#it's almost like home got a different meaning.

[rafesdollette]

— ୨ৎ how diva!reader fixed rafe's wardrobe.

synopsis: ever since you've met rafe, you've felt like he needed a wardrobe revamp. of course, you weren't gonna say anything about it cause rafe is...rafe; but now, as his girlfriend, you've got every right to take him on a shopping spree —with his money of course. author's note: first work with diva, I'm so so excited...definitely wish this wasn't written in a free period but wtv. content warnings: fluff! a tiny bit suggestive but no smut.

“sweetheart, i wanna go home.” rafe groaned dramatically, trailing behind you as you piled more clothes into his arms. “and we will” you hum, picking up white linen button up from the racks and adding it into the pile. “when we're done.” you turn around to face him, looking over the hefty stack of new additions to his wardrobe, swapping or getting rid of certain articles of clothing.

“christ.” he mumbled in disbelief, shifting the load into a neater pile, staring wide eyed at the variety of clothing you picked out. “i mean, it’s not like i don’t appreciate it.” he said quickly as your face twisted into an expression that told him to tread lightly. “but do i really...need all of this?” you roll your eyes, pressing your glossed lips into a thin line as you place a hand on your hip. “ray, you dress like a depressed frat boy. it's sad. I don't get it; you have money. yet, you dress like...that.”

“so?” he responds flatly, almost immediately, only to be met with a glare from you. “a'ight, a'ight.” he mumbled in defeat. “i'll shut up.” he sighed, watching you add two pairs of jeans to the stack. with a satisfied grin, you add a few more items to the already abundant pile before nodding to the changing room. “now go,” you commanded, shooing him away with your hand. “try them on so i can say i told you so.”

“you're so demanding.” he huffed, taking a step away from you. “do i look like a ken doll to you, baby?” however, he still made his way to the dressing room, entering inside and closing the door behind him.

as soon as the door closed behind him, he couldn't help but grimace at the mess of clothes that was in his arms. he loved you, very much. but he wasn't the type to go shopping like some housewife. rafe was a simple, very simple, man—a fact that he liked to remind himself in moments like this. with a groan, he set all of the clothes down on the changing booth bench, glancing down at himself before pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it onto the bench.

a few moments later, he had changed into the first outfit, standing in front of the large mirror that was plastered on the wall. he looked himself up and down, turning to examine his reflection at different angles. he looked…different, but he couldn't deny the fact that you definitely had good taste. the light blue long sleeved button up hugged his muscular frame nicely, accentuating his broad shoulders and torso while the white linen pants fit him like a glove everywhere.

he pulled open the curtain, revealing his new outfit to you. “i feel like a private school teacher.” his voice was deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the door frame. you looked up from your phone, eyes trailing over his body in approval before your face twisted into a satisfied smile. "a hot private school teacher.” you countered back with raised eyebrows, walking over to him.

“so you like the outfit, yeah?” he hummed simply, watching as you stood in front of him, tilting your head to the side to look at him better. “hmm.” you hummed, pursing your lips in thought as your fingers slid across the buttons of his shirt.

he raised an eyebrow at your thoughtful expression, watching the way your fingers trailed along his frame, grazing his shoulders and across his chest in slow, careful movements. rafe cleared his throat softly. “what? you don't like it?” he asked, watching you with a mixture of amusement and anticipation.

“no, i like it.” you replied almost immediately, your fingers sliding up to trace the length of his collarbone before finally meeting his gaze. your eyes scanned over him intensely, taking in every inch of his new outfit. “it just needs accessories...a watch, maybe. but you've got plenty of those at home so we don't need to get any.”

a soft chuckle escaped his lips at your response, his arms uncrossing to rest on your hips as he leaned against the wall. “that I do.” he murmured, nodding in agreement. it was a common occurrence; the fact that you liked to dress him as if he were a doll. it was annoying at times, but he let you do whatever you wanted anyways. as long as it made you happy and kept you off his ass, he didn't care. he was a good boyfriend, after all.

he glanced over the pile of clothing that sat on the benches of the changing room, letting out a short breath of air before turning back to you. “'m gonna try the rest of these clothes on, you go pick yourself out somethin”

“i don't need any new clothes.” you said matter of factly, reaching to straighten a few wrinkles on his shirt as an excuse to touch him. “i have plenty. and i don't see anything i like.”

he let out a sigh, gently grabbing your hands and pulling them away from his chest, his fingers lightly gripping your wrists. “sweetheart,” he started, his voice patient but stern and leaving no room for argument, “i said to go pick somethin for yourself. cause we're not leaving til you do. ‘m not gonna get all these clothes without you getting anything for yourself. and stop the ‘i don't see anything’ bullshit. you see something you like every time we go into a store like this.”

you were about to protest, but the look in rafe's eyes and the firmness in his voice stopped you. for the most part, rafe always catered to your wishes and desires, doing whatever you asked of him. you knew that, and he knew that. he wasn't one to go against you. but when he wanted something, or rather, demanded something, you knew better than to argue.

once you nodded in reluctant compliance, his grip gently loosened on your wrists. "okay,” he drawled, a slight twinge of satisfaction in his voice. “now go. be back here in a couple minutes.” he let go of you completely, nudging you in the direction of the aisles of clothing. “go find yourself something pretty. specifically something that'll make tits look good.”

you rolled your eyes, fighting the urge to flip him off, knowing that it would only spur his nasty ass on more. you opened your mouth to protest, already knowing what his selection would consist of, but he cut you off before you could speak. “ah ah ah,” he tutted, pressing his index finger against your pouty glossed lips. “c'mon, just go do it, baby.”

he raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for a response from you. when you pressed your lips together in a frustrated pout and murmured an “okay”, he smirked at your compliance, a soft victorious chuckle leaving his lips. “good girl.” he hummed deeply, removing his finger from your mouth before giving your ass a gentle pat. “now go.”

the next hour is spent with rafe trying on the rest of the clothes you picked out, getting your very necessary opinion on them while you wandered the store and grabbed anything that caught your eye. you both ended up walking out with six bags a piece—all of which he payed for with the swipe of his card.

taglist 🪽: @bunbun-3 @drewscoquette @untitled10351 @rafesweetie @meetmebehindthemallrafe @supercutelovergirl @drewswife @plaidcowboy @missquantic @rafesdiorperfume @minitarayummy @this-one-weeb @akobx @mystianqel @lacebambidoll @dolletebun @amterasuu @milamilkie

[futbolfatale]

Origin Story

Pairing: Alpha Alexia Putellas/Omega Reader, Omega Mapi León/Omega Reader, Alpha Ingred Engen/Omega Reader,

Summary: You get invited to a Barca game by an Alpha at your school who wouldn't accept.

Tags/Warnings: Dubious consent, Bathroom sex, scent marking,

Note: Only is Mapi the only one in this but there will probs be a part 2 with the rest of the pack.

The only reason I've been writing lately is @insomniakisses who definitely doesn't know I exist but I love their blog.

Something about their writing has inspired me for better or worse.

Wordcount: 1.1K

When you got invited to the Barca vs Real Madrid Game by a girl at your college of course you accepted.  She was in a couple of your classes but all you knew about her is that she is an alpha and is kind of a dick. But you would be crazy not to know how expensive tickets are and surely she can’t be as bad as everyone says. But this girl surely has another motive for inviting you. It will come to light soon as you sit next to each other in the crowded stadium. Her scent is aggressive forward and fills the space around you it's almost like Lily and maybe an undertone of patchouli. Overall not the best when you're already surrounded by unfamiliar scents. 

You can’t help but grow excited as they walk out. Okay, so you may have a major crush on some of the players. By some you mean most but it makes since it’s pretty common knowledge that the different teams are packs. Which makes transfers even more devastating. Even so, everyone knows that Barca has two omegas already which is already more than most other packs. They differently don’t need another which is devastating to you but it's not like you could ever be with them anyway. It’s rare for a Futbal pack to mate with someone outside of the football world.

It’s around 20 minutes in before Maddie, whose name you’ve just learned, takes off her sweater revealing that she is wearing a Real Madrid jersey. “Are you seriously wearing that right now?” You ask incredulously. “Ya Real Madrid is going to win, I promise you. They are the superior team,” she responded as if you were stupid for thinking any different. “Barca is definitely better, they have a stacked roster.” You argue back, growing more annoyed. Most likely due to her attitude problem and overwhelming scent. “Real Madrid will win” She seems so assured of herself as if she can already see the outcome of the game. “That's never going to happen. I bet you Barca will win and If they don’t I will write your next essay for you.”. “Deal”

It's not even 10 minutes later that Hansen scores and you're left with a smile on your face. It’s a good feeling to know your rights. Maybe you’ll pick up a sweet treat on the way home. You deserve it after dealing with this idiot. But it's all worth it for free tickets. “I told you” You gloat but only a little. “They're going to pull through one goal doesn’t mean anything,” Maddie responds sharpley her scent turning sour. “One goal can be the difference between winning and losing” You count to praud her mostly for your amusement. “ You think I don’t know that. I know football better than you.” She growls her fangs obvious in her aggressive state. So maybe you fucked with her a little too much but god it was so funny. “Sorry,” You startle as Pajor scores. You definitely made the right choice when picking a team to support.

By the end of the game, you are bursting with excitement a 5-0 win is crazy. You can feel Maddie seething beside you but it doesn’t sour your mood. As you move to stand at the barricade watching the players trade jerseys and such. Then Mapi Leon comes to your section and you're practically vibrating as she strips off her jersey. She walks closer to you her scent is so strong probably from running for so long. “ Would you like it?” She asks looking directly into your eyes. It's like a shock to your system “Yes” You take it from her gratefully and she flashes a toothy grin. “You so pretty princess” Her voice is so low. “Thank you” You can’t help but blush as she sprints off to join her team.

You gather up your things and walk out of the stadium with Maddie. You are starting to feel overheated and are growing quickly annoyed by Maddie.  Her mood has only seemed to worsen since the end of the game. The heated feeling only grows as you move through the stadium. “I’m going to run to the bathroom before we leave.” You split off from Maddie not waiting to hear her response. You have all your things if she leaves you it won’t be the end of the world. You slip into the bathroom and lock yourself in. You lean against the wall and take a deep breath of the jersey. It smells strongly of citrus and has an undertone of cinnamon. It soothes some of the heat under your skin.

You startle as the bathroom opens and someone else steps inside. It takes a moment for their scent to register. Citrus and cinnamon same as the jersey. You open the stall door and peek out to see Mapi standing by the door looking directly at you. “I thought I could smell you in here” She hurried towards you and pushed you back into the stall. “What are you doing” You ask dropping the jersey as she grabs your wrist. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You smell so good” She nuzzles her face into your neck. “Let me have you please” She whispers her accent thicker than before. “You want me but you have Ona if you want an omega” You reason. Sure you want this but you want her to think clearly. “I can and have had Ona but I want you. Once I have had you im sure they will want you as well.” she pushes you into the wall and slides a hand down your pants. Her fingers trace along your cunt through your underwear. “Say yes please I need you” She whimpers into your shoulder tonguing at your scent gland. “Yes. Yes please” you moan rolling your hips against her hand. She slides her fingers past your underwear to rub at your clit. ‘Take me please I need it too bad.”You moan grinding against her. “Shh you can have it see” she slips two fingers inside you with ease. It makes you uncomfotbly aware of how slick you are. It only last a second before shes distracting you by moving her fingers and using her other hand to rub at you clit.

You cum twice before Mapi finally lets up. As you catch you breath she is collecting your things and straightening out your clothes and hair. “ Come with me we are having dinner tonight. Please,” she asks tacting on the please almost as an afterthought. “I'll go but I've got school tomorrow and I really can’t afford to miss any more of my lectures this semester.” You explain as the two of you head out of the stall. Mapi stops to wash her hands before leading you out of the stadium.

[ma1dita]

asking for trouble

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader words:  7.8k prev -> when the curtains close | next -> as above so below summary: (post-TLT, compliant to TLO) The one where Luke's final wish is to see you. (He's himself again, and all he wants is to find out if the trouble was worth it all) a/n: non-descriptive mentions of blood and war, main character death. angst. a boyfriend that yall may or may not agree with. one chapter left after this!! i imagined the last scene to play out with luke in a room where they have the immersive exhibits at a museum

—

[august 15th; camp half-blood kitchens, long island, new york — 9:49 pm]

Everything begins and ends with love if we are fortunate enough.

There’s a stillness that fills the air the night before what historians and future demigods alike will deem the Battle of Manhattan. It’s stifling—suffocating in the silence of the camp kitchens as you cover a sheet cake with blue frosting, piping the edges with a steady hand as you check the clock, time always ticking over your shoulder.

Almost lights out.

The circumstances are different now though, and surely no one will be able to sleep soundly tonight. Fate is hard at work unraveling the future, the gods and their spawn alike are preparing for war, yet you’re here putting sprinkles on Percy Jackson’s birthday cake.

It’s the most nonsensical thing you’ve done all week amidst the war preparations, taming the whirlwind of mixed emotions that shook camp in the days before. Perhaps it comes with the knowing that everything will change, and the only way out is through. Only the lucky ones get to go home after this.

“Are you really not coming with us tomorrow?”

Clarisse chuckles at your question from her position against the doorway, crossing her arms and watching you stick candles on the top of the sweet dessert. Her hands flex over her sleeves, tugging at the fabric like she needs to hide away from the rest of the world, “You make it sound like it’s a walk in the park instead of what it really is.”

“Is that why then?” You look up from your piping bag raising an eyebrow at her, “We need all the help we can get, Risse.”

“It’s a death wish. I don’t know how you do it grandma, but the world will keep spinning no matter if 5 shows up or not,” Clarisse mutters, rolling the words around in her mouth, “How do you do it? Knowing that he’ll be there…I-I don’t want Chris to put himself through that again. We’re going to lose anyway—something, if not everything.” 

You know that too.

There’s something ironic about how the children of war won’t be joining the fight of their lives, but Clarisse La Rue is as stubborn as a mule when she doesn’t get her way. Only something truly special would send her running to the battlefield at this point.

“A part of me feels obligated to be there and help fix it, Risse. This is the path I chose.”

She scoffs, her sneakers knocking against the side of the kitchen island. The daughter of Ares is wistful, hesitant… and nothing like herself tonight. You suppose conflict shapes someone like her like how insanity lines the essence of your being. Intangible, but the base of every choice—the driving reason connecting you to your godrents. 

“Yeah, I know that, but I still don’t get it. You don’t have to be here anymore,” she says thoughtfully, moving the cylinders of sprinkles around on the counter by height order, then by colors of the rainbow, “you could’ve chosen the easy life without all of this…I mean, if I ever got out of here alive, I wouldn’t look back.” The statement is sharp in the silence as if she’d attacked you with Maimer. Your eyes meet hers as if there’s a big secret she’s missing out on. You always look at them like that now, with a faraway gaze of a place none of them can reach.

“Who’s to say? Getting old and aging out of here is harder than you think, you know… College, rent, taxes…” you list off with every squeeze of the piping bag, spelling out Percy’s name with white frosting. Clarisse bites her lip, resting her chin against the palm of her hand as she watches you.

When she closes her eyes at night, she often dreams of being home in Arizona, dry heat prickling at her cheeks and dust swirling at her ankles. That’s what her future will look like, she thinks—and she’ll let herself be selfish if it means she gets what she wants. What do you dream of? Do you think about a future for yourself if you’re so worried about saving everyone else’s?

“But you still came back. Is this easier than that?”

Not easier, but familiar. Nothing you ever want comes easy after all. There is a comfort in walking the grounds of a camp counselor job you used to dread instead of filling out job applications; easier to you means fighting with the gods and slaying creatures of old instead of paying student loans and making rent. 

“I think you’ll find out that you do stupid things for love, Clarisse La Rue.”

She’ll never tell you this, but you’re the strongest person she knows. You’ve shown her that strength doesn’t always mean brain or brawn. Sometimes strength is loving someone without expecting anything in return, and the gnawing feeling in her stomach eats at her in an unsatisfying way—like Tantalus reaching for the grapevine, fingertips grazing the leaves for eternity.

