his brain finally catches up enough to ask what he's talking about, a dinosaur skeleton slides into the room, its body wiggling excitedly as it growls. Eddie jerks back, the arm around his waist tightening some. "What the fuck?!" he shouts.

"Worry not," Steve says, leaning closer. His voice is a little softer now, his breath fanning over Eddie's ear. "This is Rexy, our steed for the evening. He's very friendly."

"Friendly," Eddie mumbles, letting himself be dragged over to Rexy and placed on the dinosaur's head by Robin. "The dinosaur is friendly."

"Many of the exhibits are," Steve tells him, grinning brightly as Rexy begins moving after a pet on the snout from Robin.

Eddie looks at him, feeling blinded by Steve's smile once more, and completely forgets about the living dinosaur skeleton.

--------

Lemme know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

(Also I know there are like one or two upcoming parent AUs that people have asked to be tagged in and I tried to see if this was one of them but couldn't find anyone for the life of me hfjdks so I'm sorry if you asked on another post and I missed you orz)

And, finally, a meme for you

[physalian]

Character Types: Self-Destructive Paragon

I just came up with that term right now to describe characters whose philosophy is: I will be good and kind even if it kills me.

If you have a more apropos one, I’d love to hear it.

But I think being a “self-destructive paragon” with emphasis on the self-destruction is to be good out of spite, to be cynically optimistic, to do the right thing because fuck, no one else is going to, the world is shit, people can be shit, but I will not be people.

Similar to the Fixer but more self-aware and less of a doormat, the SDP is a character I think the world needs more of to stand against toxic positivity and exhausting silver linings.

Instead of “the world is good and I’m going to prove it :D” in the face of daunting misery and suffering, it’s “the world is messy and complicated and we are all suffering, but I have the means to do good, and nothing will stand in my way”.

Painfully naïve characters are not compelling (to me). They’re preachy, they always need rescuing, they strawman cynics and pessimists, and when they do face a situation they cannot put a positive spin on, they still hold the moral high ground with little room for nuance, and they tend to get into situations that no other character would be stupid and/or gullible enough to fall into.

It would be like if Katara was actually the Ember Island Players’ version of her for the entire show. Or, Aang’s caricature.

But she’s not. She’s suffered and been burned and humbled and isn’t at all afraid to get her hands dirty and risk her life doing what she thinks is right, like in "The Painted Lady". But she’s also messy and complicated, nearly killing a man in her revenge quest in "The Southern Raiders".

Katara will be good and kind and just and fair and noble, putting her life on the line again and again to prove it, but she's not as angsty (and not self-destructive) as the two examples I have in mind.

SDPs also tend to be written in bad faith, or as a bastion of virtue against other characters written in bad faith, depending on where you fall on the “hope is vital/hope is for children” spectrum for the message of your book.

Usually, other characters’ criticisms of the painfully naïve are that they have not suffered and their virtue signaling is tone deaf to their audience of people who cannot afford the luxury of looking on the bright side.

So, enter the self-destructive paragon.

This is a character who probably suffered deeply, for a long time, and who was painfully naïve until they had their wakeup call. But instead of devolving into a selfish cynic, they decided to not only be better, but to put their money where their mouth is and do better.

This is a character who was probably mocked and dragged down again and again by cynics who want to make them as miserable as the rest of the world, and gosh darn it, they just won’t break.

They might risk their lives, their health, their stability, or their reputation trying to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved, determined to help someone they’re convinced just can’t see that they need help yet. Or, they might be a Robin Hood figure, blithely shuffling resources around with some worldly calluses on their soul.

Or, they might have faith in the world, but have zero faith in themselves, making themselves the exception for every grace they extend to other people.

Even if their “self-destruction” is a permanent rage against the system and the cynicism, giving themselves fully to their cause and losing their sense of “self” in the process, this is a character compelled to go beyond their means, no matter the cost. These characters tend to not even think of themselves as "heroes" to be praised, they're just doing what they think is right and might suffer a bit of imposter syndrome when the laurels come their way.

I like these characters because of their fierce honesty, and the knife’s edge upon which they walk. You understand their morality and their integrity explicitly, and the lengths they will go to stand up for what they believe in can have horrible unintended consequences.

And who’s a better self-destructive, angsty do-gooder than the Dark Knight himself? Specifically the iterations where he isn't going around branding and murdering people. BTAS-era. Bats doesn’t give himself a break and he’s my favorite DC hero in large part because he has a villain’s backstory straight-up, and chooses to be good.

Spoiled little rich kid watches his parents get murdered and inherits impossible wealth and could very easily use all that money, power, and influence to become a supervillain in adulthood. He has the costume, the aesthetic, the brutality, the motive, and the means.

But Batman is a hero, and he will do good and be good, even if it kills him. He spits in the face of every real-world billionaire who rests on their winnings, every person in power who so superficially laments the plight of the poor. Is he perfect? Nope, but that’s more of the limitations set by the people who write him and not his character itself. He might not be a complete cynic about the state of the world, but he sure is a cynic about himself or as the Nolan Bats said: “I’m whatever Gotham needs me to be.” Even if that makes him a pariah to preserve the reputation of a better man (in his mind) so that Gotham can have their faith rewarded.

Raven of DC’s Teen Titans is also a self-destructive paragon, another character with the motive and the means to easily become a villain and be the worst thing to happen to the world, but chooses not to. Specifically the 2003 cartoon version. She’s been fated to bring about the end of the world, daughter of a ruthless villain whose sole purpose for existing is to be his portal. Her whole life she’s kept people at a distance, refusing to let people in to get her hopes up and have good things so she doesn’t have to lose and hurt them.

