#i need to know my moots tws. even if they have none.... moots. tell me please

[mogai-sunflowers]

Not trying to tell you how to act but I can say as someone who did tell my therapist about my intrusive thoughts about murder, it's really dependent but if a therapist knows their intrusive, your not likely going to get stuck in inpatient for just... That. You have to have a history of suicide attempts with hospitalization or violence for just thoughts to forcibly inpatient you. Inpatient exists for when you're a harm to others or yourself, like a tangible harm, just thinking about it isn't going to get you stuck there.

I'll get a little more personal if it might make you feel better? Make you feel less alone? If not feel free to skip this part.(tw suffocation and implied stabbing mentions. No actual occurrences, these are intrusive) I love my partner(she/he) more than anything in the world, I would kill and die for her. However one night I had horrible horrible Intrusive thoughts about suffocating him while she was sleeping. They were so bad I woke him up sobbing that I couldn't get them to go away and I wanted comfort and I wanted her to know I would never hurt him. She understood. I told my therapist, he explained it as that and that's how I even learned I had intrusive thoughts and that's what they were called. He mentioned how the fact I woke him up showed I didn't want to do it. A second time I had to keep covering a knife rack in my kitchen because every time I saw them, I thought about killing my mom. I told my therapist, on the edge of my seat in fear that I'd get stuck in inpatient and be unable to contact my partner and all the other horror stories people tell about inpatient. He walked me through saying the fact I kept covering shows that this was something I didn't want to do and that my goal in that wasn't to kill my mom, it was to escape.

I know from good and horrible experiences with therapists that it's scary to talk about things that might send you to a grippy socks vacation but the reality is that a lot of it is fear mongering. A a bunch of people sharing horrible experiences + the reality of the mental health condition of our country + a stifling of much more common stories of people who've later said they should of been impatient or are glad they were inpatient because it gave them time to think + most people in inpatient never sharing their stories = everyone scared to tell their therapists things they need to tell their therapist. Unless your opening therapy with a history of violence and a hyper detailed plan to kill someone, your therapist isn't going to inpatient you and unless you wanna let those thoughts keep eating you up inside, I really hope you'll consider voicing them to a professional who can help you. Servers and moots and online communities are great but you won't get a good picture.

It's worrying just how much people think that depression or anxiety or a mild personality disorder and being honest about them will get them banned from adoption or buying a home when none of its true. Yes discrimination exists but you have a HIPPA for a reason, it's illegal to violate it. Two doctors working for the same company with you as a patient can't even tell each other your diagnosises or medications without your written consent. All I'm saying is please don't hold back from your therapist. They are there to help you and the more you stew, the worse they may get and no, unless your actively threatening suicide or admit to harming your family psychically, your therapist won't inpatient you. They have to actually have a good reason and intrusive thoughts don't fit those reasons, they have to litterally prove it in a plea to a judge for it to legally occur.

-clover

legally I understand this all, it’s just difficult because when I was a minor, my mom would threaten to have me institutionalized through my therapist because of my meltdowns and my sh, and even if it wouldn’t have happened it was still scary so I’m still terrified of being honest about those things to therapists because it’s gone badly before. and somehow my mom always finds a way of finding out so I feel like telling that stuff to them will just lead to her digging it out of me anyways. and I’ve had bad therapists before who did bad things, so I’ve just… learned to sanitize my NPD and OCD symptoms around them and my mom. cuz when I got my tism diagnosis, my mom started using it against me financially a lot so I’m scared if I’m too open, it’ll lead to a diagnosis and my mom won’t pay for my college like she’s threatened :/// I’ll get a good therapist after college but for now I feel like I had to hide it now

[beetolbugs]

POINTING AND ADDING ON BECAUSE I WANT TO SAY SHIT IVE BEEN KEEPING MY GODDAMN MOUTH SHUT FOR THREE YEARS

continuously long post baby ALSO moots look away shh

uhh tw // grooming and manipulation i suppose

I don't usually go "ooo I am so popular" because I think thats bullshit but at this rate genuinely if you were around Jon's content pre-2020 you would've seen me around.

I was involved in the community, and behind the scenes. I was in his build crew in 2018 (right before it disintegrated, a direct result of HIS TREATMENT), I was his thumbnail artist AND on his team AGAIN through 2020, up until around October when I was having personal troubles and needed to step back. I worked for him, I worked with some of the people he worked with, hell I was one of the few who tried to vouch and encourage him getting into Origins as an excuse to do something new and expand his audience. I did body acting, building, skin-making, character design, thumbnails, his channel art, his stream overlay, his emotes. We'd hung out on servers, on calls, I'd seen plans for things he wanted to do and hadn't gotten the chance yet. You could say he was friends with a good portion of us, though nowadays if you asked he'd tell you none of us were.

So listen to me, just a little, when I tell you that we don't like him for a reason and that we can't talk about all of those reasons. It isn't our place to speak. We can only say that the way that others, especially close, reacted? It was justified. It's in reason.

The shit that happened in 2020 had been brewing for years. I'm not surprised it happened. What surprises me (and what originally made many of us distance from Jon to begin with) is how it was handled.

It's a situation from 2017. It sucks in both cases, Ashlie's technically worse. What wasn't acknowledged is how Ash stepped back from it. What isn't acknowledged is how Ash handled it in private first, back then. She stopped it and stepped away, and went to therapy for it afterwards, if I remember right.

What isn't acknowledged is how Jon probably could've gotten off if he hadn't not only handled it so horribly initially, but that he tried pressing charges and going as far as trying to send a Cease and Desist. And doxxed himself in the process, which was so incredibly stupid.

What people don't like to acknowledge is how Ashlie went on a long break to go to therapy again and waited for an okay from her therapist first before coming back. Jon didn't hesitate to wait and if you have been paying attention to his music, it's all written about the people he knew and his bitterness over it. His stories reflect it too.

What people ALSO like to skip over is that everyone who stood by Jon originally, all left after February. Only him. And I think that should stand, to the public, that something changed, and there has to be a reason. You do not lose your entire friend group like that without a reason. Take it as a sign, something is up. We didn't initially know the reasoning, but if you feel like you know these people at all then you know they wouldn't just do that without it being serious. Have fun with that.

He's said shit to not just me, but my friends, that at the time would be brushed off as a joke. But looking back? Its a little goddamn weird for someone who's 21 to be saying to a group of 15-17 year olds. The way he's acted to each of us was really fucking weird. Compliments you wouldn't say to someone five years younger than you. Especially with how things turned out, what we know personally, we found it EXTRA suspicious.

Don't get me started on how he would exploit people and manipulate them to get what he wants. Nor how little he'd ever credit the people who helped him. In the entire time I worked for him I don't believe I was ever credited beyond One shoutout in a discord while I streamed, and a shoutout on a stream that was deleted. Neither was anyone else. People who helped him with builds, skins, scripts, credit was minimal if nonexistent. Not even starting on whether or not those things would be scrapped without a word or warning. His older crew was especially subject to this, Davis running the future one had helped minimize it.

I could say plenty about his content, how I thought of it previously and what I think now. Plenty more on the shit I know alone, from people past and present from his community. I could say so much about my own personal thoughts about him. I could tell you how I wanted him to take time and figure himself out and get better. I can tell you its been three years and he still acts the same even on surface level and everything I hear about him personally, nowadays, sounds like he's just gotten worse. I can tell you that Ash grew a lot more, and that I'm proud of her.

I don't want to hear SHIT about people comparing them and saying she was worse. It was bad. She KNEW it was bad WELL before the callout, and Jon made excuses every step of the way. He still does now. She made efforts to change and better herself as a person, and he continued to joke about becoming an alcoholic after all his friends left him and didn't bother to apologize. She never did it again, and Jon has continued his behavior. Tell me again about how that's someone you want to look up to.

Hi gang

I see were talking about Jonathan Piss ass ToiletJon again

And as someone who was fucking THERE, WORKING FOR HIM WHEN EVERYTHING DROPPED

Oh my FUCKING GOD AM I SO PISSED OFF.

Welcome to my rant/vent

Mutuals look away Im sorry

Tw// for grooming and manipulation. General gross things in that area

Also Jinbop.

First of all Ashlie and Jon did was gross, but where Jon failed at literally everything Ashlie succeeded.

When the news dropped of what happened in 2017 Jon made a fucking video of him crying like a little man child, and then pressed charges (also doxxed himself like an idiot) WHICH IS INSANE BEHAVIOR. Even in his written respone he was only making excuses.

At that time I was in very close connection with him, I was on his build team, I played multiple games with him. He would come into vc and hang out with us for several hours, you could consider us friend maybe! I wouldnt.

But I was at the very least in a lot of personal servers.

So when things dropped I knew almost all of the behind the scenes BULLSHIT that was happening. How everyone waited for it to blow over and stuck by him. (I got kicked out of servers too cause people knew i was against him but I was still told everything by friends who were still in there)

Then February happened. And so much more, much worse things got exposed. From only his end. I won't mention who was involved, out of privacy reasons and because I dont want to drag them into this. But holy shit dude everyone left him after that. It was over, his gross behavior with minors (included me now that i think about, sir why are you calling me and my friends cute we are 15-) His awful and manipulative behavior with people he finds useful, how he treats his teams

. He never credited anything, I made his goddamn Dimensions s2 designs, Eddie made the skins. Only Eddie was mentioned, once on a stream.

Eddie also made designs and skins for Rosethorn, and got credited in video no less.

Its not that hard and yet!

The main point is

He was still acting in 2020, the incident was in 2017. And he was acting like this, in late 2020. Into 2021.

I wanted him to get better. I really did, I had been hyperfixated on this group of people for years it hurt a lot.

But its been almost three years and he infact has stayed the same!

He is a grown ass man acting like a toddler on a public twitter account, what makes this man some one to respect in any sort of way.

Theres so much more shit I know about this man, that I can't fucking say because of the people involved not giving me permission too. And I respect that. Thats their story to tell.

Now ashlie on the other hand.

Ashlie made a concise apology and owned up to her actions, shit she made sure not to happen again. She went to fucking therapy, she broke off that relationship first and has made so much effort to distance herself from that and apologize everyday of her life.

She went to therapy after breaking things off, and she went again after the callout just to double fucking check she wasnt a horrible person.

She initially handled everything that happened in 2017 in private, like youre supposed to do. Not have a public twitter meltdown. And in late 2020 still handled mostly everything privately. She wrote out a full explanation and apology that is still very visible on her yt channel, not her twt her full 100k subscriber yt channel

I THINK, THATS GROWTH and she should be respected for that. She's actively changed as a person from the 20yr that made mistakes

And what's crazy is that Max and Ross still make youtube videos with her.

Max and Ross, YKNOW. The people who made sure fucking Jinbop got arrested and stomp Sky's name into the fucking ground for the shit that Sky did. I 100% trust those two to make a decision about a person in their circle when theyre doing some FUCKED SHIT.

IN FACT, THEY DID DROP ASHLIE WHEN THE ALLEGATIONS CAME OUT. SHE WAS IMMEDIATELY KICKED OUT OF EVERYTHING INVOLVING THEM

And they came back. They came back and started making new things and videos with her, Ross is an active participant in almost all of her videos.

I think that speaks wonders about her.

Don't drag her name through the ground I respect that woman and all of her endeavors in the future, she has more than made up for the fact.

Jon is still an awful person, and I dont think he will ever change. He's had more than ample time to and acts like whinny child on Twitter. Actively tries to pull nostalgia bait on his dying yt channel and mocks his ex "friends'" work. I want him gone from the youtube sphere and to get an actual life.

[aknosde]

Amicus Certus in re Incerta Cernitur

The first installment of my Reyna Swap AU, Alea Iacta Est // Percy Jackson & Reyna Avilla Ramírez Arellano // Hurt - Comfort // roughly two or three days post-Tartarus // tw vomiting & tw implied/referenced past child sexual assault // light swearing // 3.4k

(hey, @specific-dreamer, i started writing it :))

ao3

—————

Reyna exits her bed smoothly, flicking on the lamp as she goes. At night, when her cabin feels too dark and too small, the light is one of her only wards against her stiff spine and the shake of her shoulders. She ghosts her hands through her closet, searching for something thick and substantial, like the light and the reassuring click of the lock as she opens her door.

The floor of the quarter deck is cold under her bare feet, but the polished wood is soothing in its smoothness. She tugs on her sweatshirt against the cool temperature that accompanies flying far above the warm Mediterranean. Someone must have screwed with the thermostat last night–tonight–otherwise it would be compensating for the chill in the air.

