#it's loosely tied to the greek gods

[sillygoofyqueer]

ALL I WANT IS FOR SOMEONE, ANYONE, TO ASK ME ABOUT WHICH GODS I HEADCANON SOME OF THE WELL-KNOWN SANSES TO BE

[hotchscoffeecup]

“Power Struggle”

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: M

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.

Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals

“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.

“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”

Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”

“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.

Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”

“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”

“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”

“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.

You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”

“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”

A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”

“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”

An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.

“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.

“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.

“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”

His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.

You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”

You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”

You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”

Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”

Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.

Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.

As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.

His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.

After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”

An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.

“A bar?”

“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”

“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.

“How do you want to play this?” you ask.

“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”

You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.

“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.

You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”

A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”

As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”

Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.

“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”

A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.

It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.

“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”

Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”

Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.

As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.

Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.

After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.

“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.

Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.

“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.

The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.

“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.

He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.

Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”

His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”

You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”

“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”

You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”

Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.

“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”

He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.

“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”

“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”

“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.

“Got it, I’ll be right there.”

“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.

You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.

Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”

As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”

Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”

You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.

As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.

“Aaron.”

•

When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.

Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.

Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.

Hotch.

The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.

“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”

You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.

A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.

You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.

He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.

“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.

“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.

With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.

He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”

When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.

“She wakes,” he muses.

You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”

You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.

He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.

“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”

You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”

You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”

“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."

“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“To be my Hera.”

“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”

“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”

He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.

“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.

Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.

It never lands.

Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.

“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.

Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.

“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.

Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.

“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.

You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”

Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”

You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”

And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

•

A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.

“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”

You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”

The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”

Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.

As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.

Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.

“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.

Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”

You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.

You smile, “Garcia?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”

You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.

Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”

“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”

Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”

“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.

“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”

Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”

He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”

“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”

He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”

Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“

“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”

He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.

You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.

Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.

“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.

You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”

“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”

You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.

You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.

“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”

Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”

Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.

Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”

Morgan guffaws. “Months?”

Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”

“Safe to say the team knows.”

Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”

•

6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.

This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.

Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.

You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.

You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.

Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH

Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.

“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.

“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.

“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”

“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.

She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”

You sputter and choke on your coffee.

“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”

At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”

Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case

“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”

[seeingivy]

casual

suguru geto x f!reader

**loosely based on casual by my beloved chappell roan

—

in the three months that you spend with suguru geto, he leaves a sour taste in your mouth and it’s not only because he tastes like black coffee. and in the two months that follow, before your deeply unfortunate circumstantial reunion, the last five words that you uttered to him, the sentiment behind them, only seems to grow. 

you can go to hell. 

and it’s all you can think when he shows up to the emergency room – a pinkish sunburn across his nose, his hair messily tied back – and eyes dripping in a concern that fills you with a rage. and it’s a deep sigh that he gives you, before reaching for your hand. 

“what happened to you, peach?” 

--

the general education class that you choose to satisfy your values and ethics inquiry is the sociology of religion. counting all the stakes – a stellar review on rate my professors, a night class at the start of the week, and minimal homework – it makes for the most ideal choice. 

“so what’s your major?” 

the downside? the midterm and final project are group assignments. and on any other occasion, you would have appreciated it – getting to split the work, taking some of the load off and sharing the work with someone, except for the fact that you didn’t know anyone in the class – and for the most part, you were expecting some half-brained idiot that would make you do all the work. 

you suppose it’s at least fair that he’s not horrible to look at. in the dimmed lights of your apartment, there’s something almost off putting about your partner, suguru geto. you count seven piercings across his ears – dangling silver pieces almost shining in the glint of the light – and the smallest rim of purple around his eyes. harsh cheekbones, a hard jaw, and wrinkles by his eyes. 

“educational studies. what’s yours?” you state. 

“computer science.” 

you hum in response, filling the two glasses with water and snatching one of the peaches from its container before taking your seat across from him, noting that he has a dimple on the left side when he smiles in response to your gesture. 

“did you want some?” you ask, holding the peach in between the two of you. 

he shakes his head, slumping against the counter in what seems an almost unnatural pose – his long limbs spreading into the space underneath your chair. you wonder if he always had an unusual way of taking up space. 

and it seems that as time goes on, he gets more and more unusual. quietly working through the portions that you split up, except for a few deep breaths here and there, though he would stop once in a while and would almost ask for approval of what he had written, waiting for some confirmation from you that it was okay with you. 

“you’re comparing adam and eve to…orpheus? i’m not really familiar with that.” you state. 

suguru nods, before turning towards you to explain. his eyes waver in the slightest as he turns over to you, his gaze flitting down to your lips, before looking back up at you. 

“you don’t have to be polite. you really can have some if you want, it’s really sweet.” you state. 

suguru smiles. 

“maybe later.” 

you shrug. 

“so orpheus…” 

“it’s a really old greek myth. orpheus and eurydice. to kind boil it down, eurydice is in the underworld with hades. and orpheus is trying to convince hades to let her return to the mortal world, with him.” 

he scoots his chair a little bit closer to you and you’re able to note one thing – that there’s a resonance in his voice, that it hums in his chest when he talks. 

“hades tells him that he’ll let him take eurydice with him, but on one condition. she has to walk behind him.” 

“that’s not that hard.” 

suguru grins. 

“isn’t it?” he asks. 

you pause. 

“you’re being told by this big, all powerful god, that she’s walking behind you. but you can’t look. you wouldn’t even consider the fact that you were being fooled? that maybe she had decided not to follow?” 

“i mean, i guess. i don’t think it would really cross my mind, i…i think i’d just follow out all the way til the end because i’d kind of have faith if that’s what i was promised. and that she’d want to come with me too.”  

suguru pauses, like he’s almost taking in what you’ve said – like it’s the first time he’s heard it – and responds rather slowly. 

“you’re rather trusting, aren’t you?” 

you roll your eyes. 

“is that such a bad thing? what do you think about it?” 

suguru shrugs. 

“it was a worthless pursuit in the first place. there was no way that he wouldn’t have turned around and looked back.” 

“what do you mean?” 