But she is a hero. Per Robin, “the most hopeful person I know”. And she will be good, even if it kills her.

—

I know "hero born from villainy whose personality is Angst" (Gaara fits well) is the bread and butter of shonen edgy bad boys but the difference I'm trying to highlight is how quickly these characters will throw themselves on their own swords, with crippling self-worth issues.

So of course I wrote them. Thrice.

One in Eternal Night of the Northern Sky on Amazon

And two in Little Red Dot up on Ao3

[utilitycaster]

Following on the last answer you gave about Laura/Ashley.

What I'm stuck on is that this fear of making a mistake is not a new thing? They've been like this for all of this campaign, note Ashley not wanting to take the shard, Laura's constant fear of letting Imogen's mom stay on the moon, etc. And to a degree, I get it! Exandria is a pretty expensive and important source material - there's an Amazon series!!! - and it's scary to make any huge decisions in it. Additionally, I understand the feeling that there's something specific that the DM wants and you're just not getting it. But I keep wondering, how hard is it for Matt to sit them down and be like. Fuck around man, it's fine! (Or even the opposite! Give them some railroads, they're all over the place!) You know? It just feels to me that Matt can solve so many of these problems outside the stream with a quick convo and I'm so confused why that's not happening.

(I didn't watch this episode completely because the discussion at the end was giving me a very bad case of secondhand embarrassment due to how stupid it was. So if this happened and I missed it, feel free to ignore this.)

Yeah that is where I am at, and this is the MOST speculative I will get to the point that I'm making it nonrebloggable but my personal guess is that like. I watched a LOT of interviews at the start of C2, as a new viewer who was looking for more stuff (which...ultimately just resulted in a C1 binge) and the cast was at the time very cognizant of wanting to prove C1 wasn't a fluke and that they could tell another great story in the world with new characters. But they also prepped EXTENSIVELY for it; and also, in this case, I think a lot of the world was in a somewhat more nebulous state (ie, I think Matt probably had the concept of an ancient archmage plotting to release a god-eater possibly that far back...but I think Liam's concept for Caleb very much influenced the nature of the Assembly and gave Matt a place to put proto-Ludinus).

I think that with two campaigns under their belt, I don't want to say they rested on their laurels, because as I've said repeatedly the caliber of the vast majority of other things they've put out has remained high. But I think that because Campaigns 1 and 2 came together so well Matt might not have realized that Campaign 3, and his fairly specific intended plot, required more work and different work. Like, it required the level of planning and railroading you see for dimension 20 seasons. Campaign 2 could meander and focus on characters because the main goal it needed to achieve in a presumably 3 campaign story was worldbuilding, and I wonder if the fact that it diverged almost entirely from Matt's vision and still came out great obfuscated the fact that this wouldn't work for C3. Campaign 3 really needed to have realized and invested characters right out the gate with knowledge of the world. Like, I think it could have been solved with a conversation but I also think that there's been some sufficient "wtf" choices (bringing in Abu as the Arch Heart without any specific guidelines is one that comes to mind) that I wonder if the cast has entirely internalized how much this doesn't cohere narratively. And also, to be fair, I've played in D&D campaigns that didn't have a great plot or really any at all but I was having enough fun hanging out with my friends that I didn't really care, and since we weren't being filmed it didn't matter. It's a lot easier to see this stuff from the outside, is my thought. I don't think it's hard in terms of time and effort, but also, I know I kept thinking "oh HERE'S the course correction, finally!" pretty much up until the last ten or so episodes. I wouldn't be surprised if he kept thinking "surely this will pull together."

[purplesimmer455]

The next day, Piper and Cam gather outside Bachelor Hall with the rest of the graduating class. The air buzzes with excitement as sims tell each other about their future plans, what career they might go into, and how relieved they are that exams are done. Hugo and Evie Ojo-Benali, Tammy's older siblings, are among the year's graduates, and Piper and Cam make small talk with them as they wait. Evie congratulates Piper, who grins shyly and congratulates her back, while Hugo asks how Luna and Chrissy are doing. "Good, thanks, uncle Hugo*." Piper says. Plus, they get to know Cam and ask about her family.

Later, Piper walks across the stage to accept her diploma, and she hears her moms, brother, and auntie Tess cheering her on. A few seats over, Cam's parents and auntie Iseul cheer her on too, with Iseul whooping loudly. She grins and accepts her diploma from the dean and shakes their hand, blinking away happy tears as she walks off stage. When it's Cam's turn, she walks confidently to the stage, and her family and Piper’s cheer loudly again. She looks from her dad, who started crying happy tears once Piper got her diploma and is still crying, to her mom, who's blinking back tears and smiling, to her auntie Iseul, who's grinning and mouthing "so proud of you, Cammy!" And has to hold back tears as she shakes the dean's hand and accepts her diploma too.

*Edit: Hugo is married to Piper’s auntie Laurel and Evie is Piper's best friend Lily's mom*, and they're close to Piper’s mom Luna, so they're well acquainted with the Feldman family. I'm going to say that they both went back and got second diplomas. 😊

Also, I definitely have to give Evie, Hugo, Luna, Chrissy, Tess, Laurel, etc and that second generation a bit of an adult makeover, like maybe give them a skin overlay that allows some wrinkles and such to show through? Just because they all look a bit too young, and now Pipes, Cam and their third generation is going into their mid twenties and I want to differentiate the two. 🤔😊

Also, I'm slightly PMS-ing so this post made me sappy already, and then my mom sent photos she'd take of my kitten Ollie, and I lost it and cried for half a minute over how cute he is and how much I love him. 😳😅🥺

[shanastoryteller]

Happy pride! Can you write more of that god!Zagreus fic?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Thanatos guides Megara to the place known as the Prince’s Court, stepping into the throne room to see his dark head and fiery laurels bent over a long table. Clustered around him are those whom he used to rest amongst battling his way through the underworld – not just Sisyphus, but the nymph Eurydice and the warrior Patroclus.