It doesn’t affect the rest of the ship. The wood doesn’t contract or expand under the temperature, the boat doesn’t creak. It’s immune to the cold air and warm water in that way. She can’t quite decide if the silence that accompanies it is comforting or not as she descends to the main deck.

All of the lights are on down here, the rooms devoid of people. She knows that the lights of the lower deck will be off, because Leo sleeps down in the engine room, but the main deck is no man's land at this time of night. Someone has swept the floors, and with the lights on and undisturbed by organic shadow, this level seems more like a model of a ship than somewhere where people live. When the feeling turns from interesting to uncanny she finishes her route to the galley.

Though the galley is less of a galley, straight and narrow, than an actual kitchen you would find in a home. It’s large, even though Leo claims it’s unnecessary given his plate technology, and rather comfortable. A counter winds around the room, a large refrigerator with people’s personal food labeled, an oven and stove, and lastly, the sink: her destination.

She’s almost to the kitchen island before she sees Percy, sitting on the counter, looking for all the world as if he is a fixture of the kitchen itself. She doesn’t freeze when she sees him–she’s better than that–but she does let herself take stock of him, one leg hanging off the counter and his other knee propped under his chin, holding his head up.

His eyes look irritated, bags underneath that more closely resemble bruises, and a few pieces of hair are falling into his eyes, but he doesn’t do more than glance her way as she crosses to the sink next to him, so she leaves him be. Percy’s always been… observant. She could tell by the way he looked at her as she dropped from the Argo’s rope ladder. But since Tartarus he’s gotten quieter. Before, it used to just be a thing about him, not speaking unless he had something to say. Now it’s more obvious, like something or someone is keeping him.

She fills her glass of water and leans against the island, staring at the fridge.

She and Jason had had their own kitchen, as praetors. It was in the Principa, tucked out of the way, cold blue-greys and aggressively modern appliances. It reminded her of her childhood kitchen in that way. Cleanly impersonal–it more closely resembled an office break room. She and Jason barely used it, but still, they tucked their s’more supplies into a corner cupboard, and occasionally they would find each other there, making tea during late nights and early mornings.

The Argo kitchen is nicer, filled with warm colors and the smell of cinnamon. Percy cooks in here, she knows, though she has never seen him at it. When she had woken up that first morning after the disaster in New Rome there had been conchas on the counter. Leo, for all his initial grumbling, took to cooking in here while Percy and Annabeth were gone. His own little way of grieving, she thinks, taking a sip of water.

Percy lurches as if the ship has, uncharacteristically uncoordinated in his urgency. She straightens immediately as he twists off the counter and onto his feet. His forearms come down hard on the ledge of the counter, bracketing himself, and then he retches into the sink.

Strings of hair hang in his face as he does, she can now see that they are separated by sweat, and before she knows what she’s doing she’s across the aisle and holding his hair back and gives him the privacy of looking away, tucking away loose strands of hair. It’s deceptively soft, even with charred and patchy places here and there, and curlier than Leo’s. Memories of Hylla rage strong as she twists it around her finger, leaving no chance of it falling in the way again, the grey streak resembling a swirl.

Reyna can practically feel Hylla’s hands in her hair, her body sprawled against the wall of their cabin, head in a bucket. Hylla’s body, pressed against one side of her back, not overbearing, just a reminder that she was there now. On good nights they would end up in their bed before Reyna fell asleep, talking until Reyna’s brain could come back home. Hylla would twist Reyna’s hair into braids more beautiful and pure than Reyna could ever imagine being, and Reyna would complain about the smell of the bucket until Hylla got up to throw the contents overboard.

“Better your lunch than yourself,” Hylla sometimes joked upon her return, in that way people do when they are living through horrible things, doing horrible things, having horrible things thrust upon them. The memory burns now that Reyna isn’t there. She can’t find the humor in the joke now, only the threat of the first mate holding Reyna by the hair and threatening to make her walk the plank if she didn’t stop crying.

She couldn’t stop, but he didn’t seem to understand that, he just held her wrists until Hylla was there, in his cabin, talking with her voice smooth in a way it had never been before the Queen Anne’s Revenge. She talked until Reyna was allowed to leave, until the door shut with her still inside.

That was the night Blackbeard and his crew decided Reyna wasn’t worth it, a night she would forever be thankful for. Reyna couldn’t recover as fast as Hylla, she couldn’t put up with as much, she was wrecked after each encounter, and that night she would be thankful for it, and the day after, and the next, until she and Hylla were running the ship and she never had to think about it again.

Percy pants against the sink, signaling that he is done, and she takes a step back, suddenly uncomfortable and anxious for something to do.

She decides on giving him her glass of water–gods know he needs it more than she does–and watches him down the whole thing greedily. An air of clarity seems to blow through him, clearing his eyes and fixing his posture. Maybe that is the magic of a child of Poseidon. Water: an instant cure to all ailments.

“Thank you,” he says with a gasp as he finishes drinking. He wipes some vomit off a corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, frowning before he rinses it off in the sink. Reyna nods serenely in response, no judgement.

It’s a wrestle with herself, to decide if she wants to ask what has him puking his guts out. The fine line she always walks is taunting her, telling her not to alienate people, telling her that knowledge is power. The voice sounds suspiciously like Michelle, which only makes her prickle further. It’s a moot point, regardless. She can remember sitting with Thalia, legs swinging over the edge of a bridge, “I loved him to pieces, Reyna, but that asshole wouldn’t tell me he was hurt unless I pinned him down and threatened to zap his eyebrows off.” She’s going to ask.

“Are you okay?” They are hollow words, because none of them are, and she knows his answer.

“I’m fine,” And then a second later he is over the sink again, all of the water coming right back up.

She takes a place behind him, Hylla’s place, holding his hair back and drawing on his back with her other hand. She can feel his muscles clench each time more of his stomach empties, takes in his breathy swears, traces the letters on the back of his New Rome hoodie. She thinks it might have been hers at one point. It swallows him.  

He pulls back, eventually, putting space between them. She lets him have it, but sticks to her spot, crossing her arms.

“Want to try that again?”

He breathes raggedly, head hung. “I can’t–” he lifts a hand to gesture to himself vaguely, but rests it swiftly, looking like he regrets the action. “I haven’t been able to keep food down. Since we got back. It’s too rich. Too much. I was stupid, forgetting how that worked,” he explains, reading the pull of her brow. “Forgot how it felt, too,” he adds, quietly.

She flicks the sink on, letting his remnants wash down the drain, and looks at him thoughtfully. He’s too tired to notice, or maybe to care. His knuckles white out on the edge of the counter, pulsing no doubt in tandem with his stomach. One of his legs begins to quake and she nudges it with her knee. He shifts.

“Is there a reason you’re camped out in here and not the bathroom?”

His breathing, slow and steady, a trained pattern, is interrupted by a faint chuckle. “Thought I wouldn’t run into no one. It’s not working out, clearly.”

He sits back on the counter gently, already clutching his stomach again. “I’ll get over it soon. Just a couple more days. I just–need to make sure I don’t tear my stomach lining.” His words come spaced out and slow, working between his breaths.

“Annabeth?” she asks, unable to mask concern, or maybe uninterested in doing so.

“Got over it,” he answers swiftly. It almost sounds like he is going to say more, but he doesn’t, and she lets it drop in favor of watching him. When he gulps she’s already by his side.

This time bile is the only thing that comes up. He hacks, searching for more, but all that's left is acid. She’s supporting almost his entire weight with one arm. A twitch of worry makes her muscles tense, alien to any type of worry she experienced while he and Annabeth were in the pits of hell. This is immediate, intimate, not abstract. Like seeing Jason’s face dripping gold.

Percy’s whole body shudders, head so deep in the sink she thinks he might be able to touch the sick and the porcelain with his nose if he were to go any further, but the spell seems to have stopped. His arms shake against the counter, and before he can follow through with getting his own vomit plastered across his face she uses her hold on his hair to gently tilt his head towards her.

His eyes are almost completely unfocused, squinting against the kitchen lighting behind her. His water lines have released their tears, finally surmounting the amount of control he had been maintaining. He looks utterly wrecked, and not in the deranged and semi-wild way he had been fresh out of the Doors of Death.

She switches her arm from propping him up to wrapping it around him, keeping him from falling back against the sink and grunting between his weight and his condition. His limbs are loose with relief, now. Almost limp. She orients him until he’s pressed against her hip, utterly malleable under her hands. An odd sense of warmth seems to travel up her arms and into her heart as he slots against her. From what she’s seen, from what she knows, Percy is not one to be controlled. He rebels against it, particularly resistant to anyone who is not a peer, or better yet, a friend. Yet here he is, letting her move his body for him.

It’s something she could never imagine herself doing; willingly handing herself over like this. But with the warmth is a new desire, a spark of hope that one day she will grow with people until she can let them take care of her like this.

“Let’s get you to the med bay,” she says.

“No.” It comes quiet and breathy, and then again with urgency, “No. Annabeth likes to take inventory there when she can’t sleep. Not the med bay.”

Avoiding the med bay on account of Annabeth is a stupid decision, but she reminds herself that Percy cares more about other people than he does himself. He doesn’t want Annabeth to be worried, Reyna thinks, to keep his problems to himself, and though that is not always the best plan, it’s not the worst. Reyna recognizes the necessity of keeping your shit to yourself. Percy might be one of the only people she knows that understands that and deserves it, so she just sighs.

“Okay.” She hooks her other arm under his, making sure he’s steady, and lowers him to the floor. “We’ll just set up camp here.”

He presses the back of his head against the cabinets, hands groping the cool stone floor, and then lets himself tip fully onto it. No complaints. Apparently he likes the change in location. She grabs a dish towel, folding it up and sliding it under his head, and a bowl, if he needs to give up his internal organs while she’s gone and can’t quite make it to the sink. With a shove of his shoulder he turns on his side, loosely grabbing his stomach and making her feel safe in the fact that he can’t choke on his own vomit.

She feels funny when she stands again, brushing her hands against her pant legs. She’s never taken care of someone like this before, never had to. She and Jason were there for each other during their fair share of unfortunate situations, but she never had to watch him like this; curled up on the ground, shaking, weak. She wonders if he was ever caught like this, in the bathroom across the hall. If he had ever wanted to ask her for help.

Annabeth isn’t in the med bay when Reyna goes to scrounge up some anti-nausea medication, and she isn’t coming down the stairs when Reyna makes her way back to the kitchen. Percy’s in the same spot, though. She supposes that counts for something as she sits next to his head, reading the directions on the back of the box.

It’s generic, a syrupy red that reminds her of fake blood in old horror movies. Percy coughs as it goes down, making a face and muttering something about cherry flavoring and scented markers.

When she’s sure he’s not going to up chuck the medicine, which would be a type of irony she is not ready for, she goes searching for something he can eat. The stores on the Argo II are significantly better than that of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, and greatly aided by the presence of a fridge, but she ends up with a packet of pedialyte powder she remembers seeing Percy use during their first week on the Argo. It’s orange, which she can respect as it’s the best artificial flavor.

Percy groans while she’s stirring it, and before she knows it she’s sitting by his side, letting him press his face into her leg. Her body seems to know what to do, even if she doesn’t, and she’s grateful for it.

“Would you rather rehydrate or take more medication?”

He groans again, nose brushing her thigh, and says, “Both.”

“Disregard the instructions?”

He hums against her leg, whispering her resolve into the ground, because she doesn’t argue. It doesn’t hurt that she couldn’t decide either, or that she has always been good at knowing when to break the rules.

“Whatever repercussions there are to this, it’s your fault,” she says instead, already measuring another dose.

He downs it like a shot and with a grimace, even though he is still laying on the floor. It manages to wring a snort out of her, as does the way he remarks that the straw she put in the pedialyte looks like a worm: “Which I’ll allow only because you chose blue; the best color.”

He fumbles in and out of consciousness, mind half addled, and she thinks she’s found a cheat code to becoming his friend. With his sharp eyes half closed and his height stolen by his horizontal position on the floor, too tired to keep his body wired and slurping through a straw because the energy to sit up seems like a far flung concept, he’s easy to see and even easier to like.

“You made the good shit,” he half slurs as he takes another sip.

“Yeah?”

“Grew up on this stuff,” he says by way of explanation. “It was free at my first school, low income and what not. Wanted to make sure we had enough calories to suffer through the school day. Picked it up at food banks, too.”

She hums, pretending he hasn’t just revealed something that she doubts he’s told anyone else. “Kept it around for the taste?”

“Malnourished after Lupa, just a bit,” he says arching his neck in discomfort before taking another sip. “I made sure to pick some up while we were still in the states. ‘Beth knows I like it though. I think she already bought some.”