“it’s simple. he loves her. if he hears something that deceives him – like the sound of her tripping over a rock – he doesn’t think. he looks back. if he thinks that she isn’t there, he won’t be able to get over it and he’ll turn around.”  

you pause, mulling the thought over. and you suppose it’s true – that if you really did love something, it would be almost impossible not to check for the promise of their presence. 

“i guess. so what? she goes back to the underworld?” 

“yeah. it’s one of the most tragic love stories.” 

“i guess it’s kind of romantic. that he loved her so much that he had to look back, like it was almost an instinct.” 

and in the split second that the two of you stare at each other, he leans forward, pressing his lips to yours, with the strong taste of coffee lingering on his lips. 

you’ve kissed three people before in your life – the boy you sat next to in the seventh grade, your date to the prom, and now suguru geto. 

the first was overwhelming. a quick locking of the lips, that at the time, made you nearly erupt into a puddle of butterflies. the second was lackluster. waxy from too much chapstick, abrupt from the fact that he was quick to shove his tongue in your mouth. 

and the third was indescribable. only because you could feel it – something lingering under his demeanor that you couldn’t exactly place. there wasn’t a word for the feeling it gave you – though there was one that was close enough. 

curiosity. about what that feeling is, about who suguru geto was, and why he felt so inclined to kiss you upon your third meeting. 

you wanted more of it. 

“you’re right, you know?” he murmurs, breath warm against your lips. 

“about being trusting?” 

he laughs. 

“no. about the peach. it really is sweet.” 

he leans back, eyes fixed on the reading in front of the two of you again, as you reach up to touch your lips, the sticky sweetness of the fruit gone from your skin. 

--

suguru comes around often after the fact. always here and there, an almost abrupt and concise text testing the waters. 

[suguru]: is your roommate home? 

[you]: nope. she’s at the district. 

[suguru]: can i keep you company?

[you]: okay! 

and he always arrives promptly twenty minutes after the fact, to the point where you wondered if he lingered around just to get there as fast as he could. and never empty handed – with dinner, dessert, or a flower that he plucked out of the cement in his hands. 

that was the thing that confused you about him. 

after the very first time you kissed, he had made one thing very clear. 

no attachments. you’re not together. 

but yet, he’d show up sometimes and do nothing but kiss your forehead and sleep in your bed next to you. or make you do something entirely mundane – like watch toy story three with a sheet of cookies in your oven – or watch you study. 

and in the two weeks you had known him, you knew better than to question. your curiosity never stopped you, but you found that you were always left with more questions than the vague answers that he gave you.  

“hey peach?” 

“yeah?” 

“your mom is calling.” 

you widen your eyes, immediately snatching the phone from him, and giving him a weary smile. and you side shuffle into the walkway between the laundry and your bedroom, pressing the phone to your ear and murmuring under your breath. 

“hi mom.” 

“hi doll. how are classes?” 

you pick at the loose thread of your sweater, nearly breaking the seams of the sleeve, noting suguru’s curious eyes – that he’s very poignantly trying to hide – from the kitchen. 

“they’re good, ma. what’s up?” 

“right. i’m so sorry to do this to you, my sweet, but i won’t be home when you get back.” 

“what?” 

“we’re going on a trip to see sheila in new york. and well, her vacation is only during those dates and we want to spend as much time with her as we can.” 

you sigh, the frustration tempering in yoru chest. 

“i already paid for the tickets. i saved up for a month trying to buy a flight back.” 

“darling, i know. i’m really sorry, but you know how it is. she just gets so stressed out that we just wanted to go out there and make her holiday nice.” 

“and what about my holiday? you don’t want me to have a nice christmas with my family?” 

you can feel it burning in your cheeks – that embarrassing feeling that’s been simmering in your chest since you were kid. a mix of an insurmountable amount of envy and dejection, from trying to vie for attention from the second that you realized you never had it. 

“don’t try to make me feel guilty.” she scolds 

“i’m not trying to make you feel guilty! i just wished you would have thought about me too.” 

you hear an irritated sigh on the end of the line, which is your first sign that you had made a mistake. because if there was one thing you knew how to do, it was push your mom’s buttons. 

you wonder if it’s because she sees herself in you – and that utter hatred that she has for herself was now placed on you instead. 

“do you always have to be so curt with me?” 

“i’m not being curt, i just…” 

“maybe when i die, you’ll think back and wished that you had appreciated me more. been more understanding that i’m not just your mother, i am someone’s friend too. that i have my own life. and that at the very least, my friends like to call me here and there. acknowledge me while you do god knows what wherever you are.” 

“okay, well, i –” 

“enjoy your christmas. we’ll see you in the spring.” she states. 

there’s a static on the other end of the line and you drop your phone, staring at the dark screen in your hands for the few seconds that follow. and you must have been standing there for too long, because a few minutes later quiet footsteps accompany you in the dimly lit hallway, suguru’s head obscuring the light from the bulb. 

“hi peach.” 

“did you hear all of that?” 

“no.” he responds. 

you look up at him and glare. and he reaches forward, hands soft on your cheek wiping away the wetness that you hadn’t noticed. you’re not sure when you started crying. 

he leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“you’re a liar. if you’re one thing, it’s nosy.” you respond. 

he smiles. 

“maybe when it comes to you. what happened, pretty girl?” 

you shake your head, his grabby hands coming around your waist as he presses you closer to his chest. you can hear his heart thumping against your ear, the metal of his necklace cold on your cheek, as you heave a sigh. 

“nothing.” 

“oh, come on, peach.” 

you look up at him, expectant and full brown eyes waiting for an answer, as you give in. 

“i just thought i would be going home next week for break. but i think i’m just going to stay here.” 

“because your parents are going to…” 

“see their friends in new york.” 

suguru frowns. you can’t tell if it’s pity in his eyes. 

“it’s not a big deal. i just was expecting to go home, that’s all. and it’s not that big of a deal that i’m going to stay here, the weather is nice and it’s probably frigid cold there.” 

suguru pauses. 

“you’re going to be here alone?” 

“yeah. my roommate is from the east coast.” 

“you should come home with me, for break.” 

you look up at him, eyes wide. 

“what?” 