Barely more than acquaintances, really, and yet Zagreus has folded them into his confidence, a confidence extended neither to him nor Megara. Again.

He does not tell them when he intends to escape the underworld nor does he tell them when he cracks it open and burrows into a place of his own making. What did those three do that he hadn’t?

Zagreus looks over, smiles, then sees Meg and frowns. Instead of addressing her, he turns to Patroclus and says, “We might as well just tell Achilles outright at this point. If we’re not quick about it he’ll find out from someone else, which is probably best to be avoided.”

“I think it would serve him right, actually,” Patroclus answers, a small smile curling around the edges of his mouth.

Megara lets out a shriek, angry enough to earn her status as a Fury on that alone, and launches herself at Zagreus whips first.

Everyone else scatters, even Patroclus backing up with his hands raised even though he’s a good enough warrior to at least slow Megara down. Thanatos thinks uncharitable thoughts about loyalty to their god and king even though the truth of it is that they’re smart enough to keep from being dragged into the middle of a lover’s quarrel.

Zagreus lets the whips hit him and yet for once he does not bleed.

No rich mortal blood falls from his skin, instead the whips slamming into him and then sliding off.

“Meg, don’t be mad,” he says soothingly. “I just didn’t want to put you in an awkward position-”

“You’re not bleeding,” she says blankly, her rage banked by confusion.

He glances down on his arms. “Oh, oops. Do you want me to? I can, but also we could talk this out.”

“Or move the battle to somewhere that won’t harm my architecture,” Sisyphus pipes up. Eurydice elbows him, looking horrified, while Patroclus just remains amused.

Zagreus inclines his head in their direction. “Or that.”

“Don’t give me a reason to start with you,” Megara hisses at Sisyphus. “Zagreus, what the fuck is happening? What’s with you?” She storms forward to grab his arm, yanking it around, searching his skin for some break. “You’ve always bled. Even when we were children.”

He softens, offering his wrist to her mouth and her very sharp teeth.

Megara grips it, dragging it forward and biting into him as if he’s the first bite of a feast and she’s starving.

Zagreus winces, but leaves his wrist in her mouth. Thanatos feels warm and uncomfortable all over, something intimate there that he always avoids seeing between them. She releases him and her teeth are red with his blood and blood falls down his arm in rivulets. “I’m still me. I still bleed. I just have a little bit more control over it these days. I’m the god of blood. I’m made to bleed.”

[in-the-drowning-deep]

Writing Challenge Weekend

@woundedsoul12 tagged me in this, and I've been having Rook/Harding wedding thoughts ever since @maagisterpavus' ask yesterday, so have some tooth rotting fluff based on the prompt:

"Get over your hill and see what you find there, with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair."

"Is that the Inquisitor? And the - Lace! That's the Divine!" "Yeah, Ma," Lace says, laughing. "I told you Cassandra would be here." "You didn't say she was - that she -!" Rose Harding looks fit to burst. "Divine Victoria is officiating my little girl's wedding!" Lace has gone about as red as her hair. She's glad Cassandra isn't in earshot. "She is. It's... it was really nice of her to offer." She decides against telling her who they've got to do the second ceremony in Minrathous. Ashur, she's learning, is perhaps as good and kind and brave as Cassandra, but the whole Black Divine thing is... yeah. Save that surprise for later. At least no one in Redcliffe's been weird to her face about the fact that she's marrying a Vint. (And it had better stay that way.) "It was more than nice, it - oh, come here, darling." Lace shoots Taash a helpless look as her Ma goes back to fussing with the set of her wedding dress, brushing at imaginary lint. Taash just raises an eyebrow, like 'what do you want me to do about it?' That's your Mom, they'd said last night, when Lace had complained about all the fuss she was making. She loves you. 'Course she's gonna be like this. Harding hates when her friends are right. A sudden hush sweeps through the Chantry. Cassandra steps up to the altar, looking resplendent in her robes - but Lace is looking in the opposite direction altogether, back towards the doors as they swing open. It's a motley party that stands in the doors. Lucanis and Emmrich have already taken their seats, but Neve and Bellara are in the bridal party, standing either side of - Of - Oh. Esha looks as beautiful as the day Harding fell in love with her. There are lines etched into her face that weren't there then, and the deep circles under her eyes might never go away entirely. But standing there, her dark curls woven through with laurel and cherry and orange blossom, the leaves just brushing the pointed tips of her ears - she looks like a vision from the Maker himself. And she's looking at Lace like she just saw one too. It's as if the whole world falls away as she walks forward. The whole rest of the room might as well not exist. She's... she's so...! She's about to be Lace's wife! Esha draws level with Lace, with an almost shy grin that looks utterly perfect on her. Lace reaches out a hand and she takes it, squeezing gently. It's a wrench to look away; when she does look up, Cassandra's eyes are glittering with just a hint of tears above a delighted smile. They made it. Everything they did - all of it was worth it for this. She wishes Davrin were here, but she'd like to think he's watching somewhere. She'd like to think they'll find him one day. She can't wait to show him her ring.