Instead, Clarisse wipes down the counter with a Clorox wipe as you make your way towards the door, cake in hand. Tonight, she and her siblings will sleep with the knowledge that they’ll get to see another day. Call her selfish, sure—but that’s how she loves them. Alive.

“I still stand ten toes behind the fact that Michael Yew can be knocked down a fucking peg,” she mutters. There’s a small smile on her face and when she looks up at you, she sees your face is illuminated by moonlight. Clarisse hopes this won’t be the last time—silently praying to her father to extend his hand onto you.

“I’ll see you when I see you, La Rue.”

Whenever that is, she thinks. This is easier than a goodbye. What matters is showing up. What matters is that they try. That’s what she reminds herself as she turns off the big light and heads toward Cabin 5. 

Does any of that still matter in the end if they aren’t alive?

Her siblings are already asleep when she tucks herself into bed despite the music and laughter coming from 12. Light from across the way filters through her window, a warm glow cast across her face leaking through even when she shuts her eyes. It warms her, reminds her of the orange of the stupid shirts they wear, sunsets on Fireworks Beach, and the molten lava that drips down the climbing wall. 

Home might not be what she remembered it to be after all these years. Clarisse decides to sleep on it, hoping that when they wake, there’ll be something worth fighting for.

[august 15th; cabin 12, long island, new york — 10:08pm]

Camp Half-Blood is quiet as you walk through the dark forest, minding your step over the brambles and checking off your mental list of responsibilities before day breaks. The air is especially cool for a summer night, melancholy being your only jacket as you move on auto-pilot. Your fingers tighten around the tray you hold, pushing the door open to Cabin 12 which currently houses most of your campers. It’s lively and bright in here—you would think they’re all celebrating a Capture the Flag win instead of being sent off to their deaths for the greater good.

Tomorrow, they’ll wake up soldiers.

The wood creaks beneath your boots and it’s drowned out by the sound of soft chattering and laughter, a few of them still scuffling over sleep spots, and then—”HAPPY BIRTHDAY PERCY!”

There are only enough people in here to comfortably fit in a few of the strawberry trucks tomorrow—some went home to their parents to avoid the chaos and some chose not to fight at all. And the ones that remain— all 40 of them, that is, are spread out on the floor in sleeping bags writhing like worms. All the whooping and cheering is accompanied by Michael leading his siblings in song (and Connor and Travis ruining it by chanting CHA CHA CHA!). 

Percy is just shy of sixteen now, but the sheen in his blue eyes still reflects the tranquility of open water and something tender that you saw in him when he came to camp at twelve years old. Later, through mouthfuls of cake and smears of blue buttercream on his cheek, the son of Poseidon looks up at you thoughtfully, “Is this a pity cake?” He tries to make light of the situation by acting like the fate of the world doesn’t depend on his life or death, and you take a deep breath. 

Even demigods fall victim to fate, and the gods still push on. But what of their children that fight for change in the world they set the rules for; their children that fight their battles for them and lose their lives for immortal beings that live forever?

“This is a birthday party, not a pity party, Percy Jackson. There's no pity for the damned,” you chuckle. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. All of the world’s problems seem so permanent when you’re 15 years old. It’s just fucked up that his will actually alter the course of humanity.

“And if this is the end of the world, I just wanted to make sure we’ve told you happy birthday first.”

“Well thanks,” Percy mumbles over a spoonful of buttercream, face reddening when Annie throws a paper towel roll at his face, “Hey!” It reminds you a lot of when you and Luke would fight in the dining pavilion, chicken tenders and mac n’ cheese flying through the air, and apples cut just the way you like.

You blink. 

It all boils down to him or Luke.

“Wipe your face, Seaweed Brain!”

Percy rolls his eyes, smiling down at his plate regardless of the weight he carries upon his shoulders. The more you want to live the more you have to lose, you think as you brush your knuckles against a spot of frosting he missed. You don’t look at the blonde boy and see a hero of the Great Prophecy—still, you see him as the little boy who was mesmerized by you conjuring strawberries on his plate on his first day at camp, innocent and honest. 

Looking around the room wistfully at that thought, you start to see the memories of their childhood blanket all of themlike ill-fitting clothes; it’s all you can notice. The feeling is so big it swallows you whole. Annabeth is still the little girl who’d rattle off obscure facts from Snapple bottle caps from her time on the road, drawing pictures of buildings with your eyeliner after sneaking into your room. Silena still makes blush out of berry juice and would call you about boy problems as if she’s not a child of the goddess of love herself. Will is still the boy who sings as he lights up fireflies and draws smiley faces on bandages. Katie, the girl who makes flower crowns for your birthday and eats strawberries with you soaked in morning dew. You look around and see scraped knees that you’ve kissed better, sleepy eyes you’ve sung to, and hearts you’ve kept warm—this is your glory, your greatest achievement being the family you’ve found in the woods of the Long Island Sound.

“You see it too?” Grover mumbles, nudging you and you sigh, squeezing his shoulder. Sometimes you forget the satyr is older than you; he stands tall as your pillar of support, unwavering in his promise to protect these kids. 

“We’re getting old, man.”

“You’re only 23. There’s so much left of you,” he deadpans. Laughter comes out of you in waves as you shake your head smiling.

“And what a pleasure it’s been to grow up with you.” 

Grover bids you a good night as you walk up the stairs to your old room, phone in hand while you dial a familiar number. Your boyfriend answers before the end of the first ring.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d still be up!”

Settling against the windowpane near your bed, a soft smile graces your features and you realize he’s not there to see it. It’s always been easy with him—Dex was unbelievably kind, and he had a heart that he’d share without you having to ask. He was unlike any man you’d ever encountered before, and over the past year and a half you found it easy to love him. 

Worst of all, he’s utterly devoted to you. At least every part of you that you were willing to give him, even if it wasn’t all of you per se. Plus, you saw the ring in his desk drawer last week.

It was too…good to be true.

You recognize that this was your way out like Clarisse said, your escape from the turbulence that was your life as a demigod. But it was hard to believe that you were deserving of it. He’d never know of the ichor that runs through your veins, and the life you’d have to leave behind to truly be with him. You suppose every love you’ve ever had was sacrificial. You just wonder if because of that, easy makes it hard to feel real.

Maybe if you survive this one you’d tell him the truth. But for now, he’s rambling in your ear about his sudden work trip upstate. Morpheus and Hypnos are already at work then, redirecting the city dwellers out of Manhattan. It must be later than you thought already and in a few short hours, Apollo will be shining his rays across the Island for what you hope won’t be the last time.

“I wish I was with you right now,” you mutter in a hushed tone, and you hear him laugh breathily through the static sound of the phone. It’s easy to imagine him twirling the telephone cord between his fingers, flopped over the tiny loveseat you went halfsies on with your first big paychecks. The apartment you both moved into after graduation is more accurately a shoebox—but it’s yours, and the love you have for it is immeasurable in comparison to the square footage. You hum, listening to the sound of his voice, “Maybe I can catch you before I go—stop by and say hi before I drive up.” 

He won’t. By morning, you’re not even sure if he’ll remember you—all traces of Greek gods and their counterparts wiped clean from memory until it’s all over, whenever that is. You’re mindlessly walking in circles around your room, bare feet padding against the floorboards. He repeats your name and you realize you haven’t been paying attention, the tail end catching your ear, “Hmm?”

“Or you could come to me. I’m sure your dad won’t mind. It’s time I meet him, don’t you think?” 

And out of anything happening tomorrow, that especially sounds like a nightmare so you make a noise of disagreement, “I can’t. You know I can’t, honey. I’ve got…” your voice trails off as your lilac eyes land on a faded photo strip thumbtacked to your wall, “unfinished business to deal with.” There’s nothing left but inky silhouettes on the sun-damaged paper, two past lovers huddled together. But you know what it’s a picture of. Rye Playland, you and Luke at fifteen, cheek to cheek and covered in wisps of cotton candy.

“Mm. Sounds important. Does your unfinished business have a name?” 

Dex sounds playful now, teasing despite the silence on your end of the line. A beat passes, and then another, and he can hear the sound of your hands rifling through the things in your desk drawer. The dragon scale necklace is cold in your palm. 

For good luck, you think. 

It’s been a while since you’ve worn it—keeping it safe in the only home you and Luke shared, and as soon as it touches your neck, you feel a little less empty inside. It feels like a safety blanket, protecting you from whatever might come next. You almost feel guilty to be relieved.

Thumbing the cord absentmindedly, you mutter, “You don’t even know the half of it, Dex.” 

“Maybe one day you’ll tell me.” Sometimes, it’s like he knows— Dex must be the ivy that grows over the walls you’ve built up around yourself, and he can see glimpses of who you try to hide behind your stone-cold resolve. He wonders if you’ll ever tell him about the names you call out at night— an indistinguishable language he’ll never fully understand. He wonders where you’ve gotten your constellation of scars and where your mind goes when you sit next to the window and stare at the skyline.

Oh, he wonders.

The glow-in-the-dark stars are faded now on the ceiling when you look up at them, fighting to give their last bits of light. You wonder too, if there’s any fight left in you; a bit of Luke always remains—he’s everywhere you look. You can feel him as night falls upon New York, bidding you goodnight before it crumbles tomorrow. 

“Maybe. Good night, honey.”

Dex yawns into the receiver. You know his feet are kicked up onto the coffee table even though you always tell him he shouldn’t, and that his glasses are already off for the night. You really think he could be a nice guy to end up with, all things considered. Dex was the epitome of normal, and after almost two and a half decades of existence, it’s quite evident that you are anything but. 

Normal might be quite nice.

He yawns again. Hypnos must have reached his window, “I love you, you know that?”

“I do. Me too. Good night.”

It’s the truth. 

You love this man and the spaces he’s filled within the chaos of your life. You love all of him, from the perfectly normal way he makes breakfast for you every morning (and laughs when he burns the toast), and takes the train to work at a middle school in Harlem (“6th grade ELA takes a lot out of a man,” he jokes). He picks you up from your job at the therapist’s office downtown if you get out too late, as a gentleman would (though you’ve fought monsters that he’d scream at the sight of). Once upon a time, normal was exactly what you used to wish for.

There’s a moment where your breath hitches and you sink against your pillow and you wonder if he would love all of you—demigod and all. Could he get used to this— summers at Camp Half-Blood with chariot races and gladiator-style fighting, pegasi and harpies roaming the grounds, and watersports with woodland nymphs? Dex never even questions your green thumb or how Pollux made him hallucinate your dead brother when he came to visit (“It’s what Castor would’ve wanted! The full twin-terrogation!” he insists. You convinced your boyfriend he got food poisoning that night). Could you come clean about knowing how to slay a chimera, or why you never get drunk, and have the stamina of an Olympian (the athletic kind, but not too far off from the truth)? 

But it shouldn’t be called coming clean. That makes it sound like you’re ashamed of who you are—which you’re not. You’ve just been hiding this part of you from a normal human that you love very much.

Gods, is this how your dad felt when he was seeing your mom? 

Somehow insanity has always felt bearable—love, however, has always been such an ordeal.

The phone bounces onto your bedspread once you hang up the call. There is no more time to worry about playing a part. Tomorrow, everyone comes as they are—whatever happens after will be a problem if you reach another day. Fate has its way of making itself known, you know that by now. Blinking, you take a deep breath, and very intentionally, with your feet criss-cross applesauce, you pray—for what, you still try to figure out as the minutes tick by. 

Better late than never.

Here at camp, you were always the last one up after lights out, anyway. Tonight of all nights shouldn't be any different.

[august 16th; 34th street and herald square, manhattan, new york — 9:17 am]

“Where do you think you’re going, mister!”

Your little brother flinches, immediately turning tail and walking across the deserted street to meet you in the middle. He’s taller than you now, craning his neck down to look at your angry glower as you thrust a finger into his face, “You’re sticking with me.”

“Jake said he’s taking 9 and 12 to the Holland Tunnel,” Pollux calls out, shuffling his feet and you punch his arm hard, “OW! —It’s what Percy wants.” He swats your hand away for good measure, his arm guards clanking against yours when he dodges another swing at his head.

“We are Cabin 12, you shithead. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a second.” Your staff is heavy against his shoulder and Pollux can’t help but let his gaze wander to where Jake Mason and the other children of Hephaestus are waiting for him a block over. Manhattan is a warzone, and the difference between fighting empousai and fighting his older sister right now is very similar in theory—hard to do alone. The tunnel is halfway across the city from the Empire State Building—if something were to happen to either of you…

"M’not here to fight,” he sighs, “with you at least. I need to do my part, sissy.” The old nickname is an arrow through your heart and you grab Pollux’s hand, “I just want to make sure you’ll be okay. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I couldn’t get to you in time.”

“HEY 12! You coming, or what?”

The two of you look towards the small army down the block, both of your hands intertwined like grapes from the same vine. You’re not sure if you can let go; you’re not sure if your father could lose another child. But Pollux’s face is almost set in stone—he’s never been more sure of himself. Your lip wavers, forcing itself into a stiff smile and he softens at the sight, “I’ll be okay.”

“And if you’re not? Then what?”

He shrugs, “Then… then I’ll get to see Castor.”

You nod, breathing shakily, and flinching when Jake calls for Pollux again, “Well. If you are okay…You come find me. After this is over, you come straight back home to me. You got it?”

Pollux hugs you, hard—the force of all of him sending you sprawling into his arms and it knocks the wind out of you. As the twins have grown, it’s been rare for them to show you any affection. They’d usually recoil or whine about how mushy their older sister is, and each time it makes you laugh. But right now, you stand there gripping onto his t-shirt, breathless; the ringing in your ears gives way to words he mumbles into your hair, “I love you,” he says, in case you didn’t already know. 

Just in case this is goodbye. You take it in for a moment longer, running a hand through his blond hair and cupping his cheeks as you finally step away, “I love you. I’m so proud of you, P. We all are.”

“Haven’t done anything yet,” he grins, backing away slowly, a skip in his step as he nears the small troop of Hephaestus kids. You wave them off, blowing a kiss as they band together and turn in the other direction.

Why is it that you can only be proud of someone if there’s something to prove it?

You think about all 40 of your campers fighting for their lives in the greatest city in the world. The sound of hellfire, roaring monsters, and screams that could only come from your kids. Fatigue wears you down with each swipe of magic towards enemy forces, monsters writhing in pain at your feet, demigods reduced to insanity and blood-curdling screams. It disgusts you even more so that no one can witness the weapon you've been forced to become.

After all, no one knows any of you were there. Life continues on outside of the bubble containing the Battle of Manhattan. And only the ones fighting will be able to remember this. Only you will remember the blood you spilled to wrestle for your destiny.

The rest of the city continues to sleep, safe from the people who swore to protect it.

[august 18th; empire state building, manhattan, new york mount olympus, in the sky above new york??? — 5:22 pm]

Running up 492 flights of stairs was another type of hell you didn’t expect to put yourself through, but it was faster than waiting for the elevator to Olympus. It’s quiet besides the steady rush of blood pumping in your ears, your boots slapping against the tile to reach your friends who might be in danger at the hands of someone you know well. But it’s too late to give up when you’re so close—you realize you’re praying to anyone who’ll listen as you push through the pain of always being a little too late. 

“Ugh!”

Air pierces through your lungs painfully as you trip up a landing, hands clawing against the banister. Have you been running in place this whole time, quick to start but hard to follow? Your lip quivers, eyes trailing up the stairwell faster than your legs can take you. 

Whatever the outcome, you’ll be better for it, you hope.

It’d be easier to give up. To stay away and not watch Percy fight for his life against him. You dry heave as you press your head against the wall, wondering if it’s worth not seeing what will become of this wretched prophecy. It’s hard to survive loving the villain when the rest of the world is dying because of it. Your legs feel like jelly underneath you, and not a single soul in Manhattan knows you’re here—until you feel the strength of an old traveler lift you up and revitalize your soul. Looking down to see your boots retie themselves tightly, the feeling in your chest reminds you of him. Everything leads back to Luke, and you think wherever he is now—Hermes knows that too. 

“Thank you,” you mutter. He’s handpicked your prayer through the tempest that hangs over Manhattan so that maybe your hands will be gentler in smiting his lost son. You find yourself with the nerve to run up the last dozen flights of stairs, pushing past the entryway to see Thalia Grace under a statue of her stepmother, “THALIA!” You barely make it to her fallen form before her free arm tries to push you away from the rubble.