“Yeah.” Reyna can vaguely remember something along those lines, sitting with Annabeth and going over supply lists for the ship. She’d been rambling and scatterbrained, which Reyna now knew was her default state.

He switches subjects after that, nothing sticking for long. It’s an interesting contrast to the Percy that she’s met. She wonders if he was like ths as a kid, or maybe it was longer than that. Maybe it was until they were swapped, maybe it was until Tartarus and she just never got the chance to see.

“You’re talkative when half your guts are down the drain,” she tells him, after listening to him ramble about the Knicks for a couple minutes.

“Blame my state.”

“I am, dumbass.”

“So rude,” he says in Spanish, sounding like her neighbors in Puerto Rico, getting together under the shade during the heat of the day, complaining about their daughters. “What’re you doing here anyway,” he asks, “Why aren’t you nice and cozy in your bed.”

“Obviously sitting on the floor with you is superior.”

He coughs out a laugh, there. Weak, but she can feel his amusement from the crinkle of his eyes before he sobers. “Really, why?”

“Nightmare.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Want to talk about Tartarus?” she snaps, because no, she does not want to talk about her historical issues with boats, or how she’s thinking of Jason, out there escorting a forty foot statue in an attempt to stop yet another war.

“Sorry,” Percy whispers, pulling his head back a bit.

“No, I’m sorry.” She’s supposed to be better than this. She’s supposed to be a leader, which does not include letting her frustrations out on others, no matter the time of day–or night. “That was unprofessional of me.”

He snorts. “We’re lying on the kitchen floor and I’m wearing Black panther pajama pants. Trust me, you don’t have to be professional here… And I’m sorry–for asking.”

“It’s alright,” she ends up saying, mostly thinking that he’s right. She’s about to tell him so when she notices that his eyes have slipped closed. “Let's get you to bed.”

“I’m not gonna sleep,” he grumbles.

“Well if I get you some more magic potion can you lie to me?”

He smiles at that, one side of his mouth going up farther than the other, like in almost every photo she saw of him during her months at Camp Half-Blood. “If you, Reyna Ramírez Allreano, get me more orange pedialyte, I will absolutely fall asleep as soon as I’m in my bed.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

[serendipityjxmn]

Mr. President

Chapter 6

TW: None

Words Count: 2.1k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 7

You shower quickly that morning, springing a little in your steps as you make your way to your closet, picking an attire for that day. Today, you have an interview for one of the many secretarial positions that you apply for yesterday. You choose a beige pencil skirt and a white blouse. Your wounds are still visible but nothing that can’t be covered with makeup. You do it minimally, just so you don’t look sick or too pale.

You stare at the large signboard saying ‘Bangtan Inc’. Taking a deep breath, you enter the building. Within half an hour, you’re escorted to the fifth floor of the company and you’re waiting in line to be interviewed by the Human Resources manager after filling up several documents. There are quite a number of interviewees and you’re slotted as the last one.

An hour later, you’re done with your interview with the manager and then you’re asked to wait again at waiting area. The manager who introduces herself as Irene approaches you after a while.

“Miss Y/N, you’re going to have the second interview with Mr. President. Are you ready?”

Nervousness begins to fill you up. You didn’t know that there would be two sessions for the interview. Nevertheless, you nod and follow after her. She leads you to the seventh floor and the hallways look even more lavish at this floor.

“You can come in now. Mr. President’s ready.” She leads you in and you enter together with her. “Mr. Park, Miss Y/N is here.”

Mr. Park…? It can’t be the Mr. Park that I know.. right?

When the man sitting on his desk at far end of the room looks up, things can’t be more fucked up than this.

It was him. His. His fucking company.

He raises from his seat and freezes when he sees you too. His eyes rake you from top to bottom and this has to make the list of top embarrassing moments in your life. Should you run away now?

“Miss Y/N, please have a seat.” Irene interrupts. It’s too late to run away now, right..?

Your eyes widen as you stare at Jimin. He seems to regain his composure and leisurely takes his seat again, crossing his legs and starts playing with his fingers in what could be such intimidating gesture.

You swallow and slowly takes your seat and fixes your skirt to prevent it from riding up, missing the way his eyes travel down your legs for a split second. You watch as Irene hands him documents that you assume contains your information.

Oh no. You haven’t been entirely truthful with your information…

“So Miss Y/N, you’re single?” He asks casually, no doubt having read the part in your file. You pray that the ground swallows you whole.

You fidget with your hands, swallowing hard. You’ve grown used to playing with your wedding ring on your finger but you purposely take it off today since you’ve so conveniently mention your status is single. He looks down at your hand and you miss the way his expression becomes stern when he sees your empty finger.

“Y-yes.”

For a moment, he just looks at you and you think you’ll melt under his stare. Jimin always stares at you like he’s able to see you through and every time, you’d ask God to grant you a mind reading ability just so you can know what he’s thinking about.

You know everything’s already gone into a mess today. This interview session is basically moot now that the person interviewing is actually your own freaking husband. You’re ready to turn on your heels at any second. You’re literally just waiting for him to utter words like ‘get out’ or ‘get lost’.

Yet he excuses you and you stand waiting outside as he speaks to Irene. She emerges not long after that, a smile plastered on her beautiful face.

“Miss Y/N! I’m pleased to inform that you’ve been hired!”

What on actual earth.

“You must’ve caught Mr. Park’s interest. We usually filter most of the applicants again and this would normally takes about another week before we can give results but Mr. Park seems satisfied with you.”

You did not expect this turn of events at all.

“So, even though the position is secretarial position, the job scope is actually kind of wide. You will mostly be attending to Mr. President’s needs but you will also be helping several bits here and there with the office people there. I’ll introduce you to the office mates in a while.”

So you spend the rest of the day being led by Irene everywhere as she tells you most of the things you need to know and introduces you to other personnels in the office. Your brain can’t really focus on Irene’s words as you assume you’re doomed once you’re home with Jimin.

Should you quit that instant? Don’t come for work tomorrow?

But that would be the most unprofessional thing to do. You groan.

“Oh, Miss Y/N. It’s almost five now. You don’t really have much to do anyway for today so you can just head home today.” Irene tells you.

You automatically looks up at the double door that leads to Jimin’s office. Should you be going home with him..?

You shake your head immediately. It’s best if this is kept a secret from everyone for now. You don’t feel like he’s going to head home yet since Jimin usually comes home at about 7PM so you rush to pack your things and quickly heads home.

You pace back and forth in the kitchen. Your head had been playing a thousand different scenarios with how Jimin would react once he’s home and you can’t help feeling more anxious by the second. You hear the door opens then and your pulse quickens. You don’t dare to meet him at the door so you just remain in the kitchen.

You’re so immersed in your thoughts that you don’t hear him come down a while later.

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” He growls and you jump. You turn to see him looking extremely pissed off.

“Jimin- I’m sorry- I wanted to tell you last night but I- I forgot.” You say as he takes his seat on the dining table and you rush to tend at him. He doesn’t seem impressed at all.

“My company? Are you fucking kidding me?” He hisses and you recoils slightly.

“I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know it’s your company. The last time I saw you was at Parks Corporations and- why were you-“ You stop mid sentence. All of a sudden it makes sense. You remember Mrs. Lee telling you that Jimin will be inheriting his father’s company and it must’ve been Parks Corporation while Bangtan Inc is the tech company that he builds together with his friends. Suddenly, you feel stupid for not making your research. On top of it all, it’s about your husband. You, above all, should know about it. “I- I just feel guilty staying home and- I just thought I should help with the finances as well.. after all you’re not really my husband.. you’re a stranger.. it’s not right to just leech off you and do nothing-”

“So your ego is wounded?” He scoffs.

You sigh. You don’t want to argue with him. You don’t like arguing with him or making him angry. “You could’ve not accepted me..” You mumble.

“The fuck did you say?” He snaps and you immediately straightens.

“C-can we remain discreet though? I don’t want to tell anyone. We-we can take separate rides to the office.”

“Whatever you say.”

The next morning you wake up earlier than Jimin. It feels weird to actually see him lying on the bed, the same freaking bed with you. Though the bed is large enough for the both of you to come nowhere near each other, it still feels strange. You get ready quickly then heads downstairs to prepare breakfast for your husband.

Waiting on the toast, your fingers play with your necklace. Yesterday, you went to some cheap jewellery store and buys an empty silver necklace. Then, you put your wedding ring as the pendant and happily wears it. You can’t put it on your finger while at work so you resolve to use it as your necklace.

You don’t wait for Jimin to come down for breakfast and you feel sorry for that but you don’t really want to arrive at work at the same time Jimin does.

At work, contrary to your assumption, your work doesn’t really involve you to speak directly with Jimin as you mostly arrange his schedules and keys in things in the computer, deals with people asking for appointments and most of your time is taken by helping colleagues at the office as well with minor tasks like photocopying or sending fax. Any direct information that needs to be conveyed to Jimin is mostly done by Irene. Perhaps, she thinks you are not up to the task yet. You’re secretly relieved though.

Days passes quite quickly and before you know it, about a week has passed since you’ve started working at Bangtan Inc. Now that you think about it, working here doesn’t seem so bad. You don’t see much of Jimin these days, only on certain days when he comes home early and has his dinner at home.

You somehow make a promise to yourself to make the best of this marriage so you take special care of Jimin’s meals and what he wears to work everyday. To be honest, you don’t have to. Mrs. Lee can make anything and everything if you ask her but you refuse to. Making meals is probably the only thing you can do for your very self sustained husband even if he’s just a temporary husband, you did promise yourself to do it so you did.

You wake up early to prepare breakfast, goes to work and rushes home to prepare dinner almost every day. Most of the time though, you’re already asleep by the time he comes home so you’ve grown used to leaving sticky notes on the dining table, telling him to reheat the dishes you cooked if he wants to eat.

You don’t really expect him to eat the dishes you made but much to your surprise, he still eats them everyday without fail though sometimes he may not finish them but the thought still makes you smile.

It somehow exhausts you more nowadays with your packed schedule so you almost always fall asleep as soon as you lay on the bed at night.

You also slowly grasp your job scope at work. You learn a lot of things about Jimin as well. His schedule is always packed with meetings and when he isn’t in them, he’s busy discussing with the staffs to prepare for the next meeting. You somehow feel sorry for him. That’s also one of the reason why you couldn’t miss preparing his meal everyday although you’re tired. You learn that he tends to forget to eat whenever he’s too caught up in work.

That night, Jimin comes home early. You jump when he enters the kitchen while you’re still preparing his meal. He’s freshly showered and he smells so tantalising. He always smells good, you think.

“I’m sorry. I came home late. It’ll be ready soon if you can just wait for another.. 5 minutes?”

He walks to the fridge then takes a glass of orange juice. “If you don’t have time, we can just order take out next time. You don’t have to cook everyday.”

But you want to, your mind says. But you don’t say it out loud.

He takes his seat on the dining table and you feel his heavy gaze from behind you, making the hairs on your skin stand. You wish he’d look at something else instead.

You hover around once you set the table for Jimin which you notice is an occupational hazard of yours just in case the other party still needs you to amend anything so you would usually wait until that said party is satisfied.

Jimin wastes no time snapping at you. “Won’t you sit down and eat?!”

Flustered, you quickly take your seat, shaking your head for making him angry again. You eat in silence then.

“How’s work?” He asks after a while, taking you off guard.

You blink rapidly and stares at him for a few moments before answering, “It’s fine.” You hesitate to continue yet you can’t resist it. “I can’t really say no when the boss is right in front of me, right?”

Upon hearing that, he smiles.

He freaking smiles.

It’s so blinding it literally renders you speechless. He has this adorable eye smile and it makes him look like a total softie, none at all the one that is always intimidating and scowling at you.

And maybe, just maybe, something flutters in your stomach at that time. But you’re too blinded to notice.

Link to Chapter 7

Posted on 210409 9:00PM

[xellandria]

tw: death

My father died sometime last night.  My mom woke me up at around 4:20 (blaze it?), after she found him, ran around in a panic for a bit (her words), and called 911.  I’d only gone to sleep a couple hours earlier, and neither of us had checked on him until then (he went to bed much earlier than the two of us ever do) so it’s hard to say when it would have happened; we might learn more later, or we might not.  I’m not actually sure how much more information we’ll get—or want, really—when whatever examination happens happens, or if there will be an examination/autopsy/whatever.  All I know about that kind of thing comes from media, and it’s always convenient for media to have an autopsy.