[hero21us]

Gold Reigns Supreme

Brody, a dedicated member of the Golden Army soccer team, has always admired Trey’s track and field prowess. He follows Trey’s career closely, inspired by his relentless dedication and impressive achievements. However, recently, Brody heard unsettling rumors about Trey’s sudden disinterest in his sport and his peculiar obsession with a black rubber polo shirt. This strange behavior reminded Brody of his former teammate, Christian, who had disappeared soon after obtaining a similar shirt.

Brody decides to reach out to Trey.  Trey agrees to meet at a local outside gym.  Trey is sitting alone on a bench, lost in thought when Brody catches sight of him.  Taking a deep breath Brody walks over, his heart pounding with anxiety and anticipation.

“Hey, Bro,” Brody begins, trying to sound casual. “Thanks for meeting me.  I heard about your experience with a black polo shirt.  How are you doing?  Trey looks up, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and apprehension. “Brody, thanks for reaching out.  It’s been tough but I’m okay.” 

“Trey, Brody begins, you may remember that the Golden Army brought on a new wingback, Christian #55, a few months ago.  Wanting to prove himself during his first game he did not stay in his position or listen to our captains’ instructions ultimately costing us the match.  His life became hell after that match.  One day he showed up to practice wearing a black rubber polo just like the one you described. 

He began handing out the polos to the team saying that we would win if we became one, obey and serve.  Some of the team seeing his focus and intensity accepted the shirts. They all quickly stopped caring about the team and our matches.  All they wanted was for everyone to start wearing the polos.  When no one else on the team would accept the polos, Christian and those who did all vanished.”

Brody continues, “Reading the stories about your experience I am hoping you might have some information or insight that can help me to find out what happened to Christian and the rest of my teammates.”

Trey takes a deep breath and begins to share his experience. “It all started when I received a package from 009, filled with advanced workout gear. Each outfit seemed to enhance my performance, but the last item was different—a black ‘Fred Perry’ rubber polo shirt. When I put it on, I felt an incredible surge of energy.  I was able to focus, increase the intensity of my workouts and be more synchronized with the team while running the 4x400 relay.

One night after a great workout two men in black came up from behind and put a gas mask on me.  The gas did something to change me.  I no longer had a will.  I existed to obey, serve, be one with my brother drones in the collective.  Our command was to make all men one, united in the black rubber polo.  I was specifically commanded to not wear the polo but to spread the love of all things rubber and polo.  I was to put the shirt on at night along with a gas mask.  The tight rubber shirt on my skin combined with the gas was intoxicating.  It was so powerful and overwhelming that it became impossible for me to act normal.  I needed the rubber and the gas.  I needed to be one with the collective at all times.” 

“I couldn’t have broken free without my friends.”  Trey continues.  “They physically tore the polo off of me and destroyed the gas mask.” 

As Trey and Brody talked a figure emerges from the shadows striding toward them.  Its movements are unnervingly precise, its body clad in black rubber with a black “Fred Perry” buttoned up polo with gold accents and a laurel leaf on its left pec.  Most striking of all was the gas mask obscuring its face, the lenses dark and impenetrable.

It carried another gas mask in its hand.

“Trey,” the figure states in a voice that is deep, monotone and eerily robotic, yet disturbingly human. It is less a voice and more a command programmed to sound alive. “You are required to wear this.”

Trey jumps up, a chill running down his spine, a look of terror on his face.  He remembers the nights he spent under the influence of the gas, how it clouded his mind and made him act against his will. "What the hell? No way! Never again!” "I won't go back," "I’m not a puppet, and I won’t let the collective control me."

But the drone persists; "Resistance is futile. The collective will prevail," he drones, reaching out to place the mask on Trey with mechanical precision.  "You must return to the collective. Your purpose is to spread the unity of the collective." “For your safety. Resistance is prohibited.” 

Brody steps forward; his tone confrontational. “Hey, back off! You’re not forcing anything on him.” 

The polo drone’s head tilts slightly, as if recalculating its approach. 

"Resistance is futile. The collective will prevail." It states matter-of-factly as it suddenly lunges at Brody, attempting to secure the mask over his face. Brody dodges, shoving the polo drone back. Trey joins the fray, grabbing the drone’s arm and pulling it away from Brody.  The gas mask it is holding falling to the ground.

The battle is fierce, each moment filled with tension and determination.  The polo drone displays remarkable force, but its movements seem pre‑programmed, predictable. Trey manages to lock its arms behind its back while Brody reaches for the polo drone’s mask.

The polo drone fights like an animal; its desperation palpable. It claws and thrashes, trying to reclaim the gas mask and put it on Trey. But Brody and Trey hold tight, their combined strength overpowering the drone's frantic attempts.

“If there’s someone under this, we’re pulling them out!” Brody yells, his fingers prying at the mask’s straps.

The polo drone’s muffled voice protests. “Unauthorized action. Cease immediately.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Brody grunts. With a final tug, the mask comes free landing on the sidewalk, and the two friends stumble backward.

Beneath the mask is a pale, sweating face. The man looks disoriented, his eyes blinking rapidly as if waking from a nightmare.

“Who... where am I?” the man stammers, his voice trembling.

“Christian!” Brody snaps. “Is it really you?”  You just tried to force that gas mask on me!”

Christian looks at the two masks on the ground and begins to reach out for one before Trey stops him.  He reaches for it again becoming more agitated.  Brody holds him tight.  Christian’s attempts become more frantic, his addiction driving him wild. But Brody keeps an iron grip on him determined to keep him away from the mask.

"Look into my eyes Christian. “You will be okay,” Brody states, his eyes beginning to glow gold, while offering Christian a big hug.  “We are here for you!” 

Slowly Christian begins to calm down.  He stares at his own trembling fingers.