“s’not that far from here, i usually just make the drive. there’s a nice coffee shop on the way that i always stop at for some energy. and my mom is really nice.” 

you shake your head, almost too violently. 

“i can’t just go home with you. i wouldn’t want to impose.” 

suguru pulls back, his fingers fast on the screen, as he murmurs under his breath, his voice uncharacteristically soft. 

“you’re not an imposition to me, peach. i can’t leave my baby here alone.” 

“sure. but to your parents, and…and staying rent free in your house.” 

suguru grins, handing over the phone to you, as you read the texts on the screen. 

[suguru]: can my friend come home with me for break? her name is y/n. 

[mom]: YES!!!!! 

[mom]: A GIRL! 

[suguru]: not like that

[suguru]: but she’s sweet 

[mom]: I’M GETTING EVERYTHING READY 

you look down at the phone, noting the sweet heart emoji that he has near her contact name, the contact photo a picture of the two of them when he was considerably younger, hugging cheek to cheek. 

“and i stay rent free in your apartment all the time.” 

“suguru, this is…weird. i can’t just come home with you, that’s…that’s too much.” 

he shakes his head. 

“it’s casual. we’re just friends, you’re just coming home with me for break so you won’t be here alone.” 

right. you’d almost be inclined to believe him – if it wasn’t for the fact that the time you spent around him, the more curious you got. 

the more that feeling festered in you, wanting to know anything and everything about him, wanting to crawl deep into his skin and memorize everything and make sense of why he was the way he was. 

“you promise?” 

“for sure.” 

--

“you’re a loser.” 

mei mei is never one to mince her words. and you’re grateful for it – because it’s something that you need when you return from your two weeks stay in long beach with suguru over the break. 

because despite the words that he told you, the ones that you didn’t really believe anyway, you come back in a worse state than you expected. 

you think you love him. 

because in the days of uninterrupted time that you spend together, you let your mind wander too far. because in the quiet moments that the two of you had – knee deep in the passenger seat outside the stupid coffee shop you stopped at, giggling in the bathroom when you went to dinner, and tangled in the bed sheets with him every night – you let yourself taste too much. 

let your mind run a little too wild. thinking about meeting his friends at the pier he showed you, of living together in an apartment in the following year. 

and the two of you teeter a dangerous line. putting each other as emergency contacts, swapping your wardrobe in between your flats, and showering together every morning – his soft hands massaging the shampoo into the roots of your hair.  

“don’t be mean.” you state. 

“i’m not being mean, i’m just saying that…” 

mei mei sighs, cheeks in her hand, with an almost irritating look in her eyes – wholeheartedly judgemental. she just didn’t get it. 

“look, he’s friends with todo. that guy i know from the finance club? and i asked around about him, apparently he loves to brag about how he gets girls off all the time. now either he’s talking about you – clearly not the way you talk about him – or he’s talking to someone else.” 

you sigh. because you can’t even put it past him. because in the months you had known him, he was impossible to understand. a futile effort to read. impossible to touch. 

“look, i’ll just ask him later.” 

and when he comes around your apartment, well after mei mei has left, he brings a slice of peach cobbler that his coworker insisted that he take home with him. 

“peach cobbler for my peach!” 

you wince. 

“that was corny. even for you.” 

“i saw an opportunity and i took it.” suguru responds, shrugging as he loops his arms around your waist, chin resting against the top of your head as he eyes the pot of boiling ramen on your stove. 

and you bite the bullet as fast as you can. 

“do you see other girls?” you ask. 

“huh?” 

you swallow hard, dry patch in your throat, as you feel the sweat tickling the top of your forehead. it’s from the heat of the stove. 

“do you see other girls? or guys?”

“no. do you?” 

you shake your head. and you’re unsure how to word the next question – because there was something humiliating, too bare about having to admit that you want more to him – when things were so sweet as they were. 

perhaps you should have known better. coffee was always bitter at the end. 

“why do you ask?”

you shrug. 

“dunno. was just thinking about us. and how we spent break together and all that.” 

suguru presses a kiss to your hairline. 

“yeah? did you have fun?” 

you hum in response. 

“yeah. i really liked the city. and your mom and your sister. it was really sweet of you to take me.” 

you pause, wincing as you decide to be as blunt as possible. 

“and i like you.” 

he laughs. 

“well, i like you too.” 

“no, no, i like you. well, i more than like you, but i…i can’t say those words.” 

there’s a silence. and his arms feel like loose limp noodles around you. and you realize now, that you made the wrong choice. you turn around, only to find hollow brown eyes staring at you, the makings of a frown on his face. 

“suguru?” 

he winces. 

“i can’t.” he whispers. 

“why not?” 

and you’re not sure what it is, but it throws him into a panic. with his facial features scrunched up, eyes hollow, and nervous hands running through his hair. 

“i just can’t.” 

you cross your hands over your chest, the bitter contempt of rejection blooming in your chest, as you look down, picking at the scab on the inside of your palms as you ask again. 

“i said i didn’t want any attachments.” he adds. 

“i know. but can you blame me for being confused? you took me home to see your family.” 

“as a friend.” 

“you didn’t act like my friend while we were there.” 

suguru groans. 

“and that’s my fault, i know that but –” 

that one stings. admitting that he regrets it. 

“okay, well. that’s alright. maybe you should leave now, then.” you state. 

“wait peach, no. i don’t want to leave, i just..” 

you scoff. 

“you don’t want to leave?” 

“no?” 

it comes out meek, almost timid when he utters it. a question. like he can’t even admit it fully – that he wants to stay. and it fills you with anger, searing red hot anger on the heels of being cast aside so nonchalantly, that it comes to a head then and there. 

“do you really think so little of me?” 

“what? 

“i’m not good enough to be your girlfriend. but whatever else you want, that’s fine. i…i thought you thought of me better than some girl you just fuck around with.” 

suguru sighs. 

“you’re not some girl i just fuck around with.” 

“am i not, though?” 

suguru shuts his eyes, the look on his face is so pained – so miserable – that it irritates you. 