About nine months ago, he was out on a hike and slid down some scree and hurt his back in some way.  Prior to the whole pandemic, he’d been going through all sorts of various treatments and tests to figure out what was wrong and how to fix it, but he’d been in pain for a while.  Supposedly it was at least getting a little better with time—mom says he hadn’t taken his pain meds for the last fifteen days or so—but it was definitely there, and he hadn’t been exercising much (if at all) as a result, and gained a lot of weight from the inactivity.

About a week ago, he started coughing and having trouble breathing, and apparently was having issues sleeping as well.  He called his doctor about it yesterday, and they had him go get tested for Covid.  The results for that won’t be back til Mondayish, but it’s sort of a moot point now, I suppose.  Well, partly moot—if he tested positive, mom and I definitely have to be a lot more nitpicky about our own health.  We’ve not been going out except as absolutely necessary, but I can’t help thinking that we did go to Walmart and Costco on the 16th and while he was wearing a mask of some sort on that trip, his mask procedure was not the best and that was about a week ago.  That’d be a little fast for Covid symptoms I think, but maybe?

I don’t know.  I wasn’t hearing much about it (we’ve been on different tracks for the past week so I haven’t seen much of him) but when we were talking to various relatives about an hour ago, mom seemed to imply that it was a lot of trouble breathing—which makes me ask why he didn’t do something about it if it was really that bad, but that’s not something I can or should ask at this point; I can’t ask him and giving her more to agonize about or regret is absolutely pointless (I still beat myself up on bad days for not being sterner about getting Emmett to a vet when I knew he wasn’t fully right, and he died like five or six years ago at this point; I absolutely do not want to inflict that kind of thing on my mother about her husband, for god’s sake, and I didn’t push harder for my own health and safety when I was having heart issues last year until I finally caved and went to the ER; I could have made that trip a lot sooner too instead of fucking around with my doctor half-ignoring me and limply running tests for six months).

Because it’s just me and mom out here on this coast, we’re probably not going to have a funeral.  Things would probably be different if we weren’t in the middle of a pandemic (his sisters might want something, I don’t think we thought to ask), but they can’t come out here and we can’t go over there and neither of us really want to deal with it.  She knew his preferences (at least for disposal—he wanted to be cremated) so we’ve got that under control, at least.

I’m sure it’s partly shock, but I definitely feel guilty as hell that I’m glad that the pandemic is giving us a good excuse to not have a funeral.  Maybe he would have wanted one?  I don’t know.  I know my own preferences (only if my survivors need it for themselves; I don’t believe in ghosts or anything like that, but the idea of death and corpses and such spooks me something awful and funerals and burials and such are obviously the worst for that) and mom was the one who said no when I asked her if she wanted one (though maybe I should ask again when we’re both less shocky).  If the dead do exist beyond death in some capacity, I hope he understands that it’s not that we don’t love him... but that’s a lot of money and time and mental energy for a lot of pomp and circumstance that doesn’t make... well, I was going to say “doesn’t make anybody feel better” but someone must get comfort from that kind of thing, even if I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone who has.

There’s a lot of unknowns right now.  Dad was the one who handled all the household finances and I know he never went over it all with me, and I got the impression that he and mom never got around to it either (though we both mentioned that it was something we’d been thinking about, it’s obviously too late now).  Mom’s worried about the taxes, and what bills are on auto-pay and all that, and it’s going to be a nightmare to go through his computer and phone and make sure all that stuff is handled... but that’s not today’s worry.  I mean, I almost wish it was—it’d give me something to do now that we’re done talking to the EMTs and the police and the people from the funeral home and calling the relatives (and before I work up the nerve to call his old work friend, who is the only other person I can think of that deserves to know), but it’s also not something to walk into with two hours of sleep and a broad-but-vague understanding of how to access the data, but not what to do with it.

I haven’t cried yet, and I feel guilty about that too (though again, I’m putting it down to shock).  Cat death/injury is so triggering to me that I burst into tears nearly at the mention/thought of it, but my own father is gone and I’m just sitting at my computer, typing out a lengthy essay about how I want to consider myself a piece of shit for it, but I know it’s all part of the process, etc. etc.  I remember when my parents woke me up to tell me my maternal grandmother had died, I definitely cried then (and was angry) so I know it’s possible for me to feel things, or was at one point.  I’m sure the depression isn’t helping (and the fact that I think my med dosage may not be good enough anymore).

I’m sort of glad for the pandemic too, for the social distancing and masks that all the strangers that came to our home at 4-6am were wearing because I haven’t taken a shower in a couple days and I am disgusting and unshaved, but hopefully they didn’t notice.  At least they didn’t comment on it in my hearing, so I can maybe hopefully pretend.

Anyway.  I’m currently distracting myself by writing this out, but there’s not much more I want to say at this point.  I’ve posted out of my guild’s raids indefinitely for the moment (it was the first thing I did after I got out of bed while we were waiting for the EMT, and the second was tweet about it; my priorities are so fucked, y’all).  I don’t really know whether I’ll be able to stay on top of D&D—it’s only once a week, it’s a much smaller group of people who are much less likely to make some sort of unthinking or triggering remark (frankly, the idea of listening to my guild leader and some of the non-raiders talk about their jobs as doctors/upcoming medical practitioners is absolutely not what I need in my life right now, and I can’t tell 19+ other people to watch every word that comes out of their mouths or from their fingers above and beyond the guild rules because it might make the baby cry (or tilt her off the face of the earth)... but I can probably get away with asking only four other people to do that) and it’s not like we’re doing much where there might be schedule conflicts.  I’m gonna have to tell them for sure (well, Naha knows cos he follows me on twitter, and Kattii might cos she also follows me but I’m not sure if she keeps up with her timeline, but I don’t think the others do).  I should definitely not isolate myself entirely—I don’t know a lot right now, but I know that’s a real bad idea no matter how depressed I was before this happened—so I may keep the D&D up.

I’m not sure if I should go to the Sunday Jaina runs or not, since I won’t really be part of the prog team and shouldn’t take mounts out of the mouths of people who will actually be around.  I already felt kinda guilty about going to last week’s when I’d posted out of raid for mental health reasons (and had missed the week before’s entirely for same).  I dunno.  I’ve got a day and change to think about that one, and what I want to do with myself.

Oh, and M+ is a thing too isn’t it, fuck me.  I dunno.  If I do Jaina and I do D&D, I should probably at least do the M+ too; it’s only one or two runs a week even if it has been stressful because we’ve been scrambling for a filler every week for a few months now (Intol’s been wrapped up in the whole pandemic thing on his side of life, and none of us have had the time or energy to find a consistent/reliable filler until he’s ready to come back).  At least I have a good excuse to not be the one scrambling for that weekly filler anymore, eh? lol :T  That’s also a small group size so that should be all right.  Jaina will be touchy for the larger group size reason too actually, now that I think about it (although I can probably get away with not being on discord for most of the run).

I dunno.  I’m rambling now, and now I’m also rambling at Naha in DMs so maybe I should stop rambling in at least one location.

[kafkasgods]

bentley 🍑 BOT 10/29/2020 Bentley knocked nervously on Faaya’s door at ten past, holding the box of macarons carefully tied with a bow and the Queen Hera’s peacock logo on the top. They glanced at the door to Luke’s as they went by. It might’ve been easier to talk to both of them at once, just to get it over with, but they felt like this was something more personal for the two of them. And Faaya did value her privacy. They’d deal with telling Luke after they were sure Faaya was going to be alright.

They never expected that they’d be the first to pick a side, or how it’d gone down. But at the very least they could rest easier knowing Deimos wouldn’t be hounding Faaya about his offspring’s reluctance any longer. As the door opened, they extended the box. "I'm sorry you had to wait so long," they said, mustering a small grin and a weak joke. "They took longer to bake than expected. I think it was all the salt in them."

@Faaya Shah

faaya shah BOT 10/29/2020 Ever since fighting Luke, making amends with people she hadn’t thought she would, and her encounter with Phobos, Faaya felt most at peace than she ever had. It felt like she’d been fighting something for nothing and now all felt right and natural. Though, it hadn’t been long so not many could tell the difference just yet. But she was glad Bentley reached out to her because she was just about to do the same.

Faaya’s face brightened into a smile at the sight of him and the treats. “I’d make a snarky comment back, but I’d rather just eat them.” Simultaneously, Faaya moved aside, closing the door beside Bentley with her hip as she opened the box to grab one. “So did you want to make small talk first or say what’s on your mind? Oh, and Luke and I are good.” Faaya held the box out for him to take a  macaroon himself.

@Bentley Persico November 8, 2020

bentley 🍑 BOT 11/08/2020 They gave her a small, tired grin, but it was sincerely relieved. “Just like that, hey? Glad to hear it.” It was more or less what they’d expected. Enyo’s descendants were probably the best equipped to understand one another’s temperaments just the same as the children of Phobos or Deimos were. They couldn’t imagine a disagreement being so large as to actually fracture their friendships—which was a thought they clung to now.

“I—um. No, to the small talk, thank you,” they started, before halting in the middle of the room, not sure where or what to do with themself. “I...I joined Ares.” Their gaze fell to the floor, with the words.

“I know I... I said so many times I would never do it, but I just… I broke.” It sounded so final, so small and defeated to their own ears. They tried to reign in some of the tangled up emotions they were feeling, put a better spin on it. “But, maybe it’s not so bad, I reckon? I’ll have control over my powers now. And Deimos should leave you alone now, so… There’s that, at least.”

@Faaya Shah November 9, 2020

faaya shah BOT 11/09/2020 Pulling the box back once Bentley moved past it without taking one, she placed it on her kitchen island. Apparently, it wasn’t a talk that involved the consumption of desserts, so she tried to finish the one she’d already started and leaned against the counter to listen to him talk. To be fair, what he shared with her did make her stop chewing for a brief moment. There was an obvious conflict on Bentley’s face and Faaya knew better than try to speak before he could get everything out. Bentley needed to stutter through things to not get misunderstood.

“What exactly do you mean, you ‘broke,’ Bentley?” Very easily, she could have shared she’d switched sides as well, but she was more concerned with that. Faaya wondered if she had anything to do with it considering it was allegedly implied she should’ve been the one to convince him of it. “What made you break?”

@Bentley Persico November 14, 2020

bentley 🍑 BOT 11/14/2020 ( tw accident mention )

they might’ve tried to be less dramatic, less blunt about it all, but they were exhausted. and faaya knew what it meant to them. she was the first real friend he’d ever had. until effy had shown up at camp and bentley was finally claimed, the two of them had treated one another like long lost siblings. and she knew that this wasn’t something he’d ever do lightly. she was right to ask, but they hated to go back through it.

it made their throat feel like sandpaper, trying to explain what’d happened. “i lost control. at work.” they left off the part about the text messages. none of this was on faaya, or luke, and it would’ve likely happened sooner or later even if they'd tried to avoid it. they finally sat down at the sleek kitchen table.

“the whole cafe got hit before i could get out of there." they scrubbed a hand through their hair and looked at her, desperately. "someone crashed their fucking car cause of me, faaya… i got to a field and just stayed there but it took me... a while, all night really, to get it back under control, and then… then i texted dom, and i just… i wanted to go home. i wanted it to be over, so i contacted deimos.”

@Faaya Shah November 15, 2020

faaya shah BOT 11/15/2020 Though Faaya wasn’t surprised by the revelation, she sucked at her teeth displeased. Of course it’d be something like that, so she expected it to be something rough, but she had asked Bentley what had caused it and they’d evaded the question. Either it was really bad or it was something she did. Perhaps both. Especially considering it was Dom who they’d called and not her.  Bentley would never tell, so Faaya took it for face value. It was something to ruminate over later.

For now, all Faaya could offer was her concern and support. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the couch. “I know you’ve heard this a thousand times, but it’s not your fault. The same thing could happen to me and you wouldn’t say it was my fault either. But...” Faaya considered her position. “I think you did the right thing. I think you did the best thing for yourself. I did the same thing too, so it’s nothing to feel ashamed or guilty for.”

@Bentley Persico November 17, 2020

bentley 🍑 BOT 11/17/2020 faaya was right, as she usually was. naturally bentley’s first instinct was to blame himself, but his second instinct was to put that blame solely at the feet of the gods, where it actually belonged. the only downside to that was how helpless it made him feel as a consequence. if the gods were to blame, there was nothing he could control—no action he could take to improve his situation, so in a way it was worse that it wasn’t his fault. for so long he'd relied on his own mind, his own self-control, to get through each day. now a ring rested on his hand that did it all for him, automatically. did that make him weaker? he had to wonder.

he was still turning that over in his mind, ruminating on it with his fingers laced together on the table before him, the ring from deimos glinting silver and black as he turned it gingerly with his thumb.

but when faaya continued,  his head snapped up abruptly. “what?” she’d done the same? his brow screwed up in confusion. “what do you mean? what did you do?”