“Get out of here! I mean it—” Thalia spits out your name through gnarled teeth and bones crunching under the heavy hands of Hera. The statue lays over the bottom half of her body, holding her legs down like how one forms a fist, and the daughter of Zeus pushes through pain and millennia worth of her dad’s karmic debt in giving her life—the essence of being a forbidden child still has a hold on her, even now. 

“I’m not gonna…leave you…”

With everything in you, both demigod strength and sheer desperation, you push at the unmoving stone and your fingernails begin to splinter from the pressure. 

But you know what it feels like to get left behind. 

Desolation slowly sets in your bones, a hollow feeling that spreads through your core as sweat rolls down your cheeks, and when you sniff to wipe it away, Thalia’s lip quivers. She’s writhing in pain and everything is coming to an end down the hall from where you stand. 

“We’re so close, Grace. I’m not giving up on you when we’re this close. I need you in there with me so you just hold on, okay?”

The marble is cool to the touch under your moist hands, and her face is fixed in a grimace as she looks up at you and sees you for who you are—another demigod who was never given a fair chance at fate but with a spirit of a hero waiting for the right chance. Thalia coughs before slapping your hand away, “LISTEN TO ME! I’ll be okay. He needs you to be there. We’re almost out of time!” 

You barely register your body moving as you get up and start to run, looking back at Thalia by the time you’re at the top of the landing. There are no words that you could imagine to string together when your eyes meet hers in the distance that separates you two—the feeling of grief bearing down as you both know the end is near and inside those doors.

As you turn back around, you take a moment to wonder if you might’ve had different people in mind for who’s up there waiting for you.

[august 18th; the hall of gods, mount olympus, the sky above new york— 6:48 pm]

Finally pushing through the heavy doors of the Hall of Gods, your eyes burn like salt in a wound as you travel toward the center to see three figures laid out on the marble mezzanine. There’s a cramp in your calf by the time you reach them, your legs giving way as you skid to a stop in front of Luke’s corroded body. The pain doesn’t register for you, split skin going numb as you stare into the eyes of a storm you fell in love with almost ten years ago. 

A stranger is no longer wearing your love’s skin. Percy and Annie’s eyes feel heavy against your back as they watch you sigh in relief, a landslide of emotion rolling off of you when you see he’s still breathing, even faintly, as if he waited for you to make it back to him.

“It’s Luke,” Annabeth chokes out, “the scythe transformed into Backbiter and I knew it was him. He was fighting for us.” Her voice makes you flinch, makes this more real—it echoes as the wind carries it through the hall. Without a doubt in your mind, you know it’s him by the way he looks at you with tired eyes, soft and amber—the light pushing away the shadows and he reaches out for you. His skin is paled by the River Styx, face weathered by the Titan as you gently guide his head onto your lap. A pathetic cry slips from your mouth when you realize there’s more pressure in the fingers he brushes against your cheekbone versus the one holding the blade embedded in his chest. 

Fuck, what do you even say? 

He’s dying right in front of you and you can’t think of a single word to say.

The clock is ticking and every breath of his comes out weaker––he speaks before you can find the words, breathing out, “I missed you,” like it was a relief to say it. And it all comes spilling out like a secret you’ve been safeguarding since the day he left— a mix of your tears and his blood smearing across your cheek as he reaches out to wipe them ever so gently. You find yourself smiling in the face of death itself—smile even if the both of you can feel death’s hand on him saying that time is finally up because the act of meeting each other here in the middle makes the years you’ve gone without him worthwhile. 

The reunion is also the loss; a nasty habit you’ve both fallen into over the years. But this time, Luke’s finally able to give you the world he wanted to see just before he leaves it.

You clutch him close without intending to let go, purple eyes scavenging for confirmation that this is your Luke, the one who pushed you through the brambles of the North Woods, wind in his hair and mischief in his smile. He’s citrus and musk, cunning smiles, something sacred kept within cabin 11, calloused fingers pulling at your t-shirt, and the voice out of tune at nightly sing-a-longs—and he loves you still. 

Loving you was the only thing that never changed.

“Shhhh, don’t waste your energy. The gods will…” you swallow a sob despite yourself, “I…my dad’s going to be here soon. He’ll help us.” There’s a lump in your throat that carries the weight of everything unsaid. Who would help you now that everyone else is getting what they wanted—a brighter tomorrow without the villain? But the prophecy unveils itself so cruelly, and the one who hurt you is the hero in this story, just as he’s always dreamed. It so happens to be at the cost of loving you.

Luke’s eyelids flutter like butterfly wings descending softly. You press a kiss onto his forehead like you used to while waiting for him to fall asleep. The chuckle that rumbles his ribcage is faint against the hand of yours that’s holding him together and the war is finally over and no one even knows that besides the four of you in this room.

“I'm running on borrowed time,” Luke wheezes, “I think my life ended the day I left you.” His thumb weakly traces the tear tracks cascading down your face, and he’s reacquainting himself with every feature of yours while he can touch it—to hold and be held by you after so long feels like drinking up ambrosia, his last bits of strength telling you what you’ve always known. 

Is there a word stronger than love?

One that would explain how close and how far you feel to him at this moment and you don’t want to say the wrong thing but there are no wrong words when it comes to the right person. Hoarsely, through wavering lips, you chuckle, “Then it's time to stop running, baby. I’m here now.”

It’s exhausting to carry the weight of tomorrow in your arms and to know it’ll be made possible only by letting him go. You’re holding him too tightly, claws sinking in to feel—to ground yourself and keep him tethered to this reality, just in case a different answer falls out of the sky. 

But falling with Luke Castellan, falling for him, has been nothing like you wanted. You've said your goodbyes more often than you can count. 

This part is just about letting him go.

“I think I’m doomed,” he laughs, coughing harshly. Blood soaks his airways, retribution for the lives he took. It drips out of his mouth and you still look at Luke like he’s asked you to marry him. What a soft, funny thought. 

Love must be more violent than war, to feel like this—to know he’s wrecked your world and still come out the other side smiling at him like he put the stars in the sky. His fingers are slipping out of yours as you hold onto the knife that keeps him here and Luke mutters, “I’m so s-sorry. You deserved better in this life.” You hear Annabeth sob from somewhere behind you but you can’t look at anything else but his eyes, not daring to miss another moment of him.

“Can’t be all that bad,” you say with a watery chuckle, wiping his mouth with your thumb. There’s more of a mess now with your feeble efforts but the action comforts you more than him; caring for Luke is something you cannot unlearn. 

“This life gave me you. I don’t want to know anything else. Do you hear me?” 

You want Luke to know this—to understand that even if this is how fate has handled the both of you, there is no other hand you would hold but his.

“You’re my whole life, Trouble.”

“I know, angel. I know. It’s always been me and you.”

You and me, he mouths, an echo of himself left to relay the message as his eyes lose their warmth, empty now and unseeing. And then he's home in your arms again as you hold every broken and bloodied piece of him together until he's no more. The parts of him he leaves behind blur into you, rivulets of his lifeforce weaving through your fingertips even when you put pressure against the knife you both hold, hands cradling the spot under his armpit, and to Percy and Annabeth it looks like you're holding his heart, clutching it between your fingers.

Protecting it until his last beat—when he finally gives it over to you. 

It was always yours, anyway. 

Before, in the in-between, and now after, his heart is yours.

Time stops for Luke Castellan, the man born to die, in the Hall of Gods that day— in the arms of his partner and in the presence of his little sister and truest friend. 

Lips against his ear, no one tries to pull you away, even when the gods of Olympus march in expecting a battle to only find a dead hero and a story that needs to be told.

You’ve never seen him so still before. 

Luke’s always been the one with something to say, hands fidgeting to hold yours. Still, you hold his hand even if he can't feel it, still smile even if he can't see you, still whisper words of devotion even if he can't hear it. By the time you feel your father’s hands on your back and hear Percy say, “We need a shroud. A shroud for the son of Hermes,” you imagine that he’s miles away from where he lays motionless, dead weight in your grasp. Nothing can pull you away from the mantra you set to remind him that he’s yours even when he leaves again. Luke’s soul will soon journey where you cannot follow, and you whisper to him in the stillness amidst the noise, “I love you, I love you, I love you…” 

When the Fates come to collect the body, their ancient hands spin around the two of you as they unweave your hold on him. You weren’t given a choice—his material body dissipates in front of your eyes and you swear you feel the tug from deep within your core as you watch them float Luke away. It’s so much different now from when he used to fly around your room with his stupid winged Converse—even the gods avert their eyes when you let out a sob that shakes the ornate hall. Hopelessly you watch, sat down on the marble and unable to move or follow—as if maybe he’d still answer to your sweet nothings, and not leave you hanging once more. You slump against your father’s side, catatonic and at a loss for words—they leave with him, floating away into the distance.

Humanity’s biggest problem and resolution has always been love—this was never a story about the lack thereof.

[august 18th; death, pre-judgement? — the seven minutes after]

The path that Luke Castellan takes after he dies is most peculiar and unlike any path he’s traveled before. And yes, there have been several times that he’s come close to death—under Ladon’s claws in the Garden of Hesperides, and when he relinquished his physical self by bathing in the River Styx, but neither of those times where he’s cheated his way out can compare to the real thing. 

He once read in one of Annabeth’s textbooks that there are seven minutes of brain activity that wanes in your consciousness before you die. There’s a distinct thrumming in his ears when he comes to, and Luke discovers he’s completely in the dark with no sense of direction and most importantly, no visible way out. The old him, were he still alive—would be panicking by now, short terse breaths and sweat upon his brow. Old Luke would have fidgeting hands and eyes that rocket around for an exit. But this Luke, whoever he is—whatever he is now, finds himself eerily calm. Everything glows in a vignette, and familiar scenes materialize before his vision, a kaleidoscope of color and your shrieking laughter surrounding him in the familiarity of your happiness with him—it feels like lifetimes ago. He realizes he’s smiling. 

Versions of you swirl in the space he stands in, taking up space wherever he can look, wherever he turns—you’re there. 

And he remembers.  

Memory is a choice after all, much like love is. And no one can take that away from Luke Castellan except death itself.

The scene flickers for a moment, eyelashes fluttering against morning light peeking through the windows of Cabin 11.

It’s Luke’s first morning at Camp Half-Blood after the storm that brought him and Annabeth there. You’re standing over him with a half-beaten pillow and a menacing grin that grows as he spits out feathers. It’s his first impression of you, Kool-aid tipped hair and hands shaking with a crushed Redbull can in your other fist.

“Good. You’re still breathing. Wasn’t sure for a sec.”

A voice yells out your name and you make a run for it, barefoot and giggling and looking back at him every few steps—his breath catches in his throat again like how it did on the first day you both met.

The scenery changes and he’s sitting next to you on the dock of Canoe Lake.

“I dare you.”

“No way,” he hears himself say, and then he sees you fling algae at him in ropes, cold and slimy that it makes his voice crack, “He—ey! You’re gonna get us fired and it hasn’t even been a full day since we got the job,” he says, clearing his throat as you bite your lip.

“What’s one last hurrah?”

“You’re always gonna be Trouble, aren’t you?” he says, getting annoyed by the orange fabric that temporarily blinds him. Chuckling, you pull your shorts off and look back at him, eyes glinting in the moonlight and he can’t help but ogle at the rest of you, gulping hard. You catch him staring and he averts his eyes, looking back at the treeline to see if anyone’s come to find you both. A resounding splash echoes in the silence between you and Luke turns back to find your head bobbing visible above the water and not much else.

“I double-dog dare you, Castellan.”

He jumps in.

The dark blue of the water turns into light reflecting the pinks and purples of the sky above Montauk Point at sunset.

“We’re alive! Told you we’d be fine,” you yell, clicking your seatbelt off and jumping out of the car before Luke can even put the hatchback in park. It was his first drive anywhere—you’ve finally graduated from looping around Farm Road.

“Hey wait up!”

He calls out your name, but you’re already kicking up sand as the distance between you grows until he locks up the car and chases after you. You didn’t stand a chance, slipping and sliding in the sand as the son of Hermes quickly grabs you around the waist and throws you over his shoulder as you scream bloody murder. When he sets you down, your arms are looped around his neck and you’re smiling against the pink and tender scar on his cheek.

“Think we can break into the lighthouse before the guards come, angelface?”

The sound of crashing waves turns into chattering cabin counselors and when Luke looks around again, he’s at the Big House, with everyone else pushing their chairs in and walking towards the door. He holds his hand out and you grab it with no words or instruction—like a key nestled within its lock, exactly where it’s meant to be. 

“Last order of business, kind of…” Your dad drones from his spot near the windows. Luke tries to let go of your hand but you don’t let him, “Don’t panic,” you mutter.

“This… fraternization won't become an issue for all of us, will it?”

Everyone’s frozen near the doorway, staring at your intertwined hands. Luke clears his throat and turns toward Mr. D, “I’ll see to it that it doesn’t. Sir.”

You could almost hear a pin drop, and no one knows what to say next—not even Mr. D.

“Yeah, I’ll keep Castellan in line.”

That’s the confirmation everyone was waiting for; a mixture of groans and the clinking of drachma fill the air as Chris holds his hands out and takes his spoils of victory with a charming smirk on his face. Clarisse throws the coins at his head.

“I feel like I should take a bow or something,” Luke snickers into your ear, before placing a kiss against your temple.

You’re still in his arms and still look good in orange, but when he pulls back to look at you again, you’re both hovering above the ground near the dining pavilion. His knees are shaking when his winged Converse flap madly underneath you—a flurry of uncoordinated movement that makes you want to piss yourself.

“You’re lucky I have a strong core, babe,” he grins—and he’s thrilled at the fear on your face as you clutch onto him for dear life, one arm around his abdomen and the other around his neck, both legs latched around his waist.

“I swear to the fucking gods if you drop me, Castellan…”

His right foot jerks in a slightly different direction, making him laugh as you squeak.

“Castellan, huh? That scared, Trouble? Not gonna drop my baby.”

The wind around you whirls like a tornado as Luke tries to show off, getting higher and higher until, “LUKE!”

He catches you by the fingertips again and now there’s sand beneath your feet. You’re still spinning in his arms and his mom is singing along to a song playing on the radio you brought to Westport Beach. May claps lightly and you tug her up with a soft smile, “Come on Miss May! Take your son out for a spin.” Tugging at the damp white t-shirt you wear over your underwear, you take a seat on the picnic blanket and watch them with a smile you haven’t given Luke in years.

“Mother-son dance,” May whispers in his ear, humming a few notes of the wedding march.

He closes his eyes and soaks it all in, slightly swaying.

That thrumming is in his ears again, a steady beat against his chest and he feels it everywhere—a pounding rhythm that cannot be ignored. He opens his eyes and you’re snuggled against each other, tangled beneath the sheets. You’re still asleep and Luke just…watches you before the morning starts (whenever this is) and it all has to end. You’re breathing against his neck, lips slightly agape as warm air brushes his pulse. He moves hair out of your face and you pull him in unconsciously, skin to skin with no atom of space left between you. 

Luke blinks. 

You’re in your college apartment.

He blinks again.

His childhood bedroom.

Again, please.

In Cabin 12.

Please, just one last time.

You’re drooling against his neck in his tiny bunk in Cabin 11 and the noise is getting louder now—a static sound that morphs into the sound of your voice throbbing like a heartbeat, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

It’s the last thing he can hear before he has to go.

_ 

“I wanna see your eyes / Is it a crime to say I still need you?” - Adrienne Lenker

[amitiel-truth]

River Maiden Pt. 9

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 10

(A/N: is Telephone technically a Monsterfucker in this story? I mean, Penelope's Half Nymph so he got it from Odysseus. : ))

"I don't know what to do..." (Y/N) mutters, her head on Penelope's lap as they're in the Queen's Quarters, they're meant to start another lesson, but they've postpone it for now.

"It's a difficult situation, isn't it?" Penelope replied, gently stroking her hair. "You want to be honest with Telemachus, but you fear how he would react to the truth."