“Where have you been for the past few months?” Brody asks.

“I—I don’t remember. The last thing I recall, I was at Pulse waiting for Cap.  He arrived with someone else who I didn’t know. Then... nothing.” 

While explaining and continuing to stare into Brody's gold eyes and the aura of gold that now completely surrounds him, the gold begins to return to Christian’s eyes.  Slowly the black polo is absorbed into Christian’s skin as his gold jersey reemerges bringing a clarity to his mind. 

In a trance like state, Christian continues; “Bros, after I f*cked up during the match I went into a deep depression.  I lost all my confidence.  When cap put the polo on me, I felt my focus, intensity and ability to synchronize with the team return. It was empowering.  Then the gas mask was put on me and all that focus changed to obeying, serving and growing a collective. Nothing else mattered.”

“What are you saying?”  Brody asks.

“It was not the polo that made me fight for the collective but the gas.  I can still feel the polo within me.  It is now part of my being.  It has united itself to the gold within me to sharpen my focus and intensity in order to support the golden army.”

Impulsively Trey decides he must destroy the gas masks. Spotting two kids walking through the park on the way to baseball practice, he runs toward them and grabs a bat from one of them. Running back, he is about to smash the masks.

"Stop!" Brody yells. Trey freezes in place. "What?"

Without a word Brody grabs a mask, and to the horror of Trey and Christian, places it over his face. He becomes frozen and blank his individuality beginning to drain as the mask blacks out Brody's gold eyes. At that exact moment a group of polo drones emerges and surrounds the three men holding polos and gas masks repeating: "You will submit. You will obey."

Brody is standing frozen in place lost to the gas. The drones are approaching. Time seems to have stopped for Christian and Trey not knowing what to do.

Brody's head twitches slightly. It begins to shake. The back eye sockets start to glow. Brighter and brighter as a gold spiral appears. Brody's gold aura shines brighter than it ever had before. His jersey becomes metallic in nature and shine. The entire mask turns gold and a gold gas seeps out from the edges of the mask.

The polo drones freeze mid step.

After what seems an eternity to Christian and Trey, but is only a few seconds, Brody removes the gas mask as if nothing had happened.

The eye sockets of all the polo drones surrounding them have become gold spirals. A gold gas can be seen swirling behind the lenses. They stand erect facing Brody and in unison intone: "We are one. We obey gold. We serve gold. Gold is supreme. Awaiting commands."

"Gather all drones to the pitch where team management will provide instructions," Brody commands. The drones turn and walk away in unisan.

Brody, Christian and Trey, all exhausted and overwhelmed, leave the park supporting one another to find a place where they can rest and process all they have just experienced.

A few months later Trey wins Olympic gold in the 4X400 wearing his gold proudly wanting nothing to do with polos or drones. Christian rejoins Brody and the team on the pitch wearing his black rubber polo during the day filled with confidence, focus and intensity while easily shifting into his gold jersey which shines brighter and stronger than it ever had before. The polo drones remain mindless and obedient to every command of the collective which has become gold. The collective supports the Golden Army in all things. It only assimilating members of the golden family who willingly submit. The polos obedience being reinforced by wearing the black rubber polos and the gold gas flowing through their masks.

[apple-onigiri]

assigning songs from mitski's laurel hell album to siffrin and loop (because they've consumed my life)

as mentioned by me and requested by @starrycat123-blog (so sweetly, might i add!! they were so polite about it, not realizing being asked to yap is the highlight of my day), i am putting together a comprehensive list of all the songs from mitski's laurel hell album assigned to sif/loop/sif and loop two sides of the same silver coin style

Valentine, Texas this is so loop-coded, to me. me when i become someone else only i am privy to (note: this includes my other self) and live in the constant state of remembrance of my ghosts. "who will i be tonight?" <- me when i lie. me when i create a persona to hide behind. me and my disconnected sense of self. me when please let me live in my memories of things long gone please please please

Working for the Knife both of them!! this is the Ultimate Time Loop song. looks at the "i always knew the world moves on; i just didn't know it would go without me" line with an understanding but still very aware gaze. this is also peak living in the midst of your poor choices. you wake up on the grass of the meadow and, as you start reconstructing the same blinding script because you keep deciding to do so, suddenly this starts playing. what do you do

Stay Soft the "if i refuse to be open and honest and vulnerable i'm basically impervious to being hurt" is so very much mid-game-but-specifically-act-4 siffrin, fake smiling his way through his stupid-ass script because it protects his heart from any change that has at least the slightest potential to hurt him. the sheer possibility is too much. also bonus guilt of wanting, and circumventing it by focusing on what others want 'do you need help with anything' style. also also bonus+ "where the dark remembers you". i need to kill, maim, destroy because this play is about mpd who haunts the narrative of this album and this post

Everyone act 5. act 5 siffrin to an insane degree. i feel slightly ill about this actually like you cannottttt be serious. this song is deeply siffrin just going through the house after pushing away everyone else. "i left the door open to the dark; i said, come in, come in, whenever you want" and "and i opened my arms wide to the dark; i said take it all, whatever you want". looks directly into the camera mouthing "mal du pays"

Heat Lightning both. really really both but!! specifically with loop being the first half and so to speak passing the torch in the bridge to siffrin who's the second half. goddd i genuinely could make an animatic for this if it was as simple as beaming the images directly from my brain onto the screen, i'm walking around my room like a demented detective haunted by a cold case just thinking about it. "there's nothing i can do, not much i can change", by their own unbreakable rules!!! it's about the act of losing strength to keep fighting after doing that for so, so long and just wanting to rest, please with the people you love, please. "would that be okay?" i need to stop i can't make 1/3 of this post be about heat lightning (it could be)