@Faaya Shah November 19, 2020

faaya shah BOT 11/19/2020 following the movement made by bentley, faaya’s eyes trailed down to their fingers, watching idly as they fiddled with the ring they was wearing. it took a moment to realize she’d never seen it before and bentley wasn’t a jewelry person. before she could inquire about it, bentley snapped to attention, making faaya flinch. “same as you,” faaya repeated, slowly and carefully. “i summoned phobos and demanded control in exchange for my allegiance. nothing particular happened unlike your situation, but i was fighting it for so long and for what reason? my choice doesn’t really matter in the long run, no one’s does. so i just choose what was best for me.”

giving a short pause, faaya bit her bottom lip and lowered her gaze before raising it again. “i like my power, bentley. i like being able to control it. no one can touch me this way or hurt me. not before i hurt them first. i like being a person people are scared to cross. i don’t feel guilty for it either. i’m not kind or gentle, not like you.” admitting their fundamental differences seemed moot and faaya wasn’t even sure why she pointed it out. it was possible she was hesitant about bentley’s judgement. “what happens in this war...i won’t regret anything.”

pulling off from where faaya leaned, she stood before bentley, raising their chin. “and you deserve to hold your head high with what you do too.” patting their chest and squaring their shoulders to straighten them out, she continued, “so make choices, bentley, and don’t look back.” @Bentley Persico November 21, 2020

bentley 🍑 BOT 11/21/2020 at first faaya’s explanation made his heart sink, but then bentley surprised himself as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and glanced down to the table again. “i would’ve paid good money to hear you laying out your terms to him,” he admitted. it was very faaya, to take control of her life simply because she’d had enough of the bullshit, gods or no gods. he was proud of her. bittersweet as it was, at least the indecision was over with, and they would face the consequences side by side.

then she continued, and the earnestness that shone from her made his chest ache. not for the first time he wished it’d been easier for her, that they’d found one another sooner. he wasn’t sure why she was bringing it up now, like she needed to justify her choice to him—obviously, she didn’t. “you shouldn’t feel guilty. if i’d needed to defend myself, i’d probably be more fond of it, too.” he shook his head slowly. “all i’ve ever wanted for us is to be able to choose for ourselves, you know that. maybe this is the closest we’ll get.”

he let her adjust his posture and lift his chin without comment. he felt more sure of himself, but he didn't know if it was from the certainty of her words, or because she was the one speaking them. when she was all done, he stood, and pulled her into a warm hug. staying still for a moment, he remembered how strange it had felt when he’d first started growing taller than her. “you are kind, you know—a selective kindness, maybe. but it’s there,” he said quietly. “i consider myself lucky that i get to see it.” he turned his head slightly, to brush a gentle kiss to her temple. clearing his throat, he stepped back, trying to steer them back to something less serious. "where'd those macarons go, i didn't actually taste test that batch..."

@Faaya Shah

faaya shah BOT 11/21/2020 if faaya was being honest, she’d never expected this conversation to happen. bentley was suppose to side with athena and the cracks of their friendship would start to form. that’s what she’d prepared herself for. so when they openly smiled and reassured her, full of utter understanding, faaya felt some tension leave her shoulders. it felt a little easier to breathe. it was odd, considering she didn’t even know it had weighed on her in the first place. the corners of her mouth tugged upwards emulating bentley’s as she looked up at them.

then the hug. they’d pulled her into it, entirely out of her comfort zone and it was too much of an astonishment to resist. they’d hug before, sure, but somehow, probably after such a weighted conversation, there was more meaning. after a moment, faaya wrapped her arms around them back and hid her face in their torso as she listened to them speak. no one, not even dayn, thought she was kind. faaya knew she wasn’t, but the certain belief in bentley’s voice made up her mind. she couldn’t make bentley ever lose that faith in her.

they kissed her forehead and now that was too much. faaya’s face was hot and she’d pulled back immediately, turning away, glad for the change in subject. if there hadn’t been one, she might’ve said something mean, contrary to the promise she’d made just a moment ago. “it’s on the counter.” she gestured, walking further away as she tried to relax. finally, rounding the kitchen island, she was across bentley and took another macaron as well. a cool face was easier to have if she was concentrated on the dessert. “my terms weren’t really as exciting as you make them out to be. things with phobos and i aren’t very dramatic.” she nibbled the edge of it, wiping the crumbs that stuck to the brick lipstick of her bottom lip. “you’re going to have to tell me your demands though. the ring’s new.” @Bentley Persico November 27, 2020

bentley 🍑 BOT 11/27/2020 spotting the box, bentley nodded and removed one of the sweets for himself, covering his hesitation with taking a bite and chewing slowly. despite everything he’d prepared for an explanation, there was one thing that he didn’t want to reveal to her, and this question pulled painfully close. he swallowed, then continued in a casual tone. “it... suppresses most of my abilities. i can still sense terror a little, but it won’t grant me the same strength it did. while i wear it, i won’t have to worry about losing control, inflicting nightmares… any of it. it's like... a muzzle of sorts for my abilities, i suppose.”

but he watched her reaction closely. the trinket on his hand was something they both would've wanted, at various times in their lives. that deimos had simply handed it over, like he could’ve done any time in the past twenty-five years… when he had granted bentley’s wish so easily, the demigod had laughed aloud, in bitterness more than amusement. it seemed almost unbelievable to him, how quickly deimos had given in when it looked like he was about to lose. if he'd known what it'd take to strongarm his father, he'd probably have done it years ago. he still hadn't told faaya everything that had happened in the field—nor would he ever, if he could help it.

“the trade-off,” he added, his voice dropping a little, “was agreeing to remove it when he bids me to—which i have to assume means, if there’s to be an actual battle.” but if it ever got to that point, he was sure he could rely on his friends not to let him harm any of them, and intended to talk to at least a couple of them to make sure they knew his wishes on the matter.

@Faaya Shah November 29, 2020

faaya shah BOT 11/29/2020 bentley spoke with hesitation and it was clear to faaya why. there was something they was omitting from her. she had known when he said his ring was meant to ‘muzzle’ his powers. faaya, who maybe in the past would have liked something like that, only felt insulted at the thought now. the ring appeared more like a shackle in her opinion and if it’d bother her, then it was hard to imagine deimos agreeing to such a demeaning and disrespectful term. phobos hated when faaya would badmouth the gift he’d gave her.

bentley had made an offer deimos couldn’t refuse and she could not imagine what he’d come up with. usually, she’d have left him alone, not pressing or prying into his business. but when it came to something that could have been a danger or great struggle for bentley, this was something she had to know. “what did deimos want from you? he didn’t agree to your request with a nice and easy stipulation like that for nothing.” faaya gave him a resolute and steady stare. pointedly, a thin, threatening layer of fear and intimidation wafted in the air. very rarely had faaya purposely used her abilities in his presence. “what did you do, bentley?” @Bentley Persico December 11, 2020

bentley 🍑 BOT 12/11/2020 ( tw implied suicide/self-sacrifice mention )

he ducked his head and smiled a little, turning the half eaten macaron in his hand. trust faaya to spot the hole he’d left in the plot within seconds. he debated trying to lie to her, but she’d asked so flatly that there was no chance he could avoid answering with equal directness.

but he didn’t want to. he looked up, meeting the scrutiny of her stare. the air around them seemed to shift, in a way that was imperceptible to anyone but a child of fear. “faaya, really?” bentley said, admonishing her softly as he felt the familiar ache of fear in his chest—the one that said he was going to hurt her, in some unforgivable way. normally he would be able to dismiss it with a thought, but this time he wasn’t sure it was wrong.

“it’s what i didn’t do,” he said, quietly. “it’d been hours without finding the right frequency to turn it down. and i got… tired, and angry. so i summoned him. and told him if he didn’t give me some way to control it, i would just... leave town.”

he held faaya’s eyes, knowing she would see immediately what the implication was. they both knew that outside the town’s protective borders, facing monsters, he wouldn’t last very long on his own. “deimos is… possessive, childish. so i wagered he wouldn’t love the notion of his toys getting taken away—even his least favourite one in the box.”

bentley couldn’t look at her any longer. “thankfully, it seems i was right.” he swallowed down an apology. he didn’t know what could possibly make it better, that he would choose his freedom over everything else in his life—including faaya herself. he’d left her before, for school, and he knew she still resented him for that, even if she didn't admit it. this was exponentially worse.

@Faaya Shah

faaya shah BOT 12/11/2020 there was no need to press hard because bentley reluctantly admitted the information he had been holding back on. and maybe he’d been right to because when he finally told her, faaya felt her heart go cold. bentley was willing to kill himself over it? obviously—obviously it meant it was a deeper issue than she could properly delve into and it had nothing to do with her at all, but faaya couldn’t help but feel some type of hurt or anger or maybe both.

she lowered the macaron back down as she tried taking bentley’s confession in. was it just a bluff to deimos? would he have really done it? or was he just something he’d snapped out from emotion. faaya bit her tongue. that wasn’t like bentley. no, it’d be something he thought long and hard about. they weren’t important enough to save him from himself. faaya wasn’t. bentley’s existence was precarious and spending her whole life with him hadn’t done anything to change that. this hurt was not one she could overcome. faaya needed distance. for now at least. she didn’t know.

“i’m glad it worked out for you, bentley. i hope things between you and your father get better.” her tone was impassioned and flat as when she spoke to most. she stepped back from the counter. “i have some things to do, so can you go?” there was no doubt she was being a fucking asshole after her friend had admitted to something as dark as that, but at the moment she didn't care. faaya had never been very compassionate. did it matter anyways? @Bentley Persico

[alphacrone]

OMGCP Heartbreak Fest Reveal!

title: anything for one more hour of light TW: major character death; vague mentions of bus crash, violent/traumatic deaths, and afterlife; ambiguous ending pairing: zimbits

On AO3 Here

Bittle was laughing just before the bus crashed.

Ransom and Holster were in the aisle, wrestling, just moments before. Lardo was perched on Shitty's lap, rolling her eye at their antics. Nursey and Dex were arguing, more playful than malicious, Chowder hanging over his seat to chirp them both. And Jack-

Jack watched it all fondly, heart feeling light despite the loss they were leaving behind. These were his friends and, in this moment, he wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.

Bittle turned to him then, eyes bright in the neon lights of the highway at dusk, and Jack's heart skipped a beat. Bittle was laughing, warm and joyful and lovely, when somebody screamed and everything went dark.

Jack woke up at the Haus with no memory of how he got there.

Though he came to slowly and groggily, the moment he remembered the crash Jack leapt from his bed, stumbling out into the hall. Without a second thought, he burst into Bittle's room, heart pounding wildly.

Bittle was asleep on top of his covers, wearing the same sweatpants and t-shirt he'd had on before-

"Jack?"

Bittle rubbed at his eyes, sitting up slowly. Jack hurried to crouch next to him, eyes raking down Bittle's body, looking for any sign of injury.

"Did we crash?" Bittle asked, voice hoarse.

"I think so," Jack said, brushing Bittle's hair away from his forehead. There was a faint scar there he'd never noticed before,  but no visible injuries. Bittle' cheeks grew pink and Jack pulled his hand away quickly. "I don't really remember what happened after, though."

"Me neither," Bittle said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Is everyone okay?"

"I don't know," Jack admitted. "Let's go check." He held out his hand and Bittle took it, letting Jack hoist him to his feet. Jack was reluctant to let go, but he did, leading Bittle into the hallway and down the stairs.

To Jack's immense relief, Shitty, Lardo, Ransom, and Holster were all seated at the kitchen table, staring intently at Ransom's phone.

"Oh, heavens to Betsy, I'm glad y'all're alright," Bittle said with a sigh. "I was so worried."

Lardo hopped up to wrap her arms around Bittle's chest, hugging him tightly.

"You two slept so long," Shitty said, standing to do the same to Jack. "We were afraid something might be wrong."

Jack squeezed Shitty tightly. "The frogs-?"

"Haven't heard from 'em," Holster said, gesturing to Ransom's phone. "None of our phones are working."

Bittle pulled away from Lardo, brow knitted together anxiously. "I'm sure they're okay."

"You two don't remember anything after the crash, do you?" Ransom asked, tearing his eyes away from the phone screen.

"No," Jack said. "I was hoping one of you might."

"This isn't standard procedure," Lardo said quietly. "For injured players or potential concussions. They wouldn't just drop us off in our beds."

"Maybe that's what happens when your team manager gets knocked out," Holster said, half joking. "No one's there to enforce procedure."