"Don't you hate me, Mother? How Poseidon was the reason why it took your husband to get home 10 more years after the war?." (Y/N) asked in worry, tearing up at her.

"Oh, my dear child," Penelope's tone was tender as she gently wiped away (Y/N)'s tears. "I could never hate you. You are not responsible for the actions of your father. You deserve love and acceptance just like anyone else."

"But...I'm scared to tell Telemachus." (Y/N) professes, leaning onto the comforting woman's hand.

"I'm scared of how he'll react, will he look at me with disdain, blame me for Poseidon's action, or be disgusted for bedding a monster." (Y/N) ponders, tears streaming from her eyes.

"Shhh," Penelope hushes her, gently stroking her hair again. "You cannot control what Telemachus will think or feel when he learns the truth. But if he truly loves you, he will see past your heritage and understand that you are your own person, separate from the actions of your father."

She gave (Y/N) a reassuring smile. "I have faith in Telemachus. He is a good man, and he has already shown how much he cares for you."

"But...what about your husband?." (Y/N) frowns once more, looking onto the ground.

"He might end our engagement..."

Penelope chuckles, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "(Y/N), did you truly think Telemachus would allow anything to come between him and you? He is practically obsessed with you. He would fight off an army of Cyclopes if it meant keeping you safe and by his side."

"But...He practically idolized his Father, he just had the chance to get to know him, I don't want to get in the way of it." (Y/N) added with a worried look.

Penelope shook her head, placing a gentle hand on Egeria's shoulder.

"You're not going to get in the way of anything. Telemachus loves you, and that won't change once he learns about your heritage. Yes, he idolized his father, and he still does to an extent, but he is his own person now.

"He's grown up, had his own experiences and formed his own opinions and values. He's not going to simply abandon you because of something you have no control over."

(Y/N) looks at her, speechless, before she could say something to Penelope, someone knocked at the door.

Penelope looked at (Y/N) fondly before turning toward the door. "Come in." she called out gently.

(Y/N) wiped away her tears, trying to look halfway decent.

A servant entered the room.

"Queen Penelope, King Odysseus is requesting Lady (Y/N)'s presence." The servant relays, shocking (Y/N).

"Very well. (Y/N), it seems the King wants to speak with you." Penelope gently nudged her.

(Y/N) could only look at Penelope in worry, before following the servant.

As (Y/N) followed the servant through the palace halls, her mind raced with anxiety and questions. What could Odysseus possibly want to talk to her about? Was it about Telemachus?

Finally, they reached Odysseus's study, and the servant opened the door, gesturing for her to enter

As (Y/N) entered the room, she noticed how very different it was to the Queen's Quarters, weapons, maps, and armour, she could almost hear their stories.

Odysseus was sitting at his desk, shuffling through some maps and documents. He looked up as (Y/N) entered, his gaze sharp.

"Close the door." He commanded the servant.

The heavy oak door shut with a resounding thud, leaving (Y/N) alone with Odysseus.

(Y/N) stood in the middle of his study, holding her hands in front of her.

"You wished to see me, Sir?" (Y/N) asked, a bit nervous

Odysseus leaned back in his chair, studying (Y/N) intently. "Yes, I did. Have a seat."

He gestured to the chair across from his desk, his expression unreadable.

As (Y/N) sat in front of Odysseus, on his desk is a Latrunculi board with it's pieces in place, making (Y/N) curious.

As she looked down at the Latrunculi board on the desk, she couldn't help but wonder why it was there. The game was a strategic one that required foresight and planning.

Odysseus noticed her gaze and a half smile played across his lips.

"Do you play Latrunculi?" He asked, his tone almost casual.

"My Aunt taught me, as well as I had a few games with my...Cousins" (Y/N) answers, a bit reluctantly

Odysseus nodded, noticing (Y/N)'s hesitation.

"Ah, so you have some experience with strategy and tactics, then." he said, leaning back in his chair. "You see, this game is not just about making random moves. It's about understanding your opponent, anticipating their moves, and making calculated decisions."

He gestured towards the board. "The pieces may appear small, but their positions and moves have a significant impact on the outcome of the game. Each choice you make can either bring you closer to victory or lead you to defeat."

Odysseus leaned forward, a gleam of challenge in his eyes. "I have a proposal. Would you like to play a game of Latrunculi with me?"

"Of course sir, do excuse me for I'm a bit rusty." (Y/N) admits with a nervous smile.

Odysseus chuckled, gesturing to the board. "Oh, don't worry about it. I'm in the mood for a game myself."

He moved a piece on the board, making what seemed to be a bold but well-placed opening move. "Your move."

(Y/N) moves a man as her starting move

Odysseus watched as (Y/N) made her move, his eyes narrowing in thought. He studied the board for a moment, considering his options.

"Not a bad opening move," he commented with a hint of surprise in his tone. "Looks like you remember a thing or two about the game."

"It's only a start, Sir." (Y/N) points out with a smile, before moving another man.

Odysseus nodded, his expression focused as he considered his next move.

"Indeed, the game is only beginning." He studied the board, his mind working to anticipate (Y/N)'s strategy. After a moment, he moved one of his men, initiating a counterattack.

(Y/N) noticed his moves, before doing the unexpected, moving her Dux (General), early in the game, trapping and capturing two of his men at once.

Odysseus's eyes widened in surprise at her unexpected move. He had not anticipated her making such a bold and strategic play so early in the game.

"Well, look at you," he said with a hint of admiration, "that was quite a risky move. And it looks like it paid off. You just captured two of my men in one turn."

"It was only a quick strategy, Sir." (Y/N) smiled sheepishly.

Odysseus chuckled, shaking his head.

"You're being too modest. That was more than just a 'quick strategy.' It was a well-calculated move, and it left me two pieces down."

He studied the board, taking stock of his remaining pieces and formulating a plan.

"You're quite the competitor, aren't you?" Odysseus said with a hint of respect in his tone as he continued to study the board. "We're only a few moves in, and you're already putting me at a disadvantage."

Odysseus's expression turned serious as he focused on the board, his eyes scanning the pieces. He made his next move, a strategic one that not only defended his remaining men but also threatened (Y/N)'s.

Odysseus continued his assault, carefully maneuvering his men around (Y/N)'s, boxing her in and limiting her options. He was a skilled player, and he was determined to turn the tables on her.

"You see, in the game of Latrunculi, as in life, it's not just about making the moves that feel good or seem easy. It's about being able to adapt, to think several steps ahead, and to make sacrifices when necessary.

"You can't be afraid to take risks, even if it means losing a few pieces along the way. Sometimes, the most strategic move is to sacrifice a man to capture the Dux."

(Y/N) tries to navigate her troupe, backing her Dux and spreading out her men, but before she knew it, she's already in a corner, with Odysseus's own men and Dux cornering her.

"I knew I was rusty." (Y/N) sighs in defeat.

Odysseus chuckled, pleased with his victory.

"You played well, considering how 'rusty' you claim to be," he said with a smirk. "But you made a crucial mistake. You let yourself get cornered, and once you're corned in this game, it's difficult to escape."

(Y/N) looks at him in a bit of suspicion.

"This isn't about the game, isn't it, Sir?" She asked, ready for his interrogation.

Odysseus leaned back in his chair, studying (Y/N)'s expression. He could tell she suspected his true intent behind inviting her to play.

"Very perceptive of you," he said with a wry smile. "No, this wasn't just about the game. There's something else I wanted to discuss with you, something of a more...personal nature."

(Y/N)'s heart skipped a beat, her curiosity piqued. She had a feeling she knew what he wanted to talk about, but she remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"I won't beat around the bush," Odysseus said bluntly, his gaze fixed on (Y/N). "I've noticed the way my son looks at you, the way he hangs on your every word. He's enamored with you, that much is clear. And as his father, I feel it's my responsibility to look out for him, to make sure he's not making any mistakes."

"I understand, As his bethrode I'll answer every question you ask to the best of my abilities." (Y/N) answers, her hands on her lap.

Odysseus's expression softened slightly, appreciating her sincerity. He leans forward, placing his hands on the desk.

"Good," he said, nodding. "That's what I wanted to hear. But before we get into that, I need to know for certain. Are you truly fond of Telemachus? Is your affection for him genuine?"

"Honestly sir, I didn't know how I lived before him, but he's everything I could ever ask for, his sweet, sensitive, thoughtful, and caring, a rarity among men, I'd lose my mind if I lost him." (Y/N) answers honestly with a blush (🙃)

Odysseus studied (Y/N)'s face, searching for any hint of insincerity. But all he saw was honesty and a genuine affection in her eyes. He could tell that she cared deeply for Telemachus, and it brought a small measure of reassurance to him as a father.

A wave of nostalgia washed over him. Her words reminded him of the younger version of himself, hopelessly in love with Penelope and willing to do anything for her. He couldn't help but see the similarities and feel a strange sense of familiarity.

"Your affection for my son, it's..." Odysseus trailed off for a moment before continuing, his gaze softening. "It's almost a mirror image of how I felt about his Mother, years ago. It's hard to deny that you genuinely care for him."

"Oh..." (Y/N) blushes, looking onto the ground shyly.

Odysseus chuckled softly, noticing her bashfulness.

"No need to be embarrassed," he said with a small smile. "It's a good thing, you know. Caring for someone deeply is a powerful feeling, and it can make all the difference in life."

His expression turned more serious.

"But, love and affection aside, there's another aspect I need to discuss with you."

(Y/N) looked up, her curiosity piqued once more. She had an idea of what he was going to ask next, but she waited for him to continue, mentally bracing herself.

"Your past," Odysseus began, his eyes fixed on her. "I know you haven't always been forthcoming about it, and there are things you've kept from Telemachus."

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"I need to know the truth. Who are you really, (Y/N)? And what are you hiding?"

(Y/N)'s smile tightens, her eye twitching before coughing, dismissing her nervousness "W-well, Sir, as I've said before on our first meeting, I was born in Gibraltar under my Mother's care before her health declined, so my Aunt took me in and brought me to Athens, she's also a Teacher so she taught me everything I know, along with the different specialties of my Cousin, but my Aunt still has her own plights, as much as I want to stay with her, my Uncle, her husband, let's just say he isn't very...loyal, she already has too many on her plate so I decided I wanted to live on my own, in solitude.

Ithaca was the first choice with the lush greens and surrounded by water, but I later realized it wasn't that isolated..." (Y/N) tells her story, albeit vaguely.

Odysseus listened intently to (Y/N)'s story, his gaze sharp and observant. There were certain details and holes in her story that he picked up on, but he decided to focus on one particular thing she mentioned.

"You didn't mention your Father," he said quietly, his tone almost accusatory. "Why is that?"

"The Bastard can go screw himself." (Y/N) mutters harshly, surprising Odysseus.

"I-i mean, he isn't that much in the picture so I don't know him much." She tries to backtrack with a sheepish smile.

Odysseus raised an eyebrow, intrigued by (Y/N)'s sudden change in tone and the venom in her voice when talking about her Father. It was obvious there was animosity there, but he couldn't quite understand why.

"You seem to have quite a strong opinion of him," he observed, his gaze still fixed on her. "Yet you say you don't know him much. That's a rather conflicting statement, don't you think?"

(Y/N) looks at him in shock, before looking at her lap,her hand tightly clenched.

"He forced himself onto my mother..." (Y/N) admits with a frown.

Odysseus's expression darkened as (Y/N) revealed the truth about her Father. His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. He didn't like the sound of what she was insinuating.

"You mean..." he began, his voice a low rumble, "He...assaulted your mother?"

"I was the product of her defilement, as a child, I watched her degrade, crying herself to sleep, and the bastard didn't even bother checking on her or taking responsibility, he continued his life as usual, while I had to watch that beautiful woman self destruct." (Y/N) mutters, glaring onto her own hands.

Odysseus's heart ached for (Y/N) as she recounted her traumatic past. The disdain in her voice was palpable, and he could see the pain and hurt behind her words. He couldn't imagine how difficult it must have been for her to grow up under such circumstances.

"Your Father is a vile man," Odysseus spat out, his voice filled with disgust. "He didn't deserve to be called a Father, let alone sire a child."

"I'm so sorry that I didn't tell you, Sir. I was afraid you'd think I'm not the perfect match to your son with the circumstances of my birth." (Y/N) mutters with guilt.

Odysseus sighed, his initial anger cooling down into sympathy. He could see the shame and guilt in (Y/N) eyes, and he knew that she had carried a heavy burden with her for a long time.

"You don't need to apologize, (Y/N)" he said gently, his tone kinder now. "I can understand why you would keep such a thing to yourself, especially given the stigma surrounding your circumstances. But let me make one thing clear."

"The circumstances of your birth do not define you," Odysseus continued firmly. "You are more than just a victim of your Father's cruelty. You're a strong, intelligent, and kind-hearted young woman. Telemachus is lucky to have you as his betrothed, and nothing will change that."

"I must admit," he said thoughtfully, "I'm quite surprised at how you've taken to Telemachus so quickly. Considering the circumstances of your past, I would have expected you to be more guarded when it comes to matters of the heart."

"It's also one of the reasons why I wanted to live in isolation, but your son...is so different, he's not brash, not proud, not cocky, his caring, kind hearted, sensitive...everything that bastard could never be." (Y/N) mutters, not even realizing she's already swooning in the thought of Telemachus, snapping out of her daze.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to babble!"

Odysseus chuckled softly, amused by (Y/N)'s unabashed gushing about Telemachus. It was clear that she was completely smitten with his son.

"No need to apologize," he said, waving a hand gently. "You're in love, and Telemachus is a remarkable young man. I'm not surprised you can't help but gush about him."

He leaned back in his chair, a small smile on his lips.

"It's quite endearing, actually."

"But I have to ask," Odysseus continued, his tone becoming more serious again. "How do you think Telemachus would feel if he knew the truth about your past? About your Father?"

"I...I don't know..." (Y/N) admits, looking down onto her lap.

Odysseus was quiet for a moment, studying her expression. He could see the fear in her eyes, the worry at how Telemachus would react to the truth.

"You're afraid he'll reject you," he said bluntly, hitting the nail on the head. "You're afraid he won't be able to look at you the same way once he knows."

Egeria grew quite, biting her lip.

Odysseus's expression softened, his tone growing gentler.

"I understand your fear, (Y/N)," he said quietly. "But you can't keep something like this hidden forever. The truth has a way of coming out, and when it does, it's better that Telemachus hears it from you, rather than someone else."

He leaned forward, his gaze steady on her.

"You need to tell him."

"I don't know how, Sir." Odysseus's heart ached at the sight of (Y/N), the once confident and fiery young woman, now reduced to a trembling girl. He knew how much she cared for Telemachus, and he could see the fear in her eyes at the thought of losing him.

"(Y/N)," he said softly, his tone soothing. "I understand that it's difficult, but you can't keep something this important hidden forever. You need to be honest with Telemachus. You owe him that much."

"He loves you," Odysseus continued, his voice firm but kind. "And if he truly cares for you, he'll understand. But you have to give him the chance to understand. You can't let your fears hold you back."

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on her.

"You're strong, (Y/N). You can do this."

She looks at him in shock, before sighing, smiling at Odysseus "Thank you for your advice, Sir." (Y/N) thanked him.

Odysseus nodded, a small smile on his face.

"Of course, (Y/N). But remember, this is something you need to do soon. The longer you wait, the harder it will be for the both of you."

He paused for a moment before speaking again.

"And (Y/N)?"

"Yes, Sir?" She asked, her attention fully on him.

"He loves you," Odysseus continued, his voice firm but kind. "And if he truly cares for you, he'll understand. But you have to give him the chance to understand. You can't let your fears hold you back."

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on her.

"You're strong, (Y/N). You can do this."

Egeria looks at him, before smiling brightly at him "Thank you, Sir." (Y/N) thanked him one last time, before leaving his study, looking for Telemachus in the courtyard, training once more.

As Egeria made her way to the courtyard, she spotted Telemachus in the midst of a training session. He was drenched in sweat, his muscles straining as he wielded his sword with precision and power.

(Y/N) stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching him for a few moments, admiring the grace and strength with which he moved. It stirs something..sinful inside her, watching his sweat roll down body, every grunt as he swung his sword, but her fantasies have to wait at a later time.