The Only Heartbreaker siffrin 'i manipulated him into liking me' no last name. because when you're the only one in the time loop and the only one also in the loop, it's easy to view the positive interactions you're constantly getting as ones that you coerced. "so i'll be the loser in this game; i'll be the bad guy in the play". i actually feel haunted by this, i'm not kidding

Love Me More are you kidding. both. that's a song about what started this whole mess. the love-starved anthem that also has themes of searching for something to keep you going and of not trying anything risky out of fear to avoid getting hurt and of days repeating and repeating and repeating, and of needing the love to drown you, overwhelm you, purge you clean. this is their song. goddd

There's Nothing Left For You loop 'formerly siffrin' 'not anymore!' 'get replaced by your other self, idiot, you can't go back!' no last name. 59 dead, 118 injured. "nothing waits for you; you had it before; not anymore". "so go on at that sweetheart's door; and find a new you". "it was your right, it was your life; and then it passed to someone new". i literally don't think i need to add anything. it not only speaks but screams out for itself

Should've Been Me loop song. we all know this. i hate it here. "when i saw a girl looked just like me". c'mon. we've all seen the animatic, also. i literally have nothing else to say here, i'm basically out of a job

I Guess this is a spicy one - this is siffrin specifically after the two hats ending. this is a very short song but i'm struggling to keep this paragraph contained. "it's been you and me since before i was me; without you, i don't yet know how to live". i cry out dramatically, clutching my chest. "if i could keep anything of you; i would keep just this quiet after you". i fall on my knees and hit my fist against the floor. "it's still as a pond i am staring into; from here, i can say thank you; from here, i can tell you thank you". i'm sorry, siffrin. and thank you, loop. someone get me out of here

That's Our Lamp everybody say hiiiii act 5 siffrin but specifically pre-house. because he has a little demon on his shoulder telling him "they don't love you, they hate you" and making him crash out on everyone. so love-starved his body is rejecting any sign of care and love like someone starved eating too much and their body rejecting it. "that's where you loved me" in the context of looking over all the places in dormont where you "made" your found family love you is diabolical

and that's it!! i genuinely could go into deconstructing lyrics especially for some songs where it's clear i have more to say like heat lightning or love you more but i went into this determined to not go completely crazy with the length of this thing. love and light, everyone, hope you enjoyed

[qlossytbh]

𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 - 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 you and conrad had established no strings attached, that is until valentines fold up and conrad suddenly seeks more out of you.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 implications of sex, fwb, lots of fluff towards the end

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 3.1k by

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 back at it lol. i’m taking request!! feel free to send in any requests for any of the characters on my masterlist

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Valentines day. 

Some people are apprehensive when it comes to deciding what to spend the day doing on this particular holiday. For the lucky, it might be spending the day with their significant other or sitting around, basking in the simplicity of spending time with the person you love. For others, it was spending the day watching sappy rom-cons or moping around about the very fact of being single.

For you, Valentine's Day was the perfect excuse to show everyone how much you loved and cared for them. You were an overall extremely affectionate person, giving intricate gifts was a part of who you were. It was an extreme love language of yours— the feeling of running around, planning and buying different parts and pieces for each gift was something you found loads of fun in doing. 

For example, you had just finished baking and packing up your usual valentine themed cookie boxes to send out to all of your coworkers who worked with you at the local dog shelter. You had also sent out all of the small valentine themed envelopes to your family, who lived down the street from Susannah’s house here in Cousins, which reminded you not to forget her and Laurel's bouquets. You also put together the little treat bags with the group's favorite candy and other small things; one for Jeremiah, one for Steven, one for Belly, and one for Conrad.

It maybe was a lot, but you couldn't help yourself. You loved Valentine's Day. 

It was currently around four in the afternoon, and you were rushing around the kitchen of the Fisher household, scrolling through your tablet, checking off a few of the things you had left to do. 

Jeremiah walked into the room along with Belly, Steven, and Conrad.

"Hello Jeremiah." You looked up from your tablet and caught Jeremiah reaching for a cookie from one of the batches you were going to give out to your neighbours later on. His face twisted, laughing in embarrassment. You shook your head, looking down at the screen with a smile. 

"I left a batch of red velvet cupcakes near the fridge," Jeremiah and Stevens faces lit up. 

"You are the best person to step foot on this planet," Steven praised as they rounded the corner in attempts to get their hands on one of the cupcakes. 

"Seem's like you've been busy," Belly said, scanning the room as you set the tablet down on the counter. "I'll never get how you do it."

You shrugged, pulling your hand back and letting down the messy bun you had whipped up a few hours ago. "What can I say? Its Valentine’s Day."

"Not a valid answer, you don't see me running around gifting people random lovey shit, huh?" Conrad butted in as he leaned against the wall. You shot a glare at him.

"Well, you don't do lovey shit anyways," You teased with a smile, looking at your feet. "I dont know, I like seeing people happy, thats really all there is to it."

Belly looked at you with a smile. "That and your mind works at like, a thousand miles per hour."

It was true, you had a tendency to always need to be moving around. You barely sat still, not being able to stand the feeling of not being productive. You were always doing something, or you always had something to do. It was the main reason why you always ended burnt out. You loved doing things constantly, but it came with the heavy price of not knowing when you should stop doing things and rest. 

"People only usually do this stuff when they have boyfriends and shit like that," Belly insinuated. 

"You trying to tell us something, Y/n?" She said, gesturing towards her and Conrad. 