Shitty chuckled weakly, but Lardo's frown deepened. "Something's off," she said quietly, more to herself than to any of them.

"The weather sure is nasty out there," Bittle said, peering out the kitchen window. "So dark and gray."

"Still not used to real winter, eh, Bittle?" Jack chirped. But when he looked outside, Jack had to agree: the sky was unnaturally dark and gloomy, even for early spring.

"Hello?" Someone called from the entryway. "Anybody here?"

Bittle was out the door and throwing himself at Chowder before Jack could even turn. When the rest of them filed after him, Bittle was hugging Chowder tightly, rambling incoherently.

"Yeah, we're okay, too, Bits," Nursey chirped. "No need to worry about us."

Bittle made an indignant noise and threw his arms around Nursey and Dex, squeezing them with as much might as he could muster.

"Someone left you guys flowers!" Chowder told the rest of them. "I checked the tag but it wasn't addressed to anyone."

"It's probably for Bitty," Ransom teased. "From one of his many admirers."

Jack frowned. He hadn't known Bittle was being courted-

"Oh, shush," Bittle reprimanded. "Stop makin' fun of me, I could be concussed again for all you know."

"Not making fun of you, Bits," Holster said with a grin. "We happen to know several eligible bachelors who think you're a- Ransom, what's the exact phrase?"

"Stud muffin? Sex god? BILF? That's 'Bitty I'd Like to-'"

"I was gonna say cutie-patootie, but I think I like BILF better."

Bittle's face turned a fantastic shade of red and he shook his head. "They're probably from one of Jack's fangirls."

"Nuh-uh," Shitty said. "If it was, the tag would be addressed to the Most Glorious Ass in North America."

"Who cares about flowers?" Lardo snapped, hands on her hips. "Why did we wake up in our beds? Why don't our phones work? What happened to the rest of the team?"

The room fell silent. Finally, Jack couldn't take the uncertainty anymore, so he said, “Alright, let's just head to Faber and talk to the coaches. There has to be a logical explanation for this. Maybe something

happened to the closest cell tower. Maybe the flowers are from one of Bittle’s boyfriends-”

“Hey!” Bittle squawked.

“-but we won't know anything if we just sit around here.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Shitty chirped, gripping both of Lardo’s shoulders and squeezing until she relaxed.

They filed out of the Haus, into the oddly dark morning. Jack took up the rear, only a little happy when Bittle hung back to walk with him. He resisted the urge to take Bittle’s hand, despite the anxiety in Bittle’s eyes.

“Are you feeling okay?” Jack asked as they walked, keeping his hands shoved firmly in his pockets. Ahead, Ransom was giving Holster shit for not changing out of his bathrobe before going out in public. Behind them, Lardo just shrugged at Shitty, who wore raggedy sweatpants and nothing else.

“Yeah,” Bittle said after a moment. “I mean, I feel okay. But...things just seem off, don't they? I mean, did you see the number of flowers on our door? It's weird.”

Jack nudged Bittle with his elbow. “It's weird how many admirers you have?”

Bittle rolled his eyes, holding back a smile. “ Stop, oh my gosh, let me live, Jack Zimmermann.”

They bickered across campus, though Jack was unnerved by how few students he saw. It was a Saturday morning, but they'd seen only a couple souls at a distance, and one girl who passed them on the bridge without looking up from her notes.

They ran into no one from the team as they walked, and Jack didn't even bother pulling out his phone. They would get to the rink, talk to the coaches or use their landline or something .

When they approached, Bittle stopped dead outside Faber, eyes wide and face deathly pale.

There, on the western wall, a memorial had been erected. Bouquets of flowers were piled around the candles and pucks and the dozens of photographs that had been left there. Jack’s blood ran cold when he saw his own face among the frames. The others were there as well and...and no one else. Just the nine of them, the nine who'd woken in their own beds with no memory of the aftermath of the crash.

This was their memorial. They were-

“Dead,” Bittle whispered, shaking violently. Jack wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in close. “Jack...I think we’re dead.”

“Oh,” Lardo whispered from Jack’s other side. “That...that explains…”

They all stood there in silence for a long, tense moment.

“Is this some weird joke?” Holster asked loudly. “Are we being punk’d?”

“It's not funny,” Chowder said, wrapping his arms around himself. “This isn't funny-”

“I don't think anyone’s laughing, C,” Nursey said softly. “I think this is legit.”

“I can't be dead!” Dex shouted, hands gripping at his hair. “I haven't paid off my student loans!”

“I think that's a moot point, Poindexter,” Lardo said sharply.

“Well...fuck,” Holster said, shoulders deflating like an old balloon. Ransom leaned against him, eyes wide and panicked.

No one else spoke as they stood there, staring. They didn’t move for a long time,

They gathered in the kitchen after they returned to the Haus, everyone clutching at someone else.

“I can't believe we’re dead,” Chowder whispered. “Cait- she must be-”

“Dead,” Nursey repeated. “Just...dead?”

“So you've finally figured it out.”

They all turned, startled to see two girls standing -- no, floating -- in the doorway. They both wore odd clothes, like things Jack remembered from his early childhood. They were both very pretty and wearing quite a bit of makeup and were so young...

“The sorority ghosts,” Holster said, mouth agape.

“You have to be shitting me,” Ransom hissed. “Ghosts aren't real!”

“Um.” Lardo gestured to everyone in the room. “Rans. Buddy.”

“Go towards the light,” the blonde one said.

“Excuse me?” Bitty asked.

“The light,” the brunette said. “When it comes to you, go towards it. If you don't, you'll be stuck here like us.”

“We’re not sure it'll ever come for us again,” the blonde added sadly, leaning against her friend. “Take the chance when you have it.”

“Where does it lead?” Ransom asked tentatively.

Both girls shrugged. “But it has to be better than living in a frat house for eternity,” the brunette said. “Right?”

No one dared answer, and eventually the girls left them alone in their silence.

Their parents came to the Haus in a flood. The Birkholtzes and the Oluransis -- who'd never met in person before -- spent hours in the attic, crying and telling stories about their boys. Ms. Dupre (Shitty’s mother had retaken her maiden name after the divorce) came by alone and quietly packed up Shitty’s things, not seeming to notice the weed stash or condom wrappers. She didn't speak to anyone, and left quickly, as if she could feel Shitty’s presence there.

The Bittles were all smiles, forced and polite, until they were shut up in Bitty’s room. Then Suzanne crumpled to the ground, and Coach couldn't do anything but stare at Señor Bun, perched on the beside table. They said nothing to each other as they worked, not even looking up from their hands. 

Bittle cried the entire time his parents were there, and long after they left, face pressed into Jack’s arm.

And then the Zimmermanns arrived. Jack stood in his room and watched as his parents wiped at tears and touched his stupid books like they were him .

Jack couldn't bear to see his parents cry. He was right there! Why couldn't they see him? Why couldn't they sense him?

Screaming in frustration, Jack snatched the coffee mug from his desk and chucked it at the wall. It flew across the room and shattered; his mother screamed, and his father nearly fell over in shock.

“That mug…” his mother whispered, grasping at his father’s shirt. “Honey...Jack?”

“I'm here!” Jack shouted, trying to grab her by the shoulders. His hands slipped through her, though, of course they did. She shuddered, lifting a hand to ghost over the places he'd been.

“Sweetheart, are you there?” She asked, voice small, broken.

“Alicia,” Bob murmured. “It was just a cup.”

“Right,” his mother whispered. “Of course.”

They packed Jack’s belongings in silence, though every few seconds Alicia’s eyes would dart to the broken mug on the ground.

Neither of them cleaned the shards before they left, and Jack sat next to them for a long, long time after.

“Chowder tried to talk to Farmer this afternoon,” Bittle said as he joined Jack out on the reading room. “It didn't work, obviously, but he did learn that they're holding a memorial service for us tomorrow.”

“No one else died in the crash, right?” Jack asked, leaning back against the roof shingles. “Just us?”

“Yeah,” Bittle said softly. “Nursey’s been pretty torn up about it. Dex, of all people, is with him right now. Chowder told me he needed to be alone, especially after seeing his parents, but I think he's gone to try and communicate with Caitlin again.”

Jack thought back to the mug shards on his bedroom floor and could relate with Chowder's plight.

“Ransom and Holster are in the attic doing Lord knows what. I think Lardo is grilling those sorority girls for answers, specifics and, well...Shitty goes where she goes.”

“You're good at keeping track of people,” Jack said, wishing he could feel heat coming from Bittle’s body as he sat close. But they grew colder the longer they were ghosts; Bittle hadn't blushed once today, despite Jack’s teases. “You should've been a manager. Or captain.”

“Right,” Bittle scoffed. “Like I'd be a good captain. The captain who couldn't take a check.”

“It's not about skill,” Jack said firmly. “It's about heart. You try your damndest at every practice, every game. You've come so far. You love this team and these guys. I'd vote for you.”

Bittle looked up at him sadly. “Thanks, Jack. Guess it doesn't really matter, though. Never gonna happen anyway.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Maybe it was something about this weird, limbo world they were in, or maybe it was because he'd never really looked until now, but the stars were so beautiful here, far more visible than when in the city proper.

“I’ll never play in the NHL,” Jack eventually said, voice soft. “After everything…I guess I’ve been living on borrowed time, anyway…I guess I was never meant to be anything more than this.”

“More than what?” Bitty asked, a bit petulantly. “More than a successful NCAA captain? More than a big, strong, handsome son who made his parents proud? Who excelled at the sport his father loved?”

“Bittle,” Jack said softly. “Your parents were proud of you.”

“No they weren’t,” Bitty murmured. “They loved me, but they weren’t proud of me.”

“Bittle-”

“Jack,” Bittle said sharply. “You were so much in life. You worked so hard, you accomplished so much. Be proud of yourself. Just for a moment.”

“I am,” Jack mumbled. “And you should be proud of yourself, too,” he added petulantly.

They fell into silence again. The stars seemed brighter, bigger, closer.

“I’ll never have to come out to them,” Bitty said eventually, voice trembling and watery. Jack didn't have to ask whom he meant. “Even if they find my vlog, at least I never had a boyfriend to disappoint them with.”

“Bittle,” Jack started, but he didn't know what else to say.

“I’ll never kiss anyone,” Bitty said, staring down at his lap, his voice cracked and small. “God, I died a closeted virgin. How sad it that?”

“It's not,” Jack murmured. They'd drawn closer to each other, faces only inches apart.

“Will you...will you kiss me?” Bitty asked, eyes rimmed red and puffy. “Please, I don’t want to leave without ever being kissed.”

And, well, Jack couldn't say no to that.

He leaned over slowly, watching as Bittle’s eyes grew wide, then fluttered closed. They’d never really been this close before, close enough that Jack could count the faint freckles on Bittle’s nose. He pressed their lips together chastely, for a brief moment, and pulled back as something clicked in his mind.

They surged together again like waves on a stormy sea, crashing until they mingled together like salt and foam. Bittle wrapped himself around Jack, and Jack could feel the ways in which they were no longer living: no warmth under Bittle’s skin, no heartbeat fluttering against his chest. But Jack savored this moment, this last moment together, and pretended he could smell the vanilla and cinnamon on Bittle’s clothes, could taste the sugared fruit on his tongue. They were nothing but winter air and memories, but Jack held on tight and forced regret from his mind.

“You fool,” Bittle whispered as Jack kissed down the column of his throat. “We could’ve- could’ve had time .”

“I know,” Jack murmured, bringing a hand to Bittle’s face. “But we have now. This.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Bittle said sadly. Jack kissed him again tenderly.

“Thank you,” was all he could think to say in response. Bittle nodded, half-smiling, and Jack hoped he understood.

The stars above grew brighter and brighter until the dawn came. He and Bittle were there to greet the sunrise Jack knew would be their last.

They stood towards the front of the crowd at Faber for the memorial service. For once, the larger guys didn't have to worry about blocking someone’s view.

The rest of the team sat in the few rows of chairs before the standing crowd. Ollie wore a neck brace and Wicks had a cast on his arm. A few of the other guys sported obvious injuries, and the few missing ones Jack suspected were still in the hospital.

Next to the team sat the families and a few friends. Farmer, March, and April sat in a huddle, the older two stroking Farmer’s hair as she held back tears. Only Coach Hall stood at the podium, and Jack wondered vaguely where Murray could be. Had he been injured? Was he with the injured boys? Did he blame himself for the freak accident?

Coach Hall cleared his throat and said a few words, wavering and thick. He quickly departed the podium and, to everyone's surprise, John Johnson stepped up to take his place. After a moment, he began to speak.