“you’ve made it abundantly clear. that you like me a decent amount, but not enough to care about whether or not you’ll lose me.” 

you bite down so hard on your lip that the taste of metallic blood fills your mouth, coupled with warm tears in your eyes. 

“and for that, you can go to hell.” 

--

“what happened to you, peach?” 

you scoff, curling your nose at the old nickname, as he yanks the closest stool – his legs still too long to even be comfortable on the thing as he leans forward, noting the dried blood on your forehead. 

“a car accident. you can leave now.” 

suguru frowns, almost resembling a kicked dog, as he shakes his head. there’s something softer about his expressions now – something you’re sure is a byproduct of the time you spent apart or the fact that you have a broken rib – and you choose to ignore it for the time being. 

“i can’t just leave.” he whispers. 

“and why not?” 

suguru shakes his head. 

“you have a broken rib. and a deep cut on your forehead. forgive me if i’m concerned about you.” 

“i can’t. knowing you, you’ll casually linger around here for a few days, and when you figure it’s appropriate to leave, you’ll be gone with the wind.” 

the two of you sit there in silence, the harshness of the words hanging in the air between the two of you. 

and yet again, suguru geto leaves you with a never ending pit of curiosity. about what he was doing here, to ask how he is – to make it a note to him that his cheeks look fuller, that his eyes aren’t rimmed red anymore, and that he looks good. 

that you like the new hairstyle. that it killed you when he wasn’t around anymore. that you still want him to go to hell. 

suguru twists the silver ring on his pointer finger a few times – a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth – before you break the silence, your curiosity getting the best of you another time. 

“why are you here?” 

“they called me. i’m your emergency contact still.” 

“no, i gathered that. why are you here?” 

suguru pauses, swallowing hard before responding. 

“if orpheus hears something that deceives him – like the sound of eurydice tripping over a rock – he doesn’t think. he looks back.” suguru states. 

you scoff. vague again. 

“right.” 

“no, really. i got the call. and i didn’t think and just showed up. i just…just had to see you.” suguru states. 

he pauses. 

“it’s kind of romantic, don’t you think? that he loved her so much that he had to look back, like it was almost an instinct.”

you turn to glare at him, at the audacity of him repeating your own stupid words back to you. 

“is it? because his carelessness left her in hell with hades.” 

suguru scoffs. 

“i never did tell you the end of the story, did i?” 

you roll your eyes. 

“orpheus becomes so distraught that he uses his lyre to charm death – just so that he can return to the underworld to be with her. and people debate how it happens, him being ripped apart by irate women or getting killed by the menades, but it does happen. he dies and goes to the underworld. and in some versions, people think that he reunites with her in the underworld. and she forgives him.” 

“and why would she do that?” you ask. 

“because he tried his best to do right by her. he was asked to do one thing – to stay away. and that’s what he did, because…because i know you’re right. because you do deserve better, i do think the world of you and think you deserve to be with someone who wants to be with you, the way that you want.” 

suguru pauses. 

“it’s not my fault that i can’t help but look back. i can’t do anything about the fact that i love you.” 

you swallow hard, an embarrassing amount of regret – mixed in with that deep longing that he left in your chest – searing through you. 

“in the casual way, right?” you respond, sarcastically. 

he groans. 

“it’s not casual at all. it wasn’t casual when i leaned forward to taste the sweetness of the peach on your lips – especially when i fucking hate peaches. and it wasn’t casual when i took you home with me, it was…i just couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone. and it’s not fucking casual that i drove three hours when i was supposed to be home this weekend just because i the thought of you sitting in this room alone, in pain, was driving me crazy.” 

you wince, turning to look at him. and it seems that in the mere acknowledgement of his presence by locking his eyes, it seems to fill him with something – something that puts the whisper of a smile on his face. 

“what?” 

“i turned around for you. i didn’t know i would, but now that i have, i…i realize that i probably always would have.” 

“okay?” you whisper. 

“are you going to forgive me for it? not doing it earlier, for…for not getting it right the first time?” he asks. 

you pause, mulling the thought over. and the silence, he takes it as an invitation to plead his case. 

“i’ll beg. i’ll get on my hands and knees if that’ll do something to make it better.” 

you turn to look at him. 

“you…you’re special. i haven’t forgotten about you and…and i know we had something. just let me fix it? i’ll get you a hundred gifts, i’ll tell you a hundred times and i’ll - oh!’ 

he reaches into his bag, shoving his arms into the depths of the pockets, before yanking out a little napkin and reaching forward, opening your hand and placing it in your palm. 

“a tissue?”

“open it.” 

and you oblige, unfolding the tissue to see four little gummy peach rings in the napkin, before turning back to him. 

“peach rings?” 

“for my peach! i eat them all the time now, even though i fucking hate peaches. i only had a few left so i grabbed what i had left when i ran out. and i ate some on the way on accident because i was nervous, worried about you and all..” 

you look down, the sugary crystals on the candy almost sparking in the light, as you look back at him. and he's wholeheartedly different - not the cool, cold guy you left behind, but a weird mess of awkwardness and jitters, and maybe even the tiniest hint of desperation.

he seems wholeheartedly more touchable this way.

“you make no sense.” you state.

suguru frowns. 

“i know. but i’m trying.” he responds. 

and you sigh, wiping your hands at your side, before eating one of the candies. bitter at first, but sweet at the end. 

“suppose that’s my problem then. i’ll have to figure you out.” you respond. 

suguru’s face splits into a smile, his motions so eager as he leans over the railing of the bed, the angle entirely off as he leans forward to kiss you. and it’s entirely different from every other time you’ve kissed him – full and whole, a warm and tender promise behind it. 

“you’re wrong, you know?” you whisper. 

“about what?” he murmurs. 

“the peaches. they taste good.” 

he laughs. 

“is that right?” he whispers, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips, as he wavers his eyes up again, to the cut on your forehead. 

he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the bandages, before pulling back, lips lingering over yours. 

“i think i need one more to decide.”

--

an: idk.

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea  @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @timmytimmytuckyy @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga @skunabby @meisque @hoseokslefteyebrow @yoontaedotin

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-BANG CHAN

A loose retelling of Hades and Persephone-modernized and darker than before, but beautiful all the same.