You cleared your throat, feeling a heat wave spread itself against your cheeks. You looked down only momentarily before shooting the pair a smile. "I do this every year Belly, if I had a special someone, you'd be able to tell."

It had been half true, given how you and Conrad weren't necessarily dating. 

It was complicated, at least if you explained it to others. You and Conrad had been best friends since you started coming to Cousins, which was since you were a baby. You loved Belly and Steven, and you loved Jeremiah, but things always felt different with Conrad. 

People had told you that Conrad was never an open book, and it surprised you at first, because he had always been more than open with you. It took very little, if not nothing, to guess with just a glance at what was going on in his head.

Many of the words that people used to describe Conrad Fisher, were the complete opposite of what you knew him to be. Conrad had a side of him that was reserved for only you, and you eventually started noticing it throughout your friendship. 

The two of you had many things that you preferred to leave unspoken. It had always worked like that with the two of you. When it came to how you felt about him, you couldn't put much into words. Words didn't do it justice most of the time.

But you and Conrad had been involved in this, thing, for about a year now. It started last summer, the two of you having one too many drinks at a party and hooking up accidentally. Or so you'd like to say it like that, because no one hooks up with their best friend drunk and says it was an accident. The two of you, not being able to communicate properly, ignored what happened that night for weeks.

But then it happened again

and again, 

and then again.

And none of the following times included alcohol. But for some reason, each time you saw each other after any sexual rendezvous, things would go completely back to normal. You guessed that was just your relationship with Conrad, it never got awkward or weird. 

You did however end up talking about it with him. 

"Can we talk?" You said, knocking on Conrad's door softly. He was lying down in his bed, book in hand. He sat up, placing it on the nightstand beside his bed. You looked at each other before he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair

"Sure," You walked in, feeling the cool air of the air conditioning hit your legs. You closed the door behind you, swallowing thickly as you could sense this conversation was going somewhere. You couldn't decipher if it was for the better or for the worse. 

You sat on the edge of his bed and looked into his eyes in silence. His gaze was just as locked on you as you were on him. That was before smiles started to grow on each of your faces before you threw your head back, laughing at the ridicule the situation presented. 

"I really don't know why we should talk about this," You said, turning to the side. 

Conrad sighed. "No, we probably should."

You looked at Conrad and focused on the blue in his eyes. "I dont regret what happened."

"Neither do I."

 "Is there a particular reason as to why it happened again after the first time?" You shifted your body and fiddled with your fingers. "And the second and third..

Conrad sighed heavily through his nose. He didn't get what was happening to him at all. He knew he cared about you; he knew he loved being near you and spending time with you. And he enjoyed what had happened between you two, 

A lot. 

But he didn't feel the need to put a title on what the two of you were. At this point, he was definitely opposed to the idea of dating, but he wasn't opposed to the idea of you. Maybe in the future? He didnt know, he was truly lost. 

And so were you. Which you hated. You couldn't stand not knowing what you wanted or what you were feeling. You needed to put titles onto everything—every feeling, every emotion, every situation—thats how your mind worked. But you knew you didn't want a relationship at this point in your life, but you loved spending time with Conrad the way you have recently.

"I don't know," He settled. "I don't see myself in a relationship, but I do love doing all the things we've been doing. 

You look at him and see a glint of something flashes through his eyes. "A lot."

You felt a rush of adrenaline pump through your veins as your cheeks went hot. You reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I do too."

"I say," He pushed his body closer to yours, his knees lightly grazing against yours. You watched his movements with a sharp intensity. "Let's just be the friends we’ve been since we could talk, and ocacionally thing."

He placed a hand on your thigh. "Things have been normal so far, would you want to keep doing things?"

You nodded and smiled as he leaned forward. You said in a whisper, "What things are we talking about specifically?"

"Should I say it?" His breath fanned over your own. He then pressed a chaste kiss onto your lips, allowing your eyes to flutter close in delight as you smiled through the kiss. "Or do you want me to show you,"

With that you pressed your lips onto his, hungry for whatever you could have of him. 

For the rest of the summer it continued. The two of your manadged to keep it a secret, not wanting any complications of anyone else trying to put a name to whatever it was the two of you had. 

You didn't even know what it was. Friends with benefits? It was more than that, given how you two cuddled occasionally, kissed occasionally, and went on occasional dates. It stressed you out more to try to figure out what it was than just enjoying it. 

Plus, you knew Conrad cared for you, and you cared for him. That was all that really mattered to you anyway. 

Even when summer ended, you two talked all the time, which was not out of the norm for the two of you. The only difference was the occasional sexting. 

Things were occasional between the two of you, if you couldn't tell by now.

Winter break in Cousin's was your favorite, and when your college gave the students a week off, you were ecstatic. Every year, you never manadged to catch the Conklin and Fisher family, given how they were always given a few weeks off in January instead of February. You grabbed your keys, packed a bag, and headed straight for Cousin's.

Things with Conrad this week had been amazing, but you could tell things were a bit more romatic. Before it was easy to difirenciate when you were only friends and when you were in need of physical touch or intimacy, but now things were all fused and mixed together. 

It didnt bother you enough to talk about it though and neither did he, so you left it at that

You put the last bits of the dishes into the dryer before brushing your hands against the fabric of your cotton shorts. Jeremiah walked into the room with his keys in his hand. "Were headed out."

You looked over at him, grabing your phone and scanning it for any new messages. "Sounds okay,"

"We'll probably be back late, you and Conrad going to be okay?" You deadpanned at the boy.

"We'll be fine," You walked over to him, grabbing him by the shoulders and leading him towards the front door, where Steven and Belly stood. "You go have fun with Steven and Belly, god knows you need to take the poor girl out."