Just as she was about to approach him, it suddenly...rained.

"What?" (Y/N) held out her hand, catching a few rain drops, before she felt something familiar in this brewing storm.

"No...it can't be..."

Meanwhile

Odysseus is in his study, cleaning up the Lactruculi pieces, before he noticed it started raining outside, this rain seems familiar, he looks outside the palace where it has the view of the beach...his heart dropped.

There stood...Poseidon.

Odysseus's heart pounding in his chest. Poseidon's presence sent a wave of unease through him, but he knew he had to face the god once again.

He steeled himself, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the palace and onto the beach where he found himself face to face face with the lord of the sea.

"Poseidon," Odysseus said coolly, his voice steady despite the churning emotions he felt inside. "What brings you here?"

Poseidon regarded him with a steely glare, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"You know why I'm here, Odysseus," he replied, his voice booming with authority. "Your arrogance and defiance has not gone unnoticed."

"But don't worry, I'm not here for you." Poseidon looks around, scanning the palace.

"Where is she?"

Odysseus's heart skipped a beat as he heard Poseidon's question.

"Who?" he asked, trying to hide the worry in his voice. He had a feeling he already knew who he was talking about, but he needed to be sure.

"A brat of mine who snuck into your kingdom, I usually don't care about any of them but this one's...a special case." Poseidon vaguely answers with a crude smile

Odysseus's gut twisted at Poseidon's words. He knew who he spoke of.

"(Y/N)," he muttered, but loud enough for Poseidon to hear.

"So that's her name, (Y/N)." Poseidon mutters in thought, pacing around on the sand.

"Good enough of a name, I guess, and I could only guess she didn't even bother telling you her story." Poseidon smirked, taunting Odysseus in his foolishness.

Odysseus tensed up, but he tried to keep his composure. He knew what Poseidon was doing, but he couldn't let his anger get the better of him.

"She's under my protection now," Odysseus said firmly. "Whatever grievances you have with her, you'll have to get through me first."

"Oh, I don't have any grievances with her, she's mine after all." Poseidon stated, before telling a chilling statement.

"I'm taking her now"

Odysseus's blood ran cold at Poseidon's statement. He couldn't let him take (Y/N), not after everything she had been through.

"No," he said firmly, his grip on his sword tightening. "You're not taking her anywhere."

Poseidon chuckled darkly, amused by Odysseus's defiance.

"You really think you can stop me, little king?" he taunted. "I am a god, and she is mine to do with as I please."

Odysseus gritted his teeth, his resolve steeling. He knew what he was up against, but he couldn't let (Y/N) bear the consequences of Poseidon's cruel desires.

"You may be a god, but I'm not going to let you hurt her," he retorted, his voice filled with determination. "You'll have to go through me first."

Poseidon smirked, his eyes gleaming cruelly.

"And so it shall be," he snarled, his hand reaching towards the sea, the waters rising and beginning to churn viciously. "You may think you stand a chance, but you're just a mortal, and I am a god of the sea. Do you truly think you can defeat me?"

The sea roared in fury as Poseidon drew power from the depths, unleashing a brutal barrage of attacks on Odysseus.

Before Odysseus could draw his blade, the gushing waters paused in place, stopping in front of him, before it burst into nothing.

"Enough" a cold voice orders behind Odysseus, as (Y/N) walked past him, the waters churning around her, glaring at Poseidon.

Odysseus was stunned, the waters obeying her command. He had never seen such power emanate from her before.

Poseidon's gaze hardened as he shifted his attention to (Y/N).

"(Y/N)," he said, his voice a mixture of irritation and...pride. "You've grown stronger."

"Spare me your adulation, it's disgusting hearing it from you." (Y/N) stops him in his tracks, glaring at him.

"What do you want?"

Poseidon's expression darkened at (Y/N)'s sharp tone.

"I've come to take you back, of course," he replied matter-of-factly. "You're my brat, and you belong to the sea."

"Why now? You didn't even spare me as much of a glance when I was under Hera's care, you looked at me with disgust, why should I believe I belong with you?." (Y/N) snapped back at him, the waters around her rising.

Poseidon sneered, his irritation growing at her defiance.

"You're still a mouthy little thing, I see," he grumbled. "I may have looked at you with disgust, that was because I wasn't ready to acknowledge you then, but now...I see potential in you."

"No, no you don't, I don't believe you, I think you're only using me as an excuse, because you can't get over the fact that Odysseus had bested you at your own game." (Y/N) insulted, continuing her glare of him

Poseidon's expression darkened even further, anger now blazing in his eyes. He was not used to being insulted, especially not by his own child.

"Do you have any idea who you're speaking to, girl?" he growled, his voice booming with authority, sending waves after her. "I am the lord of the sea! You should show me some respect!"

"All I see is a bastard who can't get over his lost, the same bastard who destroyed my mother." (Y/N) insulted once more, before stopping Poseidon's waves

Poseidon's anger turned to full-blown rage at Egeria's words, his face contorting in fury.

"How dare you speak to me like that, you insolent little brat!" he roared, his voice thundering across the beach. "You have no right to judge me or my actions! I am a god, and you are just a mortal, never forget your place!"

As (Y/N) and Poseidon clashed, their battle shaking the very earth. The water and the earth collided fiercely and neither backed down to the other. Poseidon was filled with rage while (Y/N) held a calm gaze.

Odysseus watched them from the sidelines, torn between worry and awe.

The sea raged around them, responding to (Y/N)'s control as she fought against her father's relentless assault. Poseidon was filled with a mix of anger and grudging respect for his daughter's power, while (Y/N) fought with a cool determination, never faltering.

But someone can falter it.

Telemachus sprinted towards the beach, panic etched on his face as he saw the intense battle unfolding before him. Without hesitation, he ran towards (Y/N) and Poseidon.

Odysseus's eyes widened in alarm as he saw Telemachus rushing towards the fighting and he called out to him, "Telemachus! Wait! Don't-"

Poseidon looks at the running Prince, before smirking at (Y/N), his water arm grew in size, reaching for the Prince.

"TELEMACHUS!" Telemachus's heart seized in terror as he saw the water hand reach for him, but before it could grab him, (Y/N) pushed him away, taking the hand's grasp herself.

"No!" Telemachus shouted. "(Y/N)!"

"Get out of here! Please, I'll be fine!" (Y/N) begs, struggling in Poseidon's hold.

Telemachus hesitated, torn between the desire to run away and the need to help (Y/N). He looked at her, struggling in Poseidon's grasp, and his heart ached at her plea.

"I can't just leave you!" he protested, his voice filled with desperation.

Poseidon smirked at Telemachus's plea, the sound of his despair music to his ears.

"Oh, how sweet, the prince is for his princess," he mocked, his grip on (Y/N) tightening. "But you can't help her, boy. She's mine, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"Why are you taking her!? She has nothing to do with you!" Telemachus screamed, watching her squirm in Poseidon hold, struggling.

"Nothing to do with her? My, She didn't tell you as well?" Poseidon taunted with a smirk.

Telemachus's confusion deepened at Poseidon's words.

"What do you mean? Tell me what?" Telemachus demanded, his gaze filled with a mixture of anger and desperation.

She watched him with a helpless expression, her struggles growing weaker as Poseidon's grip tightened.

"This one is my kin, my daughter." Poseidon shook her in front of Telemachus like a doll, as she could only look at him in shame.

Telemachus's eyes widened in utter shock, his mind struggling to process Poseidon's words.

"Your...daughter? But... but that means..." Telemachus's voice trailed off as he looked at (Y/N), a mix of realization and disbelief on his face.

"Is it true?" he asked her softly, his expression torn between confusion and concern.

(Y/N) looks at him in shame, tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, my Love." She apologizes, before being pulled away from him.

"Yeah, yeah, enough with the sappy sentiments." Poseidon rolls his eyes as she continues to struggle in his hold.

Telemachus watched she being pulled away from him, his heart sinking. He couldn't believe he had fallen so madly in love with the daughter of the king of the seas.

"No, wait! You can't take her!" Telemachus protested, trying to move closer to them.

"Why? You actually love this halfbreed of mine?" Poseidon waves her around in front of him like a toy, as she continued to struggle

Telemachus's face contorted with anger and helplessness.

"Yes, I do! She may be your daughter, but that doesn't change the fact that I love her!" Telemachus retorted, his voice filled with passion.

(Y/N) felt a jolt of surprise at Telemachus's declaration of love before looking at him with a mixture of guilt and longing, while Poseidon simply chuckled at the prince's words.

"Love? Ha! You think you love her? You don't even know her, you fool! You don't know what she really is!" Poseidon taunted, his grip on her tightening as he spoke, making her grunt.

Telemachus's face grew even more determined at Poseidon's taunts. He knew he didn't fully understand who (Y/N) was, but he also knew deeply that he loved her.

"It doesn't matter! I love her, and I refuse to let you take her away from me!" Telemachus retorted, his voice firm despite the fear he felt.

Poseidon chuckled at Telemachus's defiance, his expression growing sly.

"You love her, huh? Well, what if I proposed a little challenge then?" he suggested, his grip on (Y/N) loosening slightly.

"No! Telemachus! I'll be fine-" Before (Y/N) could protest, her head was shoved into the water hand.

"Relax, this one can breathe under water...I think." Poseidon mutters the last part to himself, as (Y/N) pounded at the surface of it.

Telemachus's heart raced at the sight of (Y/N) head being shoved underwater. But before he could panic further, he heard Poseidon's reassurance that she could breathe underwater. Nonetheless, Telemachus's mind raced with worry.

"What kind of challenge?" Telemachus asked, his voice shaky but resolute.

"Go to my own home turf, the Aegean Sea, come give your in law a visit and it'll be a leveled playing field, for me of course, if you win, She's all yours, and if you lose, I'll turn this halfbreed into seafoam." Poseidon challenges with a smirk.

"And don't even think about not coming at all, because I'll simply turn her into seafoam as well."

Telemachus's heart felt like it was going to explode. He was being challenged to a battle he had no chance of winning. But if he didn't accept, (Y/N) would be turned into seafoam...

"Fine," Telemachus agreed through gritted teeth. "I'll go to the Aegean Sea. But if I win, you let (Y/N) go."

(Y/N) banged on the surface of the hand, shaking her head, begging for him not to accept the challenge

"Excellent, that, if you win of course." Poseidon taunted with a smile, before slowly walking back to the sea, make his point.

Telemachus watched Poseidon walk towards the sea, his mind racing. He knew he had no chance of winning the upcoming battle, but he had no choice. He couldn't let (Y/N) be turned into seafoam.

Suddenly, with a dagger lent to her by Ioannis, she broke the water surface, screaming at him.

"Telemachus! I'm sorry I didn't tell you! Don't come for me! Please! Stay ali-" before (Y/N) could finish what she's saying, she already pulled into the ocean with Poseidon, disappearing into the seas.

"(Y/N)!" Telemachus shouted, his voice filled with desperation. The sight of (Y/N) being pulled into the sea, disappearing from his sight, was unbearable. He ran towards the edge of the shore, his heart racing with panic and helplessness.

"No! No! Bring her back!" Telemachus screamed, unable to contain his anguish. He was torn between anger at Poseidon and guilt for accepting the challenge.

Odysseus, who had watched the scene unfold in horror, pulled Telemachus into his arms. He held him tightly, trying to offer some comfort in the midst of the chaos.

Telemachus, still reeling from the shock of what just happened, pushed Odysseus away.

"Let go of me! I have to go after her!" Telemachus protested, his voice choked with emotion.

"You know you can't do that, my boy," Odysseus replied, his voice firm but filled with empathy. "Poseidon has her now, and there's no way you can fight him in his own domain."

"But I can't just sit here and do nothing!" Telemachus protested, his eyes filled with desperation. "I love her, Father. I can't let her be taken away from me."

Odysseus sighed, his heart breaking for his son. He knew how much Telemachus loved (Y/N), and the pain of being separated from her must be unbearable.

Odysseus took a deep breath and began to speak, his voice tinged with a mix of empathy and skepticism.

"Telemachus," he began, his grip on his son's shoulders tight but gentle. "I know you love (Y/N), but you have to consider the possibility that she may have been tricking you this entire time."

Telemachus looked at his father in shock, his heart clenching at the implication. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"(Y/N) is Poseidon's daughter," Odysseus explained. "It's possible that she's been playing a role all along, manipulating your feelings for her to serve her father's purposes."

"No," Telemachus protested, his mind unwilling to accept the idea. "She couldn't have been faking her feelings for me. I know she loves me, Father. I can feel it in my heart."

Odysseus sighed, his heart heavy with the burden of uncertainty. "The heart can be deceived, my son. You have to consider the possibility that her love for you may have been part of a ruse to manipulate and control you."

Telemachus shook his head, his expression pained but resolute. "I can't believe you're saying this, Father. (Y/N) loves me, I know it. I saw it in her eyes, I felt it in her touch. How can you doubt that?"

Odysseus placed a hand on Telemachus's shoulder, his gaze filled with compassion. "I'm not doubting your feelings for her, my boy. I'm just asking you to consider the possibility that she may have had ulterior motives all along. After all, she's the daughter of Poseidon, and who knows what schemes the gods have in store for mortals like us."

"What's going on here?" Penelope asked in worry, walking into the beach towards her husband and son.

"There was a storm and it suddenly disappeared, what happened?" Penelope asked once more, looking at Odysseus for answers.

Odysseus took a deep breath before turning to his wife. He knew he had to tell her what had happened, but he also knew it would not be easy.

"It's... complicated, my love," he started, his voice heavy with a mix of guilt and worry. "There was a storm, yes, but it wasn't a natural one. Poseidon was here, and he..." Odysseus trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

Penelope's face paled as she listened to her husband, her heart sinking with dread. She knew deep down what he was going to say before he even spoke the words.

"He took (Y/N), didn't he?" she asked softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Odysseus looked at his wife in surprise. He had been expecting shock, disbelief, even anger, but not this.

"How did you know, my love?" Odysseus asked, his voice filled with curiosity and a hint of suspicion.

"If so...then you must have known of her secret?" Penelope asked with a frown, her eyebrows furrowed

"...She already told me once." Penelope admits, looking at the ground

Odysseus's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't expected his wife to know about (Y/N)'s true identity, but here she was, confessing that she already knew.

"You knew this entire time?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and frustration.

Telemachus couldn't believe his ears. His mother had known about (Y/N)'s true identity and kept it a secret from him, even as he had fallen in love with her. He felt a mixture of anger and betrayal.

"You knew, Mother?" Telemachus asked, his voice filled with disbelief. "You knew that (Y/N) was the daughter of Poseidon?"

"Let me finish" Penelope raised a hand, trying to calm both her son and husband.

"Her Father is Poseidon...and her Mother's Medusa." Penelope revealed with a tight frown.

The news hit Odysseus like a thunderbolt. (Y/N)'s mother was Medusa, the woman who had been violated by Poseidon himself. Suddenly, everything made sense.

His expression turned somber as he realized the weight of (Y/N)'s situation. "So, the story she told me about her Mother… it's true," he mumbled to himself, the reality sinking in.

Telemachus's mind raced as he tried to process the revelations. He was still grappling with the fact that (Y/N) was the daughter of Poseidon and Medusa, and now he was hearing about her mother's tragic past.

He turned to his mother, his expression a mix of confusion and anger. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice tinged with frustration. "Why keep all this a secret?"

"I wanted her to tell you herself, but she was too scared, too afraid of what you'd think of her." Penelope answers at the best of her abilities.

Telemachus felt a pang of guilt and empathy. He understood that (Y/N) must have been afraid to reveal her true identity, given the circumstances of her birth and the reputation of her family.

"But why would she think I'd react badly? I love her regardless of who her parents are," he protested, his voice growing in volume.

Penelope gave him a sad smile, placing a hand on his arm. "Sometimes, people's fears are not always based in logic, my son," she said softly. "Even though you may love her and accept her as she is, she may have grown up with a lifetime of prejudice and judgement because of her bloodline. That kind of fear can be difficult to overcome."

"And you were the only one who had loved her wholeheartedly, it would have crushed her if you thought so differently of her, fearing for the worse." Penelope explains with a frown.