A/N: I'm not happy with this. But you guys can have it anyway.

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, Bang Chan, Chan, Christopher, Christopher Bang, Y/N, Femreader, Chan as Hades, Y/N as Persephone, Underworld, Greek Mythology, Hades and Persephone, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Chan x you, Chan x reader, Chan x y/n, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, Other members make guest appearances as various Greek gods, Greek Gods

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst

Warnings: Underworld Shit, Dark Undertones, Underhanded God and Mortal shit and dealings, Death, Dying, Triggering Themes, Toxic Relationships (not main characters), Chan's fucking in love with reader to the point of obsession.

Playlist:

🌸I’ll Be Damned-Gavn

🌸Seven Nation Army-Stevie Howie

🌸Call Me-ShineDown

🌸Granite-Sleep Token

🌸Say Don't Go (Taylor's Version)-Taylor Swift

Title: Every Last Seed

He goes by many names.

He always has.

Hades.

Ploutos.

King of the Underworld.

God of the Dead.

Bringer of Death.

Lord of Darkness.

But by far, his favorite name is the one that only you are allowed, dripping from your lips, soft and sweet, like honey, like a deadly nectar he's become addicted to-

Mine.

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"Where the fuck is he?" Chan storms through the door to his office, terrifying the wraith he employs as his secretary, her throat jumping with a gulp, as she straightens her glasses, and clasps her clipboard to her opaque chest.

"Ah, sir, I was just asking his Lordship if he'd prefer tea or coffee-"

"No need." Chan growls, not even bothering to look in her direction. "He won't be staying."

Hyunjin grins from his position behind Chan's overly large desk, his feet planted directly in the middle of some important treaties Chan had been working on the day before for some particularly pesky mortals.

"Ah, is that any way to treat your baby brother, Channie?"

His given name. The only ones who dare call him by that name are his brothers and you.

Everyone else just refers to him by the name the mortals gifted him when he became God of the Dead eons ago-Hades.

Chan stalks toward his brother's reclined form and promptly shoves his feet off the desk with a little bit more force than necessary.

"The perfect way, actually. Especially when said brother is impeaching on my very valuable and limited time, uninvited, I might add."

Hyunjin sniffs, straightening the highly expensive baby blue suit he wears, and plants his feet firmly on the ground, swiveling in Chan's chair to face him.

He tucks a strand of his golden hair back behind his ear and levels Chan with a self important look that makes him grind his teeth in agitation.

"Fine. You obviously want me to get straight to the point, so I will."

Chan feels a muscle tick in his jaw as he taps his foot impatiently, motioning with his hand for the man before him to continue.

"Great. What is it?"

Hyunjin sighs, making a show of straightening the crown on his brow, and then he gives Chan a grimace which he tries to soften with a halfhearted smile that Chan sees through immediately.

It makes his clench his fingers into fists at his side.

"How's the new little wife, hm, big brother? Satisfactory, I presume?"

Chan feels himself prickle at the mention of you, but he keeps his expression unreadable, dark, as he stares back at his clearly prodding brother.

"Fine. Anything else? Or did you travel all the way here and risk your wife's wrath just to ask me how my honeymoon was?"

Hyunjin blanches at the mention of Hera, and clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable now in the face of Chan's obvious ire.

"Yes, well-" He stands up, planting his hands flat on Chan's desk and leaning toward him, as if to appear intimidating.

Chan wants to laugh at the pathetic display.

"-there's been a problem. I'm sure you've noticed the influx of extra souls ever since you uh, tied the knot, without her mother's permission?"

He fidgets nervously under Chan's unwavering, blank stare.

Tugging at the collar of his expensive suit once more, Chan watches as his younger brother, the supposed God of the Gods, seems to wilt under his penetrating gaze.

Finally, he sighs heavily, and seems to implore Chan to give him something, anything, he can work with.

"Her mother's fucking pissed with you, Channie, all right? I'll just come out and say it. I need you to fix this."

Chan remains unmoving, stoic, in the face of his brother's obvious plea.

After another moment of silence, Hyunjin throws his hands outward and exclaims with obvious exasperation, "C'mon, help me out here. Lord knows I've helped you in the past when you asked."

Chan arches a brow. "Helped me?"

His voice is flat, cold, deadly, and Hyunjin winces subtly.

"Okay, listen-" He holds up his hands, as if the weak gesture of peace will stop Chan's building fury. "-you know the delicate balance we have between the mortals. We worked decades for that, and if Demeter keeps fucking offing them left and right, just to spite and overwork you, and the Underworld, we're gonna have a much bigger fucking problem on our hands than a petty little feud between you and your recently acquired mother in law."

Chan hates to admit it, but Hyunjin's right, as much as it pains him to agree.

Fucking Demeter and the chip on her shoulder toward him.

God forbid, her perfect, innocent, naive daughter-the goddess of Spring-fall in love with someone as twisted and dark and wicked as Chan-god of the dead and ruler of the Underworld.

No, the Goddess of Harvest was not bound to let this go lightly, and it seemed he needed to put a stop to this before it ever really began.

A few extra mortal souls on his workload was nothing really, but if she even thought about dissuading you-

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose and screws his eyes shut. He can feel a headache building.

"Fine." He grits out, and he can practically hear Hyunjin breathe a sigh of relief. "I'll handle it."

Ignoring his brother and his babbled platitudes of thanks, he steps toward the window and looks down over the city below, flickering to life beneath the coming darkness.

"But know this-" He turns and levels Hyunjin with a dangerous, black gaze. "-if I even hear a whisper of you and Demeter's little foolish escapades putting my wife in danger, I will end you both without a second thought and with one snap of my fingers."

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He still remembered the first time he ever laid eyes on you. How could he forget?

Attending one of his younger brothers garish and old fashioned parties-he'd thought they'd stopped doing these kinds of things centuries ago-he'd been dragged over to rub shoulders with some of the greats, one stiff tuxedo away from going the fuck home where he belonged.

And then, he'd seen you, hidden in Demeter's shadow- though nothing could truly hide your exquisite and rare beauty, not even your mother's sour, pinched expression-and his feet had moved toward you without permission, as if drawn by an invisible thread of fate.