"I didn't see this coming," Johnson said softly, shaking his head. "None of us could have predicted that these nine lives would be cut down so early, before any of them could fulfill their character arcs-"

His voice broke, and Jack stared in horror as John Johnson let out a small sob. He'd gotten along with Johnson, and John has really taken a shine to Bittle last year, but no one had been particularly close to him. Who knew he'd cared that much about any of them?

And that's when Jack knew it was all real. He was dead. He would never grow old. He would never play hockey again.

He would never wake up to Bittle's smile.

"They were too young," Johnson continued, wiping at his eyes. "I know this is a fan-derived universe-" Johnson paused, looking around at the crowd. "In another world, they will all grow older. They'll find themselves, graduate, start careers. They'll fall in love." Johnson looked straight at Jack, just for a second, then looked away. "But in this world, we can only hope they'll find some peace and strive to keep their memories alive.

"And if they're here, if they're still with us, I just want to say...I'm sorry." Johnson looked straight at them, gaze unwavering and sure. "I'm so, so sorry."

Someone in the audience wailed. Given the tears in Bittle's eyes, Jack wagered it was his mother. He wrapped an arm around Bittle's shoulder and kissed his head.

"Be at peace," Johnson said with finality, voice thick with tears. "Thank you for the stories you've left us, the memories."

As he finished speaking, a light shone through the windows of Faber, growing brighter and brighter and brighter-

“That’s it,” Ransom said softly, gripping Holster’s hand. “That’s the light.”

“It’s now or never,” Nursey said, his voice too calm to be real. “I think we have to follow it.”

“Where?” Dex asked, sounding small and young. Jack realized with a jolt that the frogs were all just 18, barely adults.

“Beyond,” Holster said with a shrug. “Eternity. Nothingness. Whatever you believe in, I guess, or...maybe nothing like what any of us believe.”

“So we just...go?” Chowder asked, face crumpled in anguish. Bitty reached out and took his hand.

“We’ll do this the way we  do anything else,” Lardo said sharply, taking Chowder’s other hand. “As a team .”

That sparked something in them all, linking hands until they stood in a long chain. Jack took a deep, shaky breath, holding Ransom’s hand on one side, Bitty’s on the other.

Noticing the anxiety, the fear on Bitty’s face, Jack nudged his arm and gave him a small smile. “Don’t be afraid, Bits,” he said softly. “I got your back.”

Bittle chuckled, soft and broken, and stood on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Jack’s lips. “I wish we could’ve had more time,” he whispered hoarsely. “I wish- I wish we-”

“I know,” Jack said, his heart breaking a little. “But we have now. We have this moment.”

“I wish I was alone, here,” Bitty said, shaking as the light in front of them grew brighter. “I wish I was the only one facing this, the only one who died. But I am so, so glad to have you all by my side.”

“Here, at the end of all things?” Holster asked, a goofy grin on his face.

“Shut up,” Ransom murmured, but he was smiling fondly. “You’re not allowed to quote movies when we’re about to cross over into God-knows-where.”

“We might as well get it over with,” Lardo said, though Jack could see her shaking as hard as any of them, face drawn and determined. “Whatever happens, just know I love you idiots a whole lot. A stupid amount.”

Shitty kissed her softly. Next to him, Nursey pressed his forehead to Dex’s, whispering something Jack couldn’t hear. Bitty leaned against Chowder’s arm, tucking his face against the bright teal of his Sharks sweatshirt for a moment to hide his tears. Chowder cried freely, his eyes not on the light but on Farmer, who sat with her arms wrapped around herself.

“Alright, team,” Jack said, squeezing Bitty’s hand tightly. “Let’s do this.”

Shitty laughed softly. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

Following Jack, the rest of them walked forward, towards the light. Jack turned, just moments before, and met Bitty’s gaze, piercing and sad and full of love, before everything turned white.

[enchantingblizzardbouquet]

Firt of all, I have ADHD, I'm very gulliable on actions (not much opinions, no), I'm from South America (therefore a poc?? Idk im brazilian) I take adhd meds, and at least 80% of the songs from here talk about sex and drugs, that being said, the Dream thing

I've seen people talking about it on the bird app and uhhhh I hate the bird app

The first thing I saw on the bird app is that aparently people watching that clip and need to take medication would be influenced to not take the meds. Tbh, good for them?? I spent at least 16 years of my life off of meds, mostly bc I didnt know I could take them, but taking medication is a choice?? If your adhd doesn't affect your life at all and you reather not take medication, good, I could never, Dream on the other hand could. Thats HIS experience and we are not here to make him got back in time and make his past self take meds, thats stupid, let the man have his own expiriences damn.

Another thing I saw today was the "he should learn how to keep quiet about his rsd just like every girl and poc learned" and uhhhh???? Excuse me but no. As a girl and latina, I didn't learn how to mask my rsd and in fact, when I did try to mask it I had a suicidal episode so please, stfu and don't tell people they should mask their symptoms, thats bad for their mental health and you cant throw your own trauma onto someone else just bc they are a white cis male, that's not how life works sweetheart.

Moving on to the dugs thing... I'm just disapointed, yall really are gatekeeping music about drugs smh. Yall know everyone could do drugs and talk about it if they wanted right? John Mullaney had a whole thing about it, rehab AND a comedy bit, content about drugs is available on RAP, brazilian funk, pop music, eletro, indie, drugs are not always related to Black people's rap, my favourite is "why you only call me when you're high" and I'm not a hardcore fan, but I think artic monkey is not a poc band, actually I think they are very white, so dont gatekeep drugs, geez

I do think the meds would help him with the rsd, but his job consists of those attention iregularities, hyperfocusing on editing and not focusing at all on topic like... politics?? Idk what's been going on over there, im sorry, idrc. So maybe rsd is not that much lf an issue ig

You see, I once met a philosophy major that helped me to be chill on the internet he said that philosophy majors had no time to over analisise every text, so they all read everything in the best way the author could mean, and after that my critical thinking improved a lot. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar yk, theres a painting about it

Tldr: i think people should stop thinking they are the masters of knowladge and try to understand what the person is talking about, not just going at their throat just bc they said something you didnt like

Anyway, yall have a good night and sleep well or a good day

[kafkasgods]

adam hudson and the quest of athena

tw suicide, abuse, eye horror/injury, physical punishment, fire, death

[[SCENE ONE]]

Even when Adam trekked on at dawn, leaving Epinieos behind, he had no clue what was in store for him. Athena hadn’t felt inclined to tell him anything beyond the fact that she had something long term in mind for him and where to meet her for more information. It wasn’t hard to find her considering the forest beyond the borders didn’t have any other olive trees. When he found the tree, he approached, slowing his steps, waiting for the goddess to appear. Adam paused when she didn’t. There was a rustle behind him and he turned, hand on his cross, ready to pull out a sword.

A dark-haired guy around his age, maybe older, stepped from behind from branches he was swatting away. “Holy shit,” he muttered as he brushed the debris from his jacket. Apparently he was too caught up in himself to notice Adam, and when he did, his brows set downwards in confusion. “Hey, you fixed my car.”

Adam gave a slow nod. “Probably.” Trying to place the guy was a moot effort. “Are you here for something?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m going on the quest with you unless you’re here for no goddamn reason.” The guy was a bit on the rough side, but he was straightforward enough and Adam could work with that. “I’m Murphy Fiennes, son of Aphrodite. You?” The pomade in Murphy’s hair that held his well-done curls was enough to let Adam know that.

“Adam Hudson, son of Ares, legacy of Hephaestus. Nice to meet you.” Idly, Adam wondered why Murphy hadn’t been surprised to see him.

Before he could mull on the thought, Athena stood before him. The form she was in was different from the last one, but he knew it was her. The steely gray eyes were the same. “Adam. Murphy.” She addressed cooly. Adam’s back straightened at her attention, while Murphy raised a hand in greeting. [1:24 PM] “I appreciate you both being here and accepting my request of you despite the conflict of your own parentage. That in mind, what I ask has very much to do with the helm.”

If Adam were a dog, his ears would have been pricked forward at the words that had left her lips.

“Sides have been drawn, naturally, but the problem is that who is on my side isn’t as veracious as I hope.” The eyes she had on Adam somehow made him feel a weight compress against his chest. Was that just something she did innately? “I would like you both to attend to Hephaestus' Forge.” Finally, she turned her gaze from them and stared at the olives above. “I have reason to believe he might have stolen the helm to set me up.”

“Why would he do that?” Interrupting Athena, Murphy had every ounce of arrogance any good-looking person had and it was bothering Adam more than usual.

“My half-brother despises Ares more than he cares for me. But that is none of your concern. All I require of you two is to search his domain for the helm or see if he has anything to do with it.”

For the first time, Adam spoke. “You want me to spy on my grandfather?” Nothing about him said espionage. It felt traitorous.

Athena’s eyes dropped to him. “Who are you loyal to, Adam Hudson? If it is not to me, then why are you here?”

“I am,” Adam stressed. “I’m goin—”

“Then if you are, you would see that I do not ask stupid things for stupid reasons. You are not spying on Hephaestus, you are clearing his name. Just as you are trying to clear your father’s name. Isn’t that the reason you are really here?”

The force she spoke with was hard to argue or even defend himself against. Adam swallowed, choosing to remain unmoving. It was enough of an answer for her. [1:24 PM] “Good. Despite being a child of Ares, Hephaestus will take to you as you are his grandchild. And Murphy, your charmspeak has always been a certain weakness against him. If either of you are caught, you must not tell him of whom your quest had originated from. Neither of you, I imagine, are keen on the war escalating by your hand and that would no doubt happen if he discovers I sent you.”

“Got it.” Murphy saluted.

Adam didn’t hesitate this time. “I swear on the River Styx.”

For once, Athena seemed to be pleased with him and she wished him good luck before disappearing.

Setting off on their journey now, Murphy lightly elbowed Adam. “I can’t believe you had to one up me in front of Athena.”

“I can’t believe you interrupted her.”

Murphy grinned and took a larger stride than Adam, setting out to lead. “Well, anyways! Where even is Heph’s Forge?”

The answer amused Adam as the crestfallen look on Murphy was predictable. “Under a volcano.”

[[SCENE TWO]]

It took four days to get to the workshop, which was actually great time. A few monsters had come out of the woodwork for them, but between him and Murphy, they were holding their own well. It surprised Adam how quick he took to his chatty companion, but it was hard not to feel appreciative of someone sharing in the same life and death experience.

“I know we’ve talked about this before, but do you think it’s going to be terrible in our rooms? I feel like it’s going to be terrible.” Even as they squeezed through boulders and slipped through the crevice of the volcano, Murphy had to talk. “Honest to Gods, it’s going to be a slab of rock and lava covering the walls. I can’t sleep in the heat. I get so sweaty. Adam, Adam. I get sweaty.” [1:24 PM] “Pretty bold of you to assume he’s even gonna give us rooms.” That was a possibility, but Adam wasn’t going to let it happen anyways.

“What can I say—” A piece of the path broke off under Murphy’s foot, revealing the magma underneath and showing them how thin the layer they were walking on was. His voice shook, “I’m an optimist.”

From across the way, Adam heard a familiar voice. “Adam.”

Turning his carefully, Adam saw Hephaetus standing along another path, appearing smeared with grime and looking as if he was on his way from one project to another.

“Hi. Give me a sec.”

Having Hephaestus watching them made even Murphy scuttle forward with haste. Finally, they reached him and Adam took the lead in greeting them.

“Hi sir. I know this was unexpected and rude, but I was actually hoping that I could apprentice under you for some time. I just graduated college and I thought taking some time to learn from you was the right thing to do. I don’t plan on burdening you any more than that and if all you wanted to do was tell me to do things, I can do that too.” Adam was polite and straight to the point. He didn’t know his grandfather beyond some shared conversation in a Lowe’s warehouse, but Hephaestus had always appeared to appreciate that in him. Their talks, after all, had never broached beyond mechanics. [1:25 PM] Hephaestus was silent, lips pursed as he stared down at Adam. Then he jerked his chin towards Murphy. “And him?”

“I’m Murphy!”

“He’s a friend. He didn’t want me coming alone.” That sounded a little pathetic. “Things have been more dangerous recently.” That was a little better.

“I’d really love it if you could let us stay. Mostly me. I’m hoping for a sauna room.”

Hephaestus didn’t need to hear anything more from him. “Aphrodite’s kid. What a pair you two are,” he spoke under his breath. For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say no, but he began walking and gave a quick gesture to follow.

“Why do you call him ‘sir’?” Murphy whispered as they trailed after the god. [1:25 PM] [[SCENE THREE]]

It was hard to say how long they’d been there. Time moved differently in the cave. Not for any special reason besides not having a sky overhead to regulate their body clocks. But things were good for the most part.