Telemachus's heart ached at his mother's words. He could only imagine the loneliness and self-doubt (Y/N) must have felt, believing that everyone would judge her for her parentage.

"Is that why she was so hesitant to tell me?" he asked, his voice tinged with sadness.

"She loves you too much to loose you, Telemachus." Penelope explains.

Telemachus nodded, understanding the weight of her words. (Y/N)'s love for him must have been so powerful that she was willing to keep her true identity a secret, fearing that it would drive him away.

"I don't care about her lineage, her past, or her family," he said firmly, meeting his mother's gaze. "I love her for who she is, and nothing can change that, that's why I'm going after her."

Odysseus shook his head, his expression hardening. "No, Telemachus. You can't go after (Y/N)," he said firmly. "It's too dangerous. Poseidon is a vengeful god, and he won't hesitate to hurt you if you get in his way."

"Believe me, I know that." Odysseus added, reminding Telemachus of his stories about Poseidon.

Telemachus sighed, frustrated by his father's protectiveness. He knew all too well the stories of Poseidon's wrath, but none of that mattered to him now.

"I don't care about the dangers, Father," Telemachus argued, his voice growing in volume. "I have to save (Y/N). I love her, and I won't let Poseidon have her."

"Your old man's right, Lover boy~" a teasing voice suddenly joins in, startling the family, it was Hermes.

Telemachus's eyes widened in surprise as Hermes, the god of messengers, appeared before them.

"Hermes?" he asked, taken aback by the god's sudden appearance.

Odysseus scowled at the god, not pleased by his sudden appearance. "What are you doing here, Trickster?" he asked gruffly.

"Just here to lend a helping hand, just like the old times, old friend" Hermes zips around Odysseus, pinching his cheek

Odysseus swats at Hermes, trying to shoo him away. "Stop that! I'm too old for your games, Hermes."

Hermes chuckles, hovering just out of Odysseus's reach. "Oh come on, don't be such a sourpuss. Where's the old Odysseus I knew and annoyed?"

"I'm right here, you annoying god," Odysseus grumbled, glaring at Hermes. "Now, can you get to the point and tell us why you're here? We don't have all day."

"Well, Young lad, It's your lucky day, because someone up above with high power has given me strick orders to help, and I mean it very seriously, she hates my guts and doesn't usual intrude in human affairs so consider yourself lucky." Hermes explains, a large grin on his lips

Telemachus's heart leapt at Hermes's words. Could it be true? Was he really here to help?

Odysseus's expression remained neutral, not yet convinced. "Help with what, exactly? And who gave you these instructions?" he asked, his voice full of skepticism.

"that's besides the point" Hermes presented him a bag.

"inside this bag are Brutus Flowers, its pollen and necter has the ability to render a god into a mortal, though with Poseidon being the God of the Seas, his system will flush out these out in lets say 3 to 5 minutes tops, but that'll give you enough time to defeat him, wouldn't it?" Hermes held out the bag, covering his nose with his chiton for good measure.

Telemachus's eyes widened, hope rekindling in his heart. A way to defeat Poseidon, even if just for a few minutes. It was a chance, a glimmer of hope.

Odysseus's initial skepticism began to fade, giving way to cautious optimism. He knew better than to trust the Trickster god at face value, but this was their only chance.

"Brutus Flowers," he mused, his voice tinged with a hint of excitement. "I've heard tales of their power, but I never thought I'd actually get to use them."

"Well you do need the help, correct? and I don't want to be gutted, so what do you say? Are you going to rescue your Princess?" Hermes asked Odysseus, before turning to Telemachus.

Telemachus was practically vibrating with anticipation.

"I'm going after her," he stated firmly, his voice filled with determination.

Odysseus looked at his son, his expression a mixture of pride and worry. He could see the fire in Telemachus's eyes, the strength and courage that would one day make him a great leader.

"Alright," Odysseus finally relented, his voice weary, but firm. "We'll do it. We'll use the Brutus Flowers to take down Poseidon."

Odysseus's decision to join Telemachus surprised even himself. He hadn't intended on accompanying him on this dangerous mission.

"I can't let you go alone, boy," Odysseus said, his voice heavy with resignation. "I may be a bit slower and older, but I still have some fight left in me."

Telemachus felt a wave of gratitude towards his father. He knew that Odysseus was taking a risk by joining him, and it meant a lot to him that his father believed in him enough to do so.

"Thank you, Father," Telemachus said quietly, his voice filled with a mix of relief and determination. "We'll get (Y/N) back, together."

"Yes, yes, family and all, anyways, you might want to say something to the missus before embarking on this fight." Hermes points out to Penelope, who looks at them with a frown

Odysseus and Telemachus both turn to look at Penelope, her expression a mix of worry and resignation. They knew they were asking a lot of her, to let them go on this dangerous quest.

Odysseus approached his wife, taking her hand in his. "Penelope, my love," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. "I need to go with Telemachus. I can't let him face Poseidon alone."

"But...you just got here." Penelope teared up, looking at Odysseus.

"But I know...we can't let our son go on his own..."

Odysseus wrapped his arms around Penelope, holding her close. "I know, my love. I just got back, and I never wanted to leave you again."

Telemachus watched his parents, his heart heavy with guilt for putting them both in this position. He hated seeing his mother in tears, but he knew he had to go. Egeria needed him.

"We'll be alright," Odysseus reassured Penelope, his voice steady and calm. "I promise we'll come back, both of us."

Odysseus looked at Telemachus, meeting his gaze with a nod. They were in this together, come what may.

Penelope nodded, wiping away her tears. She knew there was no point in trying to change their minds. These were two stubborn men, both strong-willed and determined.

"Just...come back to me," she said softly, her voice filled with quiet desperation.

Odysseus placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "We will, my love. I promise."

Telemachus stepped forward, embracing his mother tightly. "We'll be back before you know it, Mother."

Penelope held him close, her grip tight. "I'll be counting the days, my son."

"We have to go now," Odysseus said softly, his voice tinged with remorse.

Telemachus nodded, understanding the weight of their words.

"Goodbye, Mother," he said softly, his voice filled with love and determination.

Odysseus took a step back, taking one last look at Penelope, before turning his gaze to Hermes.

"Alright, Trickster, lead the way." Odysseus said gruffly, gripping the bag of Brutus Flowers tightly in his hand.

(A/N: Are you catching these references I'm throwing?)

[valentinebugzee]

Sonic Boom! Agent Stone AU (pt.1)

(This is kind of an outline thing for the fic I plan on writing in the future btw!!)

•On one random Tuesday, a coffee shop named "The Mean Bean" appeared in the middle of town, with no construction and no posters for the place, as if it fell from the sky.

•It probably did since it's sonic boom and all.

•Sonic and friends had different opinions on the place, but all of them went in anyway.

•Sonic thought he wasn't really a coffee guy but it wouldn't hurt to try something new.

•Amy admired how beautiful and modern the place looked, unlike the rest of the establishments in their formerly unnamed village.

•Tails questioned how they had managed to construct a cafe that quickly without anyone noticing.

•Knuckles wondered why this bean shop smelled like coffee.

•Sticks, however...had her theories.

•Upon laying her eyes on the establishment, she started coming up with 50 theories per second; her friends dismissed her to get the plot going.

•Sticks's suspicions didn't subside one bit once entered the shop and made eye contact with a grinning barista with the name tag "Stone"

•What really got Sticks paranoid is how nice and friendly the barista was, and how he was the only person working there.

•Stone served them and said their orders were "on the house"

•Sticks refused to order anything, claiming it was a trap and the food had microchips in it to read the villager's thoughts and know the village's most crucial secrets.

•Right in the middle of Stick's yap session, Eggman initiated a very well-timed attack.

•Cut to Shoujo vision-eyed Stone laying his eyes for the very first time on the village's one and only villain (or the only one that matters)

•He quickly snapped out of it, adjusted his clothes, and cleared his throat, then walked out of his coffee shop to greet the villain.

•He had politely asked Eggman to take the fight somewhere further away from his coffee shop and Eggman surprisingly obliged (not without blowing up in Stone's face ofc) (Stone didn't look like he minded) (He actually looked even more love-struck) (weirdo)

•The fight ended, and the gang went back to the coffee shop, where Stone inquired about the evil doctor who almost blew up his shop.

•That was Stick's last straw; she started screaming about how Stone was a government agent who would doom the entire village if they didn't stop him.

•She ran out screaming when her friends still didn't believe her.

•Girl, get better friends.

•She figured that if she was going to foil the evil government agent's plans she needed someone else helping her, another pair of eyes to look out for the village if the government agent decided that she was an obstacle in his way and kidnaps her to a work in a secret underground trees-that-are- actually-spy-cameras-factory.

•And that's when she found Shadow in a cave that he definitely doesn't live in.

•He reluctantly agreed to help her because he was also suspicious about that guy, not that he cared about the village but he didn't like being oblivious about evil happening on his turf.

•He didn't believe stick's microchipped food theory, but Stone being a government agent didn't seem too far off for him...

•They both had their separate attempts at getting answers out of Stone.

•First was Sticks, she set up a trap.

•ofc Stone fell for it because how else would the story progress.

•She interrogated him as he was upside down hanging from a tree outside her home.

•He denied all claims and feigned innocence, claiming he was just a barista that came from far far away to simply serve people happiness in the form of coffee.

•She opted for more efficient interrogation techniques, she turned around and entered her home to..grab a feather and tickle him idfk

•Once she returned outside she saw the net was burnt to crisp and the human was nowhere to be found.

•Now she's sure she's not paranoid.

•She reported her findings to Shadow.

•Now it was Shadow's turn, seeing how Stone definitely had some special equipment/weapons on him the idea of there being microchips in the food didn't seem too uncanny.

•Shadow showed up to The Mean Bean, Sticks intently staring at him from behind the glass doors (creeping everyone in the shop out)

•Shadow thought he shouldn't interrogate him as that would end up as fruitful as Stick's efforts.

•Instead he chose to just behave as a normal customer, he was the ultimate life form after all, if there was something odd about the food then he'd know (I'm pulling this shit outta my ass okay)

•Just like the badger had described him "Very sweet with an evil aura", and something about trees.

•Stone felt somewhat nervous/awkward towards the hedgehog, so far all his customers were either stupid or friendly excluding the badger that kidnapped him because she wasn't a customer at all)

•The Hedgehog chose a cat muffin, glaring at stone the entire time.

•That was the best goddamn muffin he has ever had in his life.

•He slammed the money on the counter and returned back to a very distraught badger.

•"ARE YOU OKAY?! ARE THE RADIATIONS GETTING TO YOUR BRAIN?! ARE YOU BRAINWASHED?! DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR TRAGIC BACKSTORY?! DID THE MUFFIN DO SOMETHING TO YOU?!"

"Raspberry jam..."

"huh?"

[lilgarbitch]

Beside You - Noah Sebastian

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: angst<3

Word Count: 1.5k

Author’s Note: Blame @xmads-omensx

Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @dontwantthemoney @chey-h @badomensgoodomens @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @enemiestolovershoe @blade-dressed-in-red @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera

Y/N

My pillow was slowly soaking up the tears beside me as I stared up at the ceiling. I could feel the wetness on my ears from the sunken cushion. My breathing had finally calmed after hours of sobs that still ached my chest, but my tears had no stop in sight. My sleeve was coated in snot, being too exhausted to grab any tissues or even a towel. I was broken. I didn’t know when I was going to move next. I didn’t have a reason to move again. 

He was gone. Finally left for Los Angeles to pursue his true love and passion. Not me. Music. I still remember the look on Nick’s face when Noah didn’t even glance my way as I watched them all pack up the car with the last of their things, hoping I could catch one last word or touch from him. Pure pity. Like he knew Noah had given up on anything but his future, leaving everything, including me, behind. Folio had been nice enough to give me one last quick hug and a few encouraging words, but it wasn’t enough. 

Not only had Noah ignored me, it was like he managed to get the others to want to as well. Or maybe they were all okay with leaving me behind. You’d think years of memories and laughter with the boys would mean they’d spare me anything more than a spontaneous talk of their plans with nothing more to give. 

I wanted to make it work. I tried giving him and the others ideas to stay in touch. I’d save up to visit them. We could talk on the phone. Fuck, at this point, I’d be okay with an occasional text, as long as it meant they still cared. But the day Noah told me their plan, it was like he turned into a different person. Slowly cancelling plans until we just stopped making them at all. He was too busy planning or packing. They were trying to put a deposit down on a nice place and apparently discussing with a realtor took weeks. Every text I sent was giving one excuse or another until I just stopped sending them. 

I managed to keep my tears to myself until I watched their car drive off, heading for the airport, but the minute I stepped into mine, my vision went blind and my head rang with emotion. And I drove home like that, not caring if I could see the road or not. If I could even catch my breath at stop signs or if I even stopped at them. I was destroyed and lost my will to care. 

I barely made it up the stairs to my room, seeing all the memories we made in every room of the house. Movie nights in the living room, Noah and I cuddled up in blankets with over seasoned popcorn. The boys overfilling my kitchen and practically destroying it on nights where they decided they could make a drunk snack together. The stairs the boys raced up multiple times, tripping and almost breaking teeth each time. The ones Noah has passionately carried me up on multiple occasions, taking me to the very bed I’m lying in. If I turn my head, I’m almost convinced I could smell him on my sheets, even if it’s been weeks since he’s even been near the house, let alone my bed. 

By now, they're probably all reaching their new house, excitedly moving everything in and calling dibs on bedrooms. Blasting music and singing along like we used to on days I’d help them with chores or vice versa. I always took it as my job to watch over them and make sure no one got hurt with how excited and rowdy they can get, and I feel a small pang of worry in my chest that they’ll no longer have someone to look out for them, despite them never actually needing it, always having each other. 

Tears are still falling down my cheeks, collecting in puddles next to my ears, just a little slower now. I must finally be running out. My chest still hurts from the soul crushing sobs that almost didn’t stop. It was finally getting dark, meaning it was getting late, and I couldn’t tell if the exhaustion was going to knock me out or keep me up. I couldn’t feel anything other than my swollen eyes, wet pillow, pounding head, and aching chest. 

I don’t know when I started counting them, maybe after the first few weeks of wallowing in my own pity, but tonight will be my 57th night sleeping alone. And so many more were to come. How he went from never wanting to leave my bed to never failing to find an excuse to stay away from it will forever leave me in mystery, but he got his wish. He won’t have to see me again. He and the boys will never have to see this house again. Maybe one day, I’ll follow in their footsteps and move away, just incase they’re worried they’d run into me if they ever came to visit. 

I thought I’ve already gone through all the stages of grief dealing with them pulling away, but I think now that I know they’re gone, I’ve just barely moved onto anger. And most of it isn’t even anger towards them. It’s towards myself. A pitiful sense of anger. Because how could this happen to me? How could I lose the boys I called my family from day one? What could I have done that they were willing to so easily leave me behind like I was nothing? 

Night eventually turns into day, the only thing I consider sleep being the moments my eyes closed long enough to remember every moment we spent together. Maybe I could treat them as dreams, convincing myself that getting them back was nothing more than a fantasy I created in my head. 

Noah

I barely spoke the entire trip, pretending to be asleep most of the plane ride. Even as we moved everything into our new place, I didn’t join in on arguing over the rooms, just taking the one they gave me. It must’ve been out of pity, as it was the master bedroom, but all I could think of was how small I felt in such a large space. 

I silently carried my bags and boxes in, most of our belongings getting here a week before we did, and it was just sitting around the room, unpacked. I didn’t even unpack any clothes, still lying in what I threw on this morning before shoving the rest of my things into bags. 

I couldn’t do anything more than lie here, replaying that pained look on her face as I ignored her last wish of a goodbye. I know what I did was fucked, but to hurt her was going to make this easier. I was too focused on this dream to even think I could make this work without hurting her in the future. Days were going to get busier and I’d slowly drift away as my music became my number one priority. I couldn’t watch it happen over time. It needed to be said and done. 

So I laid here, staring at the plain white walls and ceiling, seeing her face in every after image. Silent words are hard to speak, but her thoughts were all I could see. “Don’t ever leave,” she said with the broken look in her eyes. It killed me, but I had to make it work. I had to leave her, despite every cell in my body being pulled back towards her.