Your mother had looked at him as he approached with such disdain it would've set him on fire had he not been a god, but he'd ignored her, striding boldly forward through the party goers until he stood directly in front of you.

"Hades." Demeter had hissed in greeting, dark hatred flashing in her eyes as she'd put a protective arm out in front of you.

You stared up at him with the biggest, most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, and extended one slender, soft hand out toward him, breaching the threshold of your mother's protection without a second thought, as if you could feel the tug of the persistent string too.

"Persephone." You had whispered, than blushed, your cheeks going red, as his fingers found yours. "Or Kore. O-or (Y/N). Whatever is to your liking, your highness."

Your hand was like velvet-warm and silky in his own-and his fingers dwarfed yours, making them feel delicate and almost fragile in his grip.

"I know who you are, Goddess of Spring." He had replied, with far more confidence in his low tone than his quivering gut felt in the moment.

Your expression had flashed surprise at his words, and you glanced away under his direct gaze, red, full lips parted, cheeks taking on an even deeper hue of scarlet.

The look of sudden shy demureness on your features intoxicated him, and his dick immediately took notice.

"I am honored that one such as yourself, your highness, has taken notice of me already."

He had cleared his throat, subtly adjusting himself in his too expensive slacks-some high end shit Hyunjin had insisted he wear-at the soft tone of pleasure your voice took on at his attention, and finally, reluctantly released your hand, even as Demeter ushered you back behind her looming form.

"We really must be going." Her expression went from pinched to furious as his eyes lingered on you just a bit longer than necessary. She ushered you away. "Say goodbye, Kore."

"Goodbye." You had murmured, eyes flitting up to his briefly, before you let your mother lead you away and out of his sight.

Chan took his leave shortly after, giving Hyunjin some bullshit excuse of the Underworld not running itself, and had hightailed it home, his skin itching beneath the ridiculous suit he wore, and his hard-on aching for a release.

That night, he came with his cock in hand, and your name on his lips.

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He arrives home to find you in the garden, kneeling in the dirt, fingers dug deep into the soil.

It's a common occurrence, a sight he's grown used to, but he still pauses, watching you silently for a few moments, enjoying the way your hair falls around your face, the way the curves of your body are accentuated against the early evening light.

Cerberus notices him first, raising his giant, blocky head from his paws where he lays beside you next to the garden plot, ears erect. His thick tail thumps the ground-once, twice-at the sight of Chan and you glance up, following the dog's gaze.

Chan steps from the shadows, and the most gorgeous smile he's ever seen graces your features as soon as you catch sight of him.

It takes his breath away, and as you stand, brushing the dirt from the dress you wear, he thinks, not for the first time, that you're the most fucking beautiful thing he's ever had the pleasure of calling his own.

"Channie." You breathe sweetly, throwing your arms around his neck as he draws closer, burying your face in the juncture of his throat. "You're home."

"I am." He agrees, wrapping you tightly in his embrace, taking a moment to let his nose skim your hair, the smell of blossoms and springtime filling his senses.

You pull back, just enough to gaze up at him, and he lets his finger go beneath your chin, holding you there, so he can study and memorize, once again, every single intoxicating line of your features.

Your lips quirk into the start of a smile, as if you know what he's doing, but you don't say anything.

He's grateful for that.

"Did you have a good day?" You ask softly, your breath warm on his fingers, as he traces the part of your full, soft lips.

"Eh." He lifts one shoulder into a shrug and lets it fall back down heavily. "Not as good a day as I would've had staying here with you, little blossom."

You arch a brow, and he sees it, the stubborn expression wash across your face that lets him know you know he's trying to deflect.

You put your hands on your hips and stare him down, and he resists the urge to lean forward and kiss the tip of your nose.

Fuck, you're adorable.

"I heard Zeus came to see you."

"Is that so?" He questions, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as he watches you hold your ground.

He leans forward, fingering one of the loose strands of hair that frames your face, before he lets his gaze dip to your throat, the golden chain you always wear dipping tantalizingly out of his line of sight where it disappears between the swell of your breasts.

"You're correct." He acquiesces, his fingers itching now to reach up and tug the chain free, so he can dangle the wedding ring he knows lies safely between your breasts between the two of you, just so he can remind himself who you belong to once more.

His dick swells at the thought.

He clears his throat, and brings his gaze reluctantly up to meet yours once more, noting the dark flash of stubbornness that washes across your eyes.

"However." He smirks now, stepping closer, letting his hand gently close around your throat, your pulse thready beneath his palm, like a fluttering bird beating against the bars of a cage. "I don't really want to talk about my brother right now, do you?"

He leans forward, and begins to suck kisses along the column of your throat, and you giggle, batting him away and stepping back before he can distract you further.

"Channie." You whine, putting your hands once again on the swell of your hips, and he thinks, not for the first time, that your delicious curves are going to be the death of him one day. "I'm serious."

He sighs, and tries to ignore the hardness of his eager dick between his thighs, knowing you're not going to let him off the hook-or let him fuck you dumb-until he's told you what Hyunjin wanted.

"Fine." He sighs again, and drops onto one of the many benches he had had installed in the garden solely for the purpose of watching you do what you love most.

You step toward him, and he opens his legs so you can slide between them, putting your hands on his shoulders as his fingers find your hips through the thin material of your dress.

"Tell me." You insist, staring down at him and Chan tilts his head back to look at you, arching a brow at your commanding tone.

"Goddess of Spring, are you really telling the Lord of the Underworld what to do?"

An amused smirk flickers across his lips at the look of exasperation that crosses your features.

You stick your tongue out at him, and he chuckles, tugging you to him. You protest a little, but let him do it anyway, burying his face into your stomach, the soft feel of your dress caressing his skin.

He breathes in your perfume, once, twice, and then leans back, meeting your gaze.

"Your mother is throwing a little temper tantrum it seems."

Your eyes widen minutely, and Chan sees your lips flatten into a determined, serious line.

"Because of our marriage?"

Chan gives a slight nod. "It would seem so."