Hephaestus didn’t spend a lot of time with Adam in the beginning, but he seemed to have warmed up to him a little, lingering nearby whenever Adam struggled with his task. Even though Ares was the one who took on his adopted dad’s form, he couldn’t help but be reminded of him with Hephaestus. It’d been a long time since Adam really got to hang out with his dad—First, he had to go to Camp Halfblood, then he had to live in Epineios. That didn’t leave a lot of room besides long visits. So he missed this. He missed not having to be the one in control.

But that was just something he pretended in brief moments because Adam had other, bigger responsibilities. The workshop was huge and it almost felt like Adam would never finish looking. He was just glad Murphy was here to share half the work. They’d split up locations to go through and they’d convene at night in their shared room.

“I think the helm is here, Adam,” Murphy whispered in a low voice, across his own bed.

They hadn’t heard or found anything about the helm since they got there. This was a first and had Adam alert.

“What’d you mean?” Adam asked, already frowning, lowering the shirt he was folding. [1:25 PM] “I was in the boiler room and I overheard Alkon tell Eurymedon that Ares is going to get what’s coming to him. That Hephaestus is gonna make sure of it.”

That more than put Adam on edge. He hesitated, taking a moment to think of a plan on how to go forward.

“It’d be so dumb if he took it.” Murphy muttered. “You know? Like just ‘cause he has beef with Ares, is there really a point to starting a civil war and getting everyone involved?”

Adam stayed silent.

“I just think this whole war thing is stupid and there’s no reason Athena would do anything bad because she’s like, the brains, you know?”

Adam bit his cheek.

“Her whole thing is like fairness and justness. Dude—” Murphy hit Adam’s knee, making him look up. “I feel like I’ve been talking to a tree all this time. Why don’t you ever say what you think about anything?”

It seemed to come out of nowhere, but it was probably because Adam had been too lost in thought. He took in Murphy’s frustration and he could tell it’d been something that had been stewing. “You know, I don’t like to talk unnecessarily, Murphy.”

Murphy rolled his eyes and he was about to say something, but Adam continued to the other boy’s pleasure.

“The war is stupid. All war is. I want to find the helm and end it.”

“Oh yeah, if you find it, I bet your dad would make you immortal or something. You’d have to get rewarded for ending a fucking war.” Murphy sighed, dramatically. “I bet Athena would get us something nice when we get back. I heard some dude got a flamethrower once, but like, a crazy indestructible one or something.”

Adam finished folding the shirt and put it off to the side. They still had to think and plan something out, but they couldn’t do anything right now.

“I thought you wanted to meet your mom.”

The perpetual grin on Murphy’s face faded. There was a pause. “Well, what do you think the fucking flamethrower is for?” [1:25 PM] The question ended in a cackle that made Adam snort. Murphy’s opinion of Aphrodite had swayed every other day, but it wasn’t hard for Adam to tell where Murphy really stood about it. After all, a person wasn’t ambivalent about things for nothing.

“So what are you going to do with all that glory? Are you finally going to get a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Themfriend?” Murphy raised his index finger stopping Adam from speaking. His gaze was flat and unamused. “Or are you gonna get a cat? One you didn’t find off the street.”

“You know, you have a lot of perceptions of me. More than I’d like any person to have. I might get a cat, but I’d have to check in with Audrey. And even then, our stray might not care for a friend. Besides that, I don’t care about anything else. I’ll do what I have to do to end the war so we can all stop worrying about each other.”

Murphy gave Adam an uncertain look. “That always kind of confused me about you. I really thought Ares kids were supposed to thrive in conflict or something. You don’t seem like any Ares kids I know.”

Adam flexed his hand. “You might be getting it confused with just having the ability to manipulate rage. But yeah, I get that a lot.” Frankly, he was never sure how to feel about whether it was a good thing or a bad one. It always felt insulting either way. “I do,” Adam answered.

“Do what?”

“I do like conflict. I like...Not holding back. There’s a rush of adrenaline and freedom that’s hard to recreate. I like pushing things too far. I like hitting things until something bleeds. I want things to hurt. I have for a long time.”

There was a silence between them before Murphy spoke again. “You sound kind of like a psycho.” [1:25 PM] Adam gave Murphy a small smile. “Yeah, well, it runs in my blood in more ways than one. But that’s part of the reason I stop myself.”

Murphy tapped his fingers along his chin, feigning a caricature of a therapist. “Go on.”

It really was nice to have Murphy here with him in the trenches. The months would have been more bleak if he were alone. Murphy was his friend now. Maybe his closest one, even if he wasn’t Murphy’s.

Giving a small laugh, Adam stretched up, giving a slight reprieve from its tenseness. “I used to get the shit beaten out of me when I was a kid. Everyone in my family is trash.” Adam collapsed backwards on his bed, staring up at the dark slate ceiling. “I don’t want to be like that. I want to be better.”

Through his peripheral Adam could see Murphy staring at him. His next words made Adam choke back a laugh: “I wish you were gay.” He grinned. “Or you know, something close to it.”

“Who knows, I haven’t really thought about it.”

“What do you mean you haven’t thought about it? Everyone thinks about it. Well, not everyone, but you get what I’m saying.”

“I get it. I just know I’m not in that place yet.” The more specific answer was an amalgamation of reasons Adam just couldn’t sort and didn’t think it was important enough to try to.

Murphy nodded and turned over on his bed to face Adam. “I guess. Does that mean you haven’t kissed anyone?”

Adam raised a hand as he settled back into his bed, pulling the covers over himself. “We’re not that close, Murphy.”

“Oh, so you want to kiss me?”

“I’m not in your league.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Also I’m not gay.”

“Murphy, what?” [1:25 PM] “I have a girlfriend. I’m just a straight dude who likes to talk and occasionally assumes all my friends are in love with me. Clearly, Adam.” Murphy’s eyes were closed, relaxed, so he couldn’t see Adam squinting over in the dark. “Anyways I just like lying.”

Somehow they had circled back to the pointless jabber Murphy liked and Adam gave an amused breath of air as a reply before he turned over to face the wall.

“Maybe I’ve been lying to you the whole time. Maybe my name isn’t even my name. It’s probably Steve or something. Or Zack, like from Saved by the Bell—Did you hear about Screech?”

“Goodnight Steve.”

“Hey, actually. I think tomorrow while you’re with Hephaestus, I can try talking to the Kabeiroi Boys. They’re pretty good to charmspeak. I’ll let you know from there what I’ve got. You’re doing all the hard manual labor anyways.”

The gears in his head were turning, going over the idea. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Of course it does. Night Adam.”

“You’re a good partner.”

“I have a girlfriend.”

Adam laughed again into the dark before finally letting himself doze off. [1:26 PM] [[SCENE FOUR]]: MURPHY’S POV

It was easy to make up the lie to Adam the next day—that it’d only been a prank Hephaestus was planning on Ares, a false alarm. Of course, Murphy hadn’t actually found anything. It was just that Adam really didn’t share enough for him to figure the guy out.

The talk with Adam had given Murphy a little more perspective. It was enough to let him know that Adam was probably in the clear. There was still a niggling of doubt coming from the admission of hate he had fessed up to, but that’d been the only thing. Murphy was about 90% sure his companion didn’t have the helm and though Adam had thought they should clear Hephaestus now, Murphy insisted on staying a little longer to give time for Adam to convince him of the other ten.

Despite Adam’s impression, Murphy’s own quest was different from his. He’d known it from the start when Athena had come to him and told him how she suspected the son of Ares. She sent him with Adam on the chicanery of a quest to read into the real suspect. There weren’t supposed to be any hiccups to his quest unless Adam really did have the helm—He didn’t think Adam would get caught in the Dupe Quest.

Adam stumbled into the room Murphy was in, Hephaestus following behind, an imposing figure. Murphy remembered a miniscule warmth to them when he talked with Adam, but it was gone now. The gaze on his face was as hard and black as coal.

“What am I supposed to do with two liars? Arrogant demigods who’ve come into my home and rifle through my things? I should have known. You are your father—Despicable.”

Murphy turned to Adam, staring at him with wide eyes, trying to ask for an explanation. How’d he get caught? What had happened? The other boy just stared forward, jaw locked.

“Well?” Hephaestsus looked between them. “Did you find what you were looking for? What was it? Who sent you?” [1:26 PM] Adam wasn’t saying anything, so Murphy stepped up, raising his hands. “We weren’t doing anything. It’s just a misunder—”

“Shut up. Your pretty words don’t work on me, son of Aphrodite.” Murphy could see the god’s nose flaring as he glowered down at them. “Only one of you’s getting to go back as a warning, so who’s it going to be?”

“I’ll stay,” Adam spoke, volunteering himself.

Hephaestus’ eyes narrowed, thinly. “No one is staying.”

He and Adam shared a look. Murphy’s mind was racing, trying to find a way out of this. He was coming up short. Camp prepared him for monsters, not for Gods.

“Who sent you?” A fire combusted throughout his clenched fist, causing a more immediate panic.

The name slipped from Murphy’s mouth. “Ares. Ares sent us.”

He didn’t mean to damn Adam, but justification began pouring into his mind—Only one of them was getting out and it was better this way, wasn’t it? Adam was the one who got caught anyways? The quest Murphy was on was the real mission, Adam’s didn’t matter. There was still a small percent Adam was the helm thief. Wait, Adam was good with getting out of situations. He could figure this out for the both of them. It was fine, Murphy wasn’t damning him, he was buying Adam time.

“Your father?�� Hephaestus uttered.

“He didn’t.” Murphy’s heart clenched. He wasn’t expecting Adam to tell the truth, he’d sworn on the Styx.

“So Murphy is lying?”

“I’m not! It was Ares. He sent us to find the helm here!” Murphy’s eyes were on the god, hoping to Aphrodite, begging that his charmspeak would work. “Who else would send us here?”

There. He could see Hephaestus believe him. The wrath was on Ares. And on Adam. He stared at Adam, pleading him to say something to get them out of this. But Adam didn’t say anything at all. [1:26 PM] Hephaestus grunted. “I want to hear you say it, Adam. Tell me it was Ares.”

“Adam, tell him. Say something!” Murphy hissed. Why wasn’t Adam saying anything?

“It wasn’t Ares.”

“Tell me or Murphy dies now.”

The silence was both longer and quicker than Murphy had ever felt. But the fire that engulfed him was the last thing he recalled.

[[SCENE FIVE]]: ADAM’S POV

“Was it worth it?” Hephaestus asked, voice harsh and sharp, as Adam stared at the pile of ash where Murphy had been standing.

Adam...His morals hadn’t allowed Ares to take the blame for it, but at the same time, he had a duty to his quest not to out Athena. Weighing even heavier was the potential of escalating the war. Of it being time to fight against his friends. And Adam...Didn’t want to set the keg. So he stayed silent and he let Hephaestus smote Murphy.

“Kill me too,” Adam’s voice cracked through his raw throat. “Kill me too,” he repeated with more certainty.

“No. That’s your punishment.” He jerked his chin towards Murphy’s spot. “You’ll carry that forever.”

“That’s not a punishment! That’s not a fair punishment!” Adam snapped, feeling all the heat rise to his face. “You’re supposed to take it out on me!” “Fair? An eye for an eye then.” There was no other warning before Hephaestus took Adam’s left eye. Adam held the place where his eye had been, cringing over it. “Since you want to keep your eye on me, I’ll keep it then.” He turned his back towards Adam as he made for the door. “Go. You’ve completed your quest.” [1:26 PM] [[SCENE SIX]]: ATHENA’S POV

Athena plucked a dark olive from the tree above. She turned it over in thought. It was much too ripe—Far overdue to be picked. She peered up once more to get a glimpse of the son of Ares’ back as he headed back into town.

The quests she had sent both boys on ended one of the few ways she imagined it would. The children of Ares and Aphrodite on her side had made her suspicious of them both, though the Ares one had more of the cleverness and unpredictability that made her paranoid of him most.

It had been fairly simple. She sent Adam under the impression her suspicion was on Hephaestus and she sent Murphy to assess Adam. It seemed Adam was about done with his quest, obviously finding nothing on Hephaestus. With their time almost over, Athena had Hephaestus informed about the spies in his midsts. The real test of loyalty lied there and Adam had passed with flying colors. She could trust him now. Trust was priceless in war and the cost of it had been a sacrifice that she could afford to make.

The son of Ares was a good ally to have. And he would even have her gifted eyepatch on him forever, allowing him the same sense of depth perception. He would be grateful to her always.

His back faded from view and Athena vanished, content with the turnout.