Ever since the night I told her we were leaving, I could barely sleep a wink alone, but to fall asleep underneath the same sky again is out of the question, so I know I’d have to get used to it now. 

One day, we will start touring. Everyday, somewhere new. I want that to be a sense of comfort, knowing my dreams, but I can’t help but make a silent promise to come home soon. A chance to bring me back to her. When we both finally wake underneath the same sun again, I hope I don’t run into her, knowing time will stop and I’ll wish that I could rewind. But I can’t. As much as I wish I could’ve brought her with me and made her a part of my journey, I just knew, deep in my heart, that I had to ruin it before time did. I couldn’t make her stop her entire life just for me. I had dreams and so did she, and I couldn’t put mine above hers, no matter how badly I wanted to stay beside her.

PART TWO

[cognitiveoverload]

Rejection (Aaron Hotchner x reader)

summary: Being Hotch’s favorite is hard, but when he suddenly asks you out, you don’t really know if you’d like to make things harder for yourself.

tags: fem!tech analyst!reader

note: There will be more parts, not necessarily in chronological order. What do you think, what situations will they find themselves in? Send an ask with your idea, and let’s see what will happen.

At first, it was just a casual and genuinely innocent observation from Spencer. “Have you noticed that Hotch calls only you if he needs something?” he asked one day as he sat between you and Penelope in your little den.

But then this comment spread through the BAU like wildfire, making everyone think back of all the times their boss needed information, and look at that, they all remembered the same detail–it’s not just the fact he was always calling you, it was the fact he always called you by your first name.

And that’s how the constant teasing began. Derek, Emily, JJ and Penelope tormented you, with Spencer occasionally joining to spit out some facts about the both of you, while Rossi targeted Hotch as far as you knew. It was mortifying, really, but you got used to it.

What you still can't get used to is the change in your boss’ behavior. Recently he’s been different, although you can’t quite put a finger on what it is that changed. Sure, maybe he shows up a little more often in your office, strictly when Penelope isn’t around, and he brings you coffee when you’re working late or arrive a little too early as he does.

“How are you holding up?”

You turn your swivel chair around to look at Hotch, who’s standing in the door with an almost worried expression on his face. He sent Penelope home a few hours ago when a case affected her too much, and now apparently it was time for another wellness check in your little office. It’s hard to miss the way he’s flexing his fingers, a clear sign that he’s nervous, although you’re not a profiler, so you remain silent before you say something stupid.

Thinking about his question, you realize one thing. “It didn’t really affect me. Does this mean something’s wrong with me?” you ask him.

His lips part as he takes a shallow breath and thinks about what you just said. For a moment you think he’ll not give you an answer, but then he sits on the edge of your desk and watches you with a small smile. “It only means you’re tough. Look, you said, ‘It didn’t really affect me,’ which tells me it did affect you, just not as intensely as it did Garcia for example,” he explains kindly.

Nodding, you look down at your hands in your lap, but your gaze rises when he bumps his leg into your thigh. You expect him to say something, but Hotch remains silent, and he even acts like he didn’t do anything at all. There is one little thing that’s different, though. That barely visible smirk, the one you’ve all seen before.

Times like this it’s hard to comprehend the extremes in his behavior. He can act like this, so kind and supportive, but he can play rough too, especially when he loses control. And times like that, like a few days ago when he yelled at an agent who tried to take a case from him, you can’t help but think about how he could yell at you any time with you even thanking him.

Because, as pathetic as it might sound, an angry Hotch is simply irresistible. You probably have some issues that should be analyzed, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.

“I often wonder how you all can do this every single day. Penelope told me to brace myself when I arrived, but… It’s hard sometimes,” you admit quietly. “Yet, there are cases that don’t really make me feel anything. I can’t really wrap my head around that.”

His brown eyes soften in sync with his expression, and then his lips curl into a smile. “You’re a good person, never forget that. Not feeling anything might be your brain’s way of protecting you. Either way, if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me,” he tells you as he stands up.

You nod, then return to your computer once he’s heading to the door. But then the sound of footsteps suddenly dies, and when you turn around to see if he has just disappeared into thin air, you find him watching you with a thoughtful look. Your brows furrow in confusion, but you don’t say anything, you just wait for him to spit out whatever’s on his mind.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asks casually.

It seems like an innocent, regular question between co-workers. The members of the BAU often team up in pairs or bigger groups to grab something, even Hotch joins them for a drink in a bar or dinner in some restaurant nearby. But he has never, ever gone out to eat with someone alone. Maybe with Rossi, but that doesn’t count.

So, it’s no wonder you have to think about the offer. You would be on thin ice, the team already has a little too much fun with the fact Hotch is playing favorites with you. If you have dinner with him alone, they might think you’ve been in some secret relationship all along.

In the end, the rational–or maybe rather paranoid–side of your brain makes the final decision. “Thanks, but I’d rather go home after I finish this,” you say, pointing at your computer.

He nods, and you begin to think he’s about to leave, but then he gulps and takes a deep breath, as if he’s gathering the strength or courage to say whatever’s on his mind. “I have paperwork that can’t wait, but I can give you a ride home after I’m done,” he offers, and there’s a look in his eyes that you can’t quite identify.

“No need, I’ll be fine, but thanks anyway,” you tell him with a forced smile.

The last thing you need and want is Hotch taking you home. He means well, you know that, but you can’t risk being seen by someone who could easily start a rumor. The problem is, he’s almost as old as your dad, so people would talk about your nonexistent daddy issues, and he’s your boss, which would only make things worse.

So far the whole joke about being his favorite is something that stayed within the team, but if it gets out and reaches HR, you’re both done. You don’t want that, but not because of yourself. Hotch is ambitious, he’s insanely good at office politics, and if he wants to be promoted, he can’t be involved in such scandals.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the sigh that leaves his lips. He looks almost disappointed, which is something you don’t really understand, because you can’t remember anything that could be even remotely rude. What is his problem? Or is there something he wants to talk about, something he wants to get off his chest?

Before you know it, he closes the door and walks back to you. “I’ve been making offers, and you turn down each and every one of them without hesitation. Why?” You can’t help but give him a confused look, because you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. Well, you know, but why does it bother him? “Is it because we would be alone?”

“It’s just… Wouldn’t it be weird?” you ask.

He inhales and exhales slowly before he suddenly crouches in front of you. “Look, there is a chance it will be weird, yes, but why don’t we give it a shot to see, huh? Come on, just you and me. If you’re afraid someone we both know will see us, we can go somewhere away from the usual crowd.”

You tilt your head to the side as you watch him, observing the look in his eyes, the small smile that makes your heart melt, and you simply can’t get yourself to say no to him. “Why?” you ask, although you know the answer, you just want to hear him say it.

“I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you,” he says with a boyish smile.

Gulping, you nod. A date. Aaron Hotchner wants to go on a date with you. But he’s your boss, if you started a relationship, there would be the danger of the aftermath of a breakup. Would you really like to risk it? You love this job, you love this team, you love Penelope, losing them wouldn’t be worth it.

You lick your lips as you push your chair back to build some distance. “I really have to get back to work now, and I’m sure Jack would be happy if you got home before bedtime,” you say, even though it hurts to turn down the invitation.

Hotch lets out a disappointed sigh as he stands up. “If you change your mind… you know. Good night.”

“Good night.”

[mouldycakes]

"There is something wrong with the way that I am built. I... I can't, uh, I can't just enjoy happiness like regular people, you know? [...] every time something good happens in my life, I... I just I think of when it's gonna end. That's all I can think about." - Danny (S04 E19)

Original HERE.

I saw it on Twitter and wanted to have it and suffer over here ;_; Transcript of the whole conversation in 4x19 + some thoughts:

Steve: She's pretty.

Danny: What?

Steve: Amber. Can tell she really cares about you, too.

Danny: Yeah, I'll probably screw it up like I do everything else. Right? Not in my DNA to be happy.

Steve: I didn't mean that. That's not what I meant. (Earlier, Steve had said: "Danny, if she (Amber) was the same age as you, you would come up with a different excuse, whatever you need, because you can't be happy. It's impossible for you; it's not in your DNA.")

Danny: No, I'm officially agreeing with you. There is something wrong with the way that I am built. I.. I can't, uh I can't just enjoy happiness like regular people, you know?

Steve: You don't think you're being a little hard on yourself?

Danny: No, I don't. When I was a kid, my parents would go out to eat dinner. And if they were late coming home, I used to imagine that they died in a car wreck, just 'cause they were 15 minutes late. And I used to talk to God and beg him. I said, "Please just take my dad, not my mom." 'Cause I couldn't live without my mom. I mean, every time something good happens in my life, I... I just I think of when it's gonna end. That's all I can think about.

Steve: (seriously concerned) You for real?

Danny: Yeah.

Steve: That's not normal.

Danny: I know it's not normal. Listen to this. On my wedding day, I'm looking at Rachel, just about to say "I do." And all I can see is the day she's gonna serve me with divorce papers. No joke. And I... I don't know, man. The only sustained happiness I ever felt in my life so far is Grace. And, you know, it's just a matter of time before she turns 18, and then she's out the door and she marries some schmuck. I don't know.

Steve: (serious) You got to change, man. You can't live like that.

Danny: Well, I'd like very much to change. It's just not so simple, you know?

-- after losing Billy, Rick(kinda), Grace, Meka, Matt, all the stuff with Rachel and her mother, Gracie being taken away from him almost 3? times, being used as spare parts for Charlie -because if he hadn't been sick, Danny would have never known Charlie was his son and wow if that isn't a punch to the gut-, being there for his mother and sisters when they need something and then they just go 'kay thnx bye' and disappear, all the brushes with death Steve's had, plus his own, plus the stress of worrying about everyone, plus being kidnapped tortured shot and afterwards being basically abandoned by his best friend while barely out of hospital unable to walk unassisted I'm also mad Steve didn't answer his text or his last words wtf Steve?! , not to mention the casual way Danny talks about killing himself through the seasons... and I'm pretty sure I'm forgetting some stuff! man, Danny needs therapy ;_; (and I need to rewatch :D)

EDIT: HOLY SHIT I forgot about Reyes and Colombia, what did all that go - they beat the sht out of him and the guilt he had (and boy if that's not a nice starter for Danny whump... they could have probably done something else and not just beat him up...)

I have lost count also of how many people spell it Columbia and not Colombia in fanfics; un saludo pa' mis hermanos latinoamericanos.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Unspoken Boundaries

Marshall Mathers sat in his studio, earbuds in place as he played through some beats. His mind, however, wasn’t on his music. His thoughts kept drifting to her—Y/N. His wife. The one person who had always been his anchor, the calm in the storm that was his chaotic life.

She was a model—always had been—but this time was different. For the first time, she'd agreed to be in a music video. Just not his. Another rapper had offered her the role, and after years of turning down similar offers, she'd decided it was time to take the leap.

“Marsh, I’ve got something to tell you,” she had said earlier, her eyes filled with excitement.

“What’s up, babe?” He’d asked, looking up from his work.

She had been nervous. "I’m going to be in a music video. It’s for [Rapper's Name]."

Marshall had smiled, genuinely happy for her. She’d been working hard for years, building her career, and this was a huge opportunity. “That’s amazing, baby,” he’d said, wrapping her in a tight hug. “I’m proud of you.”

She’d smiled softly, but there was a glint of hesitation in her eyes. “It’s just... it’s not like what you’re used to. You know, I’ve never done something like this before. I just wanted you to know I’m doing it for me.”

“I get it,” he’d reassured her. “You’ve got this.”

But as the day of the shoot arrived, Marshall’s mind started to race. He kept thinking about her—his wife—being on set with someone else. He tried to push the thoughts down. She wasn’t just his wife; she was a professional, and this was a career move. Still, he couldn’t shake the discomfort that built in his chest as he imagined another man—another rapper—around her.

The day passed slowly. Every time his phone buzzed with another update from the set, his stomach tightened. He tried to ignore the gnawing feeling inside, but seeing pictures of her on set, looking so confident, so beautiful, made something stir in him. Then came the shot that did it—the shot. He saw the rapper’s hand on her waist. It was casual, nothing suggestive, but the image was enough to send a surge of jealousy coursing through his veins.

When she finally came home that night, Marshall was sitting in the living room, his hands restless on his lap as he tried to stay calm. He’d been pacing for hours, but when she walked through the door, he froze.

She stepped inside, looking tired but still glowing. Her eyes met his, and she hesitated for a moment.

“Hey, baby,” she said softly, her voice a mixture of exhaustion and warmth.

He didn’t reply right away. He couldn’t. His chest felt tight, his jealousy bubbling up again, but this time, it was different. This time, it was laced with something else—worry. “How’d it go?” he asked, his voice strained despite his efforts to keep it steady.

She shrugged off her jacket, running a hand through her hair. “It was good. I mean, it was fine, but...” She hesitated, biting her lip as if weighing how much to say.

Marshall’s mind raced, the image of the rapper’s hand on her waist flashing in his mind. “But what?” he asked, his voice low, almost too calm.

She paused, her gaze shifting toward the floor. “It just felt... weird, you know? He had his hand on me during some of the scenes, and it... I didn’t like it. I didn’t like being touched like that by someone else.”

Marshall’s heart dropped at her words. The jealousy, the worry—it all suddenly made sense. It wasn’t about the job. It was about her comfort, her boundaries. She had been in an uncomfortable situation, one that had nothing to do with the work itself but everything to do with what felt right for her.

He stepped toward her, his expression softening. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t realize—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I was being selfish. I just... I couldn’t stand the thought of someone else touching you.”

She smiled at him, a tired but affectionate smile. “It wasn’t that bad. It’s just... I never wanted to be in a position like that, you know? I’ve always kept my distance from that kind of thing. I didn’t expect to feel so... off about it.”

Marshall reached out and cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it now. I just... I hate the thought of anyone else having a piece of you, even if it’s just for a second. You’re mine. Always have been.”

Her eyes softened, and she leaned into his touch. “I know. And I’m still yours. But it was just... one of those things. I couldn’t do it, Marsh. I couldn’t let him get too close, even if it was for the job.”

Marshall’s chest swelled with relief, but a sudden thought crossed his mind—an idea he’d been too hesitant to voice before. “Then maybe... maybe it’s time for you to be in one of my videos.”

She looked at him, surprise flashing in her eyes. “What?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice firm but full of affection. “I want you in my video. You’ve been by my side through all of this, and I think it’s about time the world gets to see us together, the way it should be. I don’t want you to be in anyone else’s video unless it’s with me.”

[Y/N] smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing as she wrapped her arms around him. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, his voice warm. “I’ve been wanting it for so long. No one else should have that privilege.”

She kissed him then, her lips soft and tender against his. “I’d love to, Marsh. Let’s make it happen.”

Marshall felt a sense of relief flood through him, a peace that only came when she was near. He knew they were both in this together, and she wasn’t just his wife—she was his partner, his equal. No matter how many other men might try to get close to her, she would always come back to him.

And now, more than ever, he was determined to share that with the world.

[daddyissuesbecauseofhotch]

Daddy issues || #3

{masterlist}

There’s a knock on your door late in the morning, just as you are sipping the second mug of coffee of the day. A sigh escapes your lips as you close your laptop, not feeling like talking to anyone right now, but knowing full well it would be rude to pretend you’re not at home, especially since the music you’ve been listening to can probably be heard from outside.

You have a deadline tomorrow, and the goddamn wireframe is not done yet, there’s something that’s missing, you know that. Some results you needed for this only arrived late last night, and your boss didn’t give you much time to work on it. Your teammate promised to take a look at it tomorrow morning, so it had to be done and sent today.

But when you open the door, there’s no one in the hallway, not a single soul. And then you look down momentarily to find an envelope on the doormat with your name written on it. Strange, who would leave a handwritten note these days? In the end, you just shrug and pick it up before heading back inside.

“Dinner at six at our place, don’t be late. Jack wants to get to know you, and maybe we could watch a movie together. He also wants you to know there will be enough popcorn for all of us,” it says, and it’s signed by Aaron. But then your eyes move lower to find a postscript. “Okay, that’s all Jack could see, here’s the thing. I also want to get to know you, preferably after I put Jack to bed. There are topics I’d rather not discuss in front of him. And wear my hoodie, I’m begging you. Anyway, save my number just in case.”