One of your hands clenches into a tight, white knuckled fist at your side, and your chest stutters with a sharp intake of breath.

Beyond your shoulder, a vine springs to life, fraught with large thorns, curling around a nearby tree, up and up, tight enough to strangle the bark beneath its hold.

Cerberus raises his head, scenting the sudden unease in the air, and lets out a small whine.

You take in a deep breath, and the vine begins to slowly retract its hold on the tree.

"Little blossom." Chan murmurs, tugging you down onto his lap, and encircling you in the safety of his arms, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "It's nothing to worry about, I promise you. I'll handle it."

He feels you shake your head beneath his chin.

"You shouldn't have to handle it. She's my mother. I need to stand up to her."

Chan glances beyond you as Cerberus whines again, and sees the vine's thorns growing dangerously long with your distress, piercing through the trunk of the tree, cracking the bark into splinters.

"Pet." Chan warns quietly, nudging your chin in the direction of the destruction. "Take a deep breath."

You gasp, and let the air out on a long, shuddering breath, and the vine halts its upward progress almost instantly as you collapse against Chan, slumping into his chest.

He can hear the tears in your voice when you whisper, "I'm sorry."

His finger finds your chin again, and he raises your watery gaze to his own.

"Never, and I mean never, apologize for the power you hold, my love. For it will bring gods and mortals alike to their knees, and one day, when they all pass beyond this life, you will be known as their queen."

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"You know, it's usually easier to get into the palace through the front door."

The unfamiliar, male voice startled you and you lost your hold on the branch you were currently coaxing toward the palace wall, snatching it up again with a curse just in time to stop yourself from tumbling all the way back to the ground below.

"Fuck." You glared over your shoulder, down to the newcomer, but could only make out a tall, dark silhouette, cloaked in a hood.

The man tilted his head, as if he was looking up at you, and you swore you could feel his smirk even through the darkness.

"Yes, thank you for the advice." You snapped back with a huff, already reaching out for the next branch as your magic grew it down toward your outstretched fingers. "But I think I'll stick with this."

"Suit yourself, little blossom." The mystery man leaned against the thick trunk of the tree, and crossed his arms over his chest, staring out at gods knows what.

You paused, catching your breath, and glared down at him, even though you're sure he can't see you.

"Don't call me that."

You saw his chest rise and fall in a silent laugh. "Why?"

"Because." You huffed, reaching for another branch, out of breath as you work around the gods awful gown your mother had insisted you wear to visit Olympus. "I don't know you."

"Oh, but I think you do."

You paused to consider his words, racking your brain for anyone you knew in Olympus well enough to give you a nickname, and came up with no one. Your mother didn't let you visit often from the mortal realm.

"I don't." You insisted, standing up on your tiptoes to try and reach the top ledge of the wall.

You heard the man chuckle again as you stretched-up, up, up-and just as your fingers had grazed the cool marble, your foot slipped off its hold on the branch below, and you tumbled, shrieking, back down through the tree and toward the hard ground.

You closed your eyes, waiting for the impact, but it never came.

Cracking open one eye, you stared straight into the face of the mystery man, safe in the warm, strong curve of his arms.

His hood had fallen back in the act of catching you, and your eyes widened as you recognized the handsome face before you.

Fucking. Hades.

Brother of Zeus.

God of the Dead.

He grinned at you, and arched a brow, reiterating softly, "But you do."

Your heart did one sharp staccato against your ribcage, as he set you carefully to your feet, and stepped back, and almost instantly, you missed the warmth of his skin against your own.

"Thank you for saving me." You stuttered out, curtsying deeply, now that you had your wits about you.

He chuckled, staring at you as you straightened back up, and you hoped it was dark enough to hide the blush staining your cheeks.

"Oh, I have no worries that if I wasn't here, little blossom, you would have saved yourself."

He motioned upward with a jut of his chin, and you followed his gaze to the tree, gasping as you saw a thick, dark green vine wrapped around its bulbous trunk, stretching down from the palace wall and to the ground below, curling around your feet.

When you glanced back to the man before you, he was already pulling his hood back up over his face, ready to disappear back into the blackness.

"Wait!" You called out before you could think better of it, and he stopped, cocking his head.

You swallowed hard, and took a step toward him.

"Will I see you again, your highness?"

You swore he smiled beneath the hood.

"Call it what you will, Goddess of Spring-fate, destiny, the will of the gods-but I think you and I will be seeing each other again very soon. Very soon indeed."

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"You can't have her, you know."

Changbin took another long sip of his drink, cheeks already rosy, and followed Chan's hungry gaze across the room to you, standing close by your mother's side.

He simply shrugged when Chan turned to shoot him a glare.

"Her mother would never allow it. She hates your fucking guts. Not to mention-" He leaned over and lowered his voice, as if he was telling Chan a secret. He could smell the liqueur on the younger god's breath. "-the whole 'Underworld Ruling' thing."

Chan is saved from having to respond by the appearance of Minho, flute of champagne in hand, look of annoyed disgust on his face, as he slid past the hulking god beside Chan and took a seat on the duvet across from them.

His brother glanced dismissively at Chanbin, leaning back to take another long swallow of his drink.

"Nephew."

Changbin grinned and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"Uncle."

Minho arched a brow and his nose wrinkled slightly in open distaste. "Do you ever not wear armor?"

Changbin grinned bigger, and slapped a loud palm to the armor fitted perfectly to his broad chest.

"Of course not! I'm the God of War. Always have to be ready for anything, Uncle. You know how it is."

"I'm sure I don't." Minho sniffed, raising his champagne delicately to his lips, and taking a tiny sip. "The Ocean does not concern itself with the dealings of mortals. Let alone their trivial pursuits of war."

Changbin merely shrugged, and stood, slapping a powerful hand to Chan's shoulder, which sent him jolting forward in his seat, rubbing his offended arm and glaring up once more at the towering figure of his nephew.

"I'm off to find another drink. And maybe a few maidens." Changbin announced, giving Minho a mock salute, as the man stared him down with annoyed disdain. "Take care, uncles."

And with that, he was gone.

Minho's gaze flitted to Chan, and he took another long, slow sip of his drink.