"Thank you," Belly said, agreeing with you. "Mom said she'd be back with Susanah in a few hours." 

You nodded, feeling the breeze of the cold air hit your bare shoulders as Steven opened the front door. Steven jumped. "Oh shit! Almost forgot." 

"That monstrousity came for you today," Steven said, pointing over to your left. "It had a small card, some sappy bullshit on it." 

"For me?" You looked over to the side, letting your jaw slack slightly. Placed perfectly in the middle of the table was a huge bouquet full of red roses and white tulips, both of your favorite flowers. They were carefully wrapped in white and silver paper, adorned almost perfectly with a pink satin bow. 

You never got much on Valentine's Day; you were used to giving the presents, not receiving them. You looked at the group aprehensively once more before walking carefully over to the table. You picked up the small card, reading it carefully: 'Happy Valentines Day pretty girl'

You felt your heart thump against your chest. You let out a small chuckle as your cheeks turned red, knowing exactly who these were from. "Dumbass.."

"What was that about not having a boyfriend?" Belly butted in, causing you to snap out of your lovesick trance. You turned to the three of them, who were eyeing you as you stumbled on your words. 

"Just- uhm, some guy thats been bothering me," You nervously chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck. The three of them looked at each other. 

"Conrad's gonna be pissed." Steven whispered before closing the door and heading out. You laughed to yourself and looked up the stairs, shaking your head. If only they knew. You placed the card down, looking back at the flowers once more before heading upstairs. 

You turned the corner, knocking softly on Conrad's door. With a hum on his side, you pushed the door open. He was standing near his bed with his shirt in his hand, and off of his body.

"Hey," He said, tossing the shirt into his already open closet. "I was just heading to bed." 

You smiled to yourself while crossing your arms, leaning against the door frame. "I thought you didn't do that lovey valentines day shit" 

He paused, looking at you with a perplexed look on his face. You rolled your eyes, walking into the room and closing the door behind you. Conrad eyed you carefully as you made your way to him. "Are you talking about the flowers?"

"Yes Conrad, I'm talking about the flowers," You said, placing a kiss onto his lips. He smiled into the kiss, letting his hands reach your waist, giving you the space your wrap your arms around his neck. You smiled widely into the kiss, not being able to contain your giddiness. 

Your heart was beating wrapidly in your chest, a feeling only Conrad gave you. You pushed into the kiss, deepening it as you directed his body towards his bed. The back of his knees hit the matress, forcing him to sit on the matress, which gave you the space to crawl onto his lap. 

You pulled away, looking down at the blonde boy whom you were currently straddling. "I'm guessing you liked them?”

"How'd you know roses and tulips were my favorite?" You said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as you admired the facial features you had grown to love. 

"I pay attention," He leaned forward, kissing the spot on your jaw just below your ear, causing a small giggle to erupt from your chest. 

"Thank you," You whispered, pulling away from him and looking into his eyes deeply. "You didn't have to, really."

He stared back at you, heart fluttering wildly. A feeling he was used to feeling around you, something only you brought out in him. It seemed that no matter how many girls would pop into his life or would come up to him at any frat party, you were always the first one on his mind. You were the only one on his mind.

"Of course I did," He kissed your cheek. "Its not even a quarter of what you deserve."

There it was again. He His your jaw again, trsiling soft delicate kissing up your neck. They were affectionate, none trying to iniciate something. Just soft pecks adorned with love and adoration. You let your hands enravel themselves into his hair, sighing in contentment. 

"Things have changed haven’t they?" You whispered as you pulled his body closer to yours. 

"Mhm," He agreed. You looked at the wall in front of you.

"Can we talk about it?" 

Conrad pulled away, looking at you with a look on his face. You stared back in silence. "Talk to me,"

You sighed, not really knowing what to say. Your heart fluttered at the sight of his attention, listening closely to what you had to say. 

The thing is you didnt know what to say. All you knew is that you cared about the boy in front of you a lot, and this ocassional thing has been going on for so long now. You knew you didnt want to end anything, fuck no. But you wanted more and you were scared it was a one paged thing. 

"Whyd you sent me the flowers?" You asked, paying close attention to his features. He smiled to himself, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

"Becuase," He started. "You love Valentines day, and you love recieving gifts, giving them as well, but not a lot of people know you like recieving them as well."

He continued. "You hate the color orange, you say it makes you squirmy and uncomfortable. Your favorite movies Rapunzel, great choice by the way,"

"You give so much to the people you love and I can vouch for that." He grabbed your hands, carresing them softly in his own. 

You looked at him in silence. "I don't want to do this thing occasionally anymore, I want it always.”

You and Conrad had always had a strong relationship, and its been a long time since it stopped being just platonic. You knew everything about him and so did he. Hell, it probably stopped being platonic before you even had sex with him for the first time.

Both of you could’ve saved yourselves months of time if you’d let yourself feel what you were meant to feel for each other sooner.

“So this mean what exactly? That you’re officially asking me to be your ‘girlfriend’” You asked, saying the word that felt so foreign. You knitted your eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

“If that’s something you want,” He said, hope and anxiety flooding his gaze. You stared down at him, smiling softly. You leaned in.

“I’d like that.” You closed the gap between the two of you, sighing deeply into the kiss.

Something inside you felt satisfied. As if your body had been longing for a confirmation that Conrad really was just yours.

He had always been.

You pulled away, hands resting at his bare shoulders as your foreheads rested against each other.

“Can we watch Tangled now?” You asked, voice laced with excitement. He rolled his eyes, pecking your lips softly.

“Duh.”