Heat rises to your cheek when you finish the letter, and you automatically reach for your phone to save the number he included at the end. It’s ridiculous, really, but you can’t stop yourself. This man has you in a chokehold, even if you’ve only exchanged like a total of five sentences so far. Maybe you would say no under different circumstances, but this time it’s a cute little boy who insists on having you over, who are you to decline?

You return to the wireframe, but five minutes later your gaze shifts to the phone next to your laptop. You should send a text to him and his son to thank them for the invitation. Just one text, that’s all. It would be nothing more but a friendly gesture, a simple text from a neighbor. With a sigh, you pick up the device and lean back in the swivel chair.

You: Thank you for the invitation.

You: I’m your neighbor, by the way.

Aaron: I’m glad you got the letter. Does this mean you’ll come over?

You: Jack mentioned popcorn, how could I say no that?

Aaron: And what about me?

You: Haven’t decided yet.

Aaron: You’re such a tease.

Aaron: Will you wear my hoodie as I asked?

You: I’m thinking about wearing that with no pants under it, it’s almost as long as some of my dresses.

Aaron: Sweetheart, there will be an underage kid in the apartment.

Sweetheart? God, he doesn’t waste his time. Your stomach does a flip upon reading the pet name, and it’s hard to resist the urge to smile like an idiot. He’s an outrageous flirt. You’re fucked. That’s it.

You: Fine, I’ll wear yoga pants.

Aaron: Perfect.

Aaron: But I won’t complain if you take it off after Jack goes to bed.

You: Oh, you want to see me naked?

Aaron: I was only talking about the yoga pants, but if you insist, who am I to say no?

You: You’re unbelievable.

You: Alright, stop disturbing me, I have a deadline at work. See you tonight.

Aaron: Can’t wait.

[old-fandom]

Hello everyone. I have been inspired to talk about a new idea :)

I've been seeing a lot of the Axolotl with Stan comparison with Ford and Bill so I wanted to throw my hat into the ring of AUs. It's got a bit of a Steven Universe and The Last Unicorn twist in there but it's not huge.

Basically, it's like this.

Stanford was never meant to be a twin.

Stanley Mackerel was never meant to be human.

Axolotl and Mackerel are cut from the same cloth, they are both powerful cosmic beings, as there are others in their tight knit species. Mackerel takes on the shape and form of a, well, a Mackerel.

With them beings entities of time and space, they are aware of the possible threat Bill has on the planet Earth. Mackerel has an affinity for Earth and all of it's beings. Upon hearing (and knowing) this news, he is greatly affected by it. He understands, though, that not all hope is lost. A challenger, Stanford Pines, will come to Earth in due time but unfortunately, they do not see him succeeding against him in any timeline, at least on his own. The Mackerel realizes that Earth has no real chance of survival without interdimensional involvement, but as cosmic beings, they are forbidden.

So Mackerel sacrifices his deityship in place of becoming human, to be born next to their challenger. With a companion, Stanford would be protected and supported in a way that by himself, he would have never received. The others foresee that with Mackerel's involvement, Earth has a much greater chance of survival, almost 100%. But his sacrifice means cutting his connection to all of his powers, his memories, his relationships with the other, with his own self being.

By turning human, Mackerel will always be different than the others. Even when/if he returns, he will never be the same. He will be human.

But he does it.

So Stanley Pines, the unknown twin brother of Stanford Pines is born. He remembers nothing and yet, he knows that he love Stanford very much.

Stanley grows up as such, as Stanley. His body had never seen earth before, everything he did in this life time was for the very first time. Not reincarnated, not interlaced with his DNA, brand new. That's the reason why Stanley is a little slow to catch on to things and yet so invested in others, such as the sea, art, and Stanford. Stanley is truly a free spirit. Yet, despite having no memories of his past life, Stanley never strayed far from his original intentions, to love and protect the most important person around him, Stanford. This is the first time that Stanley had ever felt love, and it burned and yearned like a sun flare in his stomach. It was impossible for him to never love Stanford.

The AU continues as it does in canon with the fall out, with the drifting, with the portal, with the 30 years, with the niblings, with Weirdmagedan.

It's not until when Stan and Ford are on their boat does the Axolotl make their appearance. You see, once Stanley started regaining his memories, flashes of his life before were intercepting with his human memories. He never told Stanford because he didn't believe any of it meant anything other than a wild imagination. Until the Axolotl appeared.

It is there, on their boat in the sea, that it is revealed to Ford and Stan the truth of Stan's existence, his past, and his involvement with saving the world. The Axolotl apologizes to Stanley, saying they were meant to come collect him after Weirdmagen was over but got side tracked with Bill. This is where Ford learns that Bill is not dead but is being punished in another dimension without any powers and under a careful eye. But what dawns on Stanford the most is the collecting part.

To the Axolotl, Mackerel had completed his mission and it was time to come home now. To Stanford, they were taking his brother away from him all over again. And he couldn't stand by and watch it happen, watch him leave. He'd make a case, he'd cry, he'd beg, he'd fight for him.

But he didn't need to.

Mackerel and Stanley were now one in the same, not truly human but not truly Cosmic Being. He was alone. No other creature had ever done what he had, sacrificed and changed himself so completely the way he did. And now, with the truth in his hand, he decided the only thing to do.

Tell the Axolotl to get lost.

After all of his hard work, all of the things he experienced and gave up, the only thing he wanted now was to spend time with his twin. And if the Axolotl was telling the truth, that he truly did do all of those things, then didn't he deserve some fun, a vacation, a reward? If the Mackerel loved the world so much like Axolotl claimed as such, then shouldn't he be allowed to be in it for a while before he dies?

The Axolotl, a omniscient being, knew that this was how their conversation would go, just like how they knew in the moment Mackerel gave up his powers for humans. The Axolotl respected Mackerel's wishes but warned Stan that when he died, he will return to his original being while Stanford will stay on earth as both a human and a spirit, carefully being reincarnated as all humans do.

It's in that moment that Stanley proclaimed, "He's my brother. I love him. I won't leave him, not now, not in the future, no when we're dead and buried. And when he is reincarnated and I'm floating around space as a big ugly fish, don't be surprised when I ditch yall and reincarnate right next him just like this time. We're twin. Where ever we go, We go together!"

With that, the Axolotl leaves.

How this becomes Stancest is that kinda how Rose Quartz and Greg get together but subconsciously.

Mackerel loved Earth, loved people, loved all of the things that Earth was and is. Once reborn as Stanley, he couldn't help but love the being he was born with, the person that made survival a possibility for Earth. But he didn't remember that. All he knew was that he loved Stanford very much. And as time went on, some of these thoughts became incestious, which obviously caused some internal problems, but with time, he just added it to the pile of things that were weird with him. By the time he is on the ship with Stanford, he resigned himself to never have his love reciprocated romantically, but with the Axolotl's appearance and the world shattering news that he was actually a powerful cosmic being who chose Stanford and Earth, he threw caution to the wind. And with it, so did Stanford, who had always felt the same for Stanley.

With the reintroduction of his past life, Stan does recover lost memories from that time, even slowly being able to use some of his old powers in small amounts. However, this means that his body was also dying and letting some of his divinity seep through.

So as the story goes, the twins do eventually die. Stanley first, who does reappear as Mackerel and showing himself to Stanford (+ the niblings) and explaining that now that he remembered everything, he would keep his promise, to always be by his side, in this next life and beyond. Stanley followed Ford around, keeping him safe in the mean time, while also watching over his Niblings and their families. When it was time for Stanford to go, he followed.

And just as he promised, Stanley followed Stanford.

Because where ever they go, they go together.

[rinwellisathing]

Companion dialogues for my OCs part 1:

Father Ilya Barghest: Ilya: What brought you to your faith in your goddess, Gale? Gale: I suppose I hadn't thought about it, I've been connected to The Weave so thoroughly my whole life. Mystra is The Weave, and The Weave is a part of me. Ilya: I see! Back home in Rasheman our boys gifted with the weave are hidden from Mystra, mothers and fathers fear them attracting her eye. It is fascinating to see the difference here. ----

Shadowheart: I hope my faith won't be a problem for you, Ilmatari. Ilya: I judge my companions by actions, not words, Shadowheart. When I watch you I see a deeply feeling person with a softness towards children and animals. I think you are just petty sometimes, and really who among us is not? Besides, you have excellent taste in wine! Shadowheart: I....suppose I'll take the compliment.

---- Minsc: You are a quiet sort indeed, my holy friend! Ilya: O...Oh...y...yes, mister...um....I mean....Minsc, Sir! I...I simply don't wish to b...bother you. Minsc: Ha! It is no bother! Boo is fond of you and so too is Minsc! Ilya: O...oh! I'm...It's...it's an honor. Minsc: Eh...no, it is still a hamster.

Sentry Ojeda: Sentry: You know what? I think we've got this! We'll be rid of these tadpoles in no time! Wyll: Oh? I admire your confidence, Sentry, but what makes you say that? Sentry: Well, you know what they say! Where there's a 'Wyll' there's a way! Wyll: *stifled chuckle*

----- Shadowheart: People who stand in the middle of the path to read a map. Sentry: People who hang vapid artwork. Shadowheart: People who can afford better but serve cheap wine. Sentry: People who think the courtesan is in love with them. Shadowheart: Gods, you win. That's the worst. ---- Jaheira: Commander Ojeda was a good woman, if she saw your potential, I believe you have the power to resist Bhaal Sentry: I sure hope so. Hey...while we're talking, what was my mum like as a friend? Jaheira: Could drink a barbarian twice her size under the table, a sharp judge of character, and gods that woman was funny. The observations she made about the stuffy people we would work with.

Jaina Thalassia:

Shadowheart: Ugh...Selunite magic...that 'protection spell' is making my skin crawl. Jaina: It's almost slimy, isn't it? Wave Mother forgive me. ---- Jaina: So, Wyll, you were fond of mermaids as a child? Wyll: Yes, I always imagined meeting one in person. Still, I never imagined they'd be so beautiful. Jaina: Ha! Flatterer. Maybe some evening I'll show you my tail.... Wyll: O...Oh! Ah....ahem...

---- Lae'zel: You prove quite deadly in combat, teethling, not like your kin back at the grove. Jaina: I was raised on a pirate ship, Lae'zel, I'd imagine it's not too different from those Githyanki transports on the Astral Sea. Ah...also, tiefling. Astarion is the only 'teeth'ling.

[halfbaked00q]

#YES!!!! #honestly i was oversimplfying in the other post because i was hurrying to get it out before the train left the station and i lost wifi lolol #really my answer is more nuanced in that they are BOTH some flavor of dog all the time (bond is a dog who likes having orders and q is a #dog who has Something to Protect etc etc) #and sometimes they're both doing that and it's chill and sometimes bond is the cheetah and i Do think there are occasions on which q is #the cheetah. but it's a strange twisted up backwards sort of way #like hmm. how to describe the very specific vibe i have in my head #situation i was thinking of is specifically q has been Livestock Dog all day and in lots of different directions #because that's the thing right with q he has his flock but they're all over the world usually (q branch is also His but they're easier #because they're physically nearby as opposed to the agents that are out in th world in active danger) #and this stresses him tf out because he wants to be able to protect all of them and the nature of the job is #that he can't but he's Trying to in as many directions as he can #and i think in that specific flavor of situation bond would be the dog to his cheetah but with the added layer that bond is very much His #dog the whole time. and it works mostly by dint of bond's presence being calming in that Look Here's One (Your Favorite One) #He's Yours And He's Safe. take a breath and eat something and maybe delegate #i also enjoy q best when he us very in control of everything i just also enjoy it when this is simultaneously the source of problems for him #when situations appear in which it would be best for him to give the control up a little and he can't make himself do it because what if #something happens to his flock yknow #and in those situations bond would be the calming dog not in an in control calm dommy sort of way but in the exact other way. the subbiest #possible way. the look i'm here i'm doing well i'm yours put your teeth and your hands to my throat if you'd like sort of way #am i explaining this coherently? fuck if i know. i was napping two minutes ago and half of my brain still is (via @weidli)

No I think I get you lol it’s the like.. they are each others’ safe harbor/Home-ism of it all. Like one can’t be On all the time, they need a safe place to decompress & relax. (For me tho I personally like it more when the flavor is Q relaxes by being able to Take Care of Bond vs the like “he’s in control all the time so he needs to give up control to relax” – cuz like that’s not automatically true for everyone and also for me I think Q knows he isn’t in control all the time/he can’t control anything (if nothing else he got a Very Real lesson of that in Skyfall), whereas Bond is the one who almost compulsively HAS to be On all the time cuz if he isn’t On all the time in the field He Will Die. So being able to let go of control is more of a foreign concept to him and also a novelty and a marvel.)

But I do like the idea of Bond being a form of outlet for Q, it’s like… there’s so many variables out in the wild he can’t control, but with Bond this is a very tangible thing he can do. It’s like the idea of you may not be able to help the whole world, but you can help one person – or maybe like, you can’t adopt all of the dogs in need of a good home in the world, but you can make all of the difference to This One Specific Dog :P

But no I agree of like. Bond also being a calming/centering/grounding presence for Q in the like. Look, you are making a difference. You mean something – everything, even – to me. And it’s making all of the difference in the world.

(but yeah lmao also to expound on this even if idk if anyone actually wants me to- The reason I personally don’t favor Q as cheetah-coded is cuz I feel like cheetah-coding is like, Neuroses & Ambiguous Disorder-coding and I think if either of them is the Neurotic one, it’s Bond with all of his Ambiguous (and Unambiguous but Resolutely Undefined - if he doesn't Look At Them then surely they can't see him) Disorders. also Q gets assigned The Neurotic One a lot in fanon and I’m like, let’s shake it up, let Bond be the manic pixie dream girl disaster nightmare and Q be the Well Adjusted One (well, yk, the As Well Adjusted As One Working at MI6 Can Be one). Feels like very often even if they're like Q's just a normal guy he almost compulsively gets assigned a host of insecurities and etc. idk man he's kind of silly but I don't think this means he HAS to have a fundamental unsurety about himself. Let him be Confident perhaps even too much so but like clearly that's been/being tempered by Experience. Make his flaw be hubris not insecurity. Which is like not to say he doesn't also need gentleness & comfort & care & reassurance like I agreee I think as much as Bond can get a lot from Q, Q can get a lot from Bond. But yeah in more of a like. Yes even if I can't save the whole world, I can at least save him kind of way- which I think is what ur kind of getting at too maybe? <3)

meanwhile, Iiiii am marinating on the idea of Bond getting a handcrafted leather collar from Q (lovingly handcrafted, of course, by Q). it would be soooo good for him, it'd be like having Q's hand at his throat and on his nape all the time. it'd be a tangible sign that Q wants him and more importantly, wants to keep him. it would keep him soooo anchored and centered and grounded. it would be so so good for him and he would love it so much

[noumios]

i know no one is normal about the kavetham content but we need to address alhaitham saying "... do tell" at kaveh's rambling, asking questions, being interested.

and it is something stupid and unimportant, the wine cyno's group was drinking. it doesn't matter, they both know, but he's willing to ignore his book entirely for idle chatter with kaveh. he's asking kaveh to say more, and on top of it all he says it in that lilting, almost teasing way of his. i can't with him and his kaveh simping this scene. they didn't need to animate him looking at kaveh while reading, they didn't need to animate their smiles, they didn't need alhaitham to respond to every single thing kaveh says making it abundantly clear kaveh is way more interesting to him than his book, they didnt need to and YET

[al-luviec]

juvie buddies

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Baby Taylor's baby voice is so endearing and it's going to be bittersweet to "lose" that on the TVs, but I'm really excited to hear how they clean up (or not) the production on Debut. I mean I know they're going to make it as accurate as possible to the originals, but I mean in the actual sound mixing and stuff. Because I feel like this album could benefit the most from some of that! Which is not to say that the original is bad BECAUSE IT'S NOT, but I think there is subtle stuff they can do with the mixing/blending/instrumentals/treble/etc. to make it shine even more.