Chan felt his eyes unwittingly pulled back to the other side of the room, but you had disappeared from view, probably dragged off by your mother for more introductions.

"I'm surprised you came."

Chan let his gaze drift back to his brother across from him, and offered him a tilt of his head in acknowledgement, reaching for his own glass of forgotten champagne.

"Yes, well, that makes both of us. I'd hoped to not find myself at another one of these damned archaic, presumptuous affairs for another eon or so."

The corner of Minho's lip flickered with amusement, and his eyes roamed past Chan to the dozens of gods and demi gods currently mingling on the expanse of Hyunjin's vast dance floor.

"Our baby brother is good for very few things, and throwing amusing soirees is indeed not one of them."

Chan felt his own lips quirk into the hint of a smirk, and he raised his glass to Minho in silent salute.

Minho tilts his own champagne in response, and they both take a deep draft of the shimmering, bubbly liquid.

His brothers were hard to tolerate on the best of days, but he'd always felt like Minho understood him just a little bit more than Hyunjin ever had.

Standing, Chan places down the now empty glass and nods to Minho in farewell.

"I've made an appearance. Now it's time to take my leave."

Minho watched him in silence for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, and then with a flick of his fingers, he filled Chan's empty glass back up with water.

Chan stared at him, and he arched a brow.

"Drink some water before you go, brother. It'll help with the hangover tomorrow."

He sighed, reaching for the glass, and downed the water in one gulp.

"There. Happy?"

Minho's mouth flickered again. "Almost." He cocked his head, and let his gaze roam over Chan's body, as if he could see the way his muscles tensed, the way his mind swirled, already thinking about running into you on his way out.

When Chan went to move past him, Minho put an arm out, stopping him in his tracks.

"Careful, brother." Minho murmured, eyes dark and discerning, trapping him in place. "Interest is a fickle, fleeting thing, but obsession is fatal."

There was a beat of tense, deafening silence, Minho staring at him like he could see right through him.

Chan shook his head, and broke the spell.

"Thanks for the advice." Chan grunted, pushing past him without another glance, stalking toward the exit, not caring as he shouldered past the partygoers, earning himself a round of nasty looks.

The cold night air of Olympus embraced him as he pushed through the double doors and into the opulent garden beyond.

Unlike the swirling colors and lights and noise of the party inside, the garden was deserted at this time of night-dark and quiet and abandoned-just how he liked it.

Taking in a deep breath, holding it as the frigid air seared his lungs, Chan strode deeper into the garden, walking between the towering, shadowy rows of hedges, clearing his head.

The music had almost faded out of ear shot, when he heard it-a small, unfamiliar sound that immediately caught his attention.

He paused, freezing, and listening.

There it was again, just around the next bend, somewhere near the center of the hedge maze, beside the fountain he knew graced the large stone courtyard lined with benches hidden amongst the neatly trimmed foliage.

Taking another quiet step so he could round the corner, he heard it once more.

It almost sounded like-a gasp?

Chan came around the hedge quietly, on full alert, his footsteps silent, and as the fountain came into view, he caught sight of a figure leaning back on one of its edges on the other side, obscured through the haze of the water.

Another creeping step forward, still hidden by the shadows of the bushes, and the person came into view.

It was you-sitting on the marble edge of the fountain, dress hiked up around your knees, leaning forward as you focused on something intently.

Chan narrowed his eyes, trying to see what it was you were doing, and when he realized, as another little breathy moan left your lips and your wrist spasmed, he halted, feet suddenly leaden.

Gods above, you were touching yourself.

He should move, he should announce his presence, he should leave, he shouldn't be watching you in this very private, very vulnerable moment, but he can't seem to get himself to break the spell, watching you silently from the shadows of the hedge as you pleasure yourself.

You let out that sound again-a breathless sort of stifled release of breath-and Chan felt his dick start to swell in response, straining against the fine fabric of the slacks he wore.

You let your head fall back, eyes screwed closed, lips parted, as your fingers continue their work, and Chan's eyes are drawn to the way your chest heaves for breath, the perfect swell of your breasts straining against the corset you wear.

Suddenly, he can move again.

Stepping quietly from the shadows, he approached, moving to stand in front of you, and as if you could sense his sudden presence, his eyes on you, your eyelids fluttered open, your mouth forming a perfect 'o' of surprise as you caught sight of him.

"Y-your highness-" You stuttered out, cheeks immediately blooming pink, and Chan was enthralled by the way the rosy color spread rapidly down your chest.

You made a move to remove your fingers, tugging at your billowing skirts, but Chan held up a hand, his eyes meeting your own.

"No. Don't stop."

You froze, staring at him, wide eyed, like a fawn caught in the daylight, and he made an attempt to soften the gravel of his voice, repeating again, softer this time, "Keep going. Please."

You stared at him for another long moment, and he couldn't breathe, maybe you were going to run, maybe you were going to tell on him, what a pervert he'd been, maybe you were disgusted-

And then, slowly, eyes still holding his own, you let your fingers dip back beneath the folds of your gown.

He could tell the moment you made contact again, because your body stiffened, and that sound-the one that went right to his cock-passed your parted lips once more.

Chan watched you, mesmerized, as you let your fingers do the work, arching your body on the edge of the fountain to find the right angles, all the while, holding his gaze unwaveringly.

You were brave, he'd give you that.

You gasped, mouth falling open, and he saw the way your wrist twisted, picking up pace.

He imagined how wet you were, how easily your fingers slid in and out, and he clenched his hands at his side to keep himself in place, to force himself to let you be.

"What do you think about?" He asked suddenly, licking his lips, his mouth desperately dry.

"What-" You started to question, the words breaking off into a breathy moan that had him painfully hard, even harder than before.

He took a step closer.

"What do you think about? When you're getting yourself off?"

Your eyes had screwed closed as you grew closer to release, but you managed to flutter them back open to meet his gaze, your face twisted into the start pleasure, your fingers never stopping.

"You!" You gasped out desperately, chest heaving, free hand digging into the marble ledge of the fountain, fingers white with the effort of holding back.

Chan watched as you came then, crying out and body vibrating, and when the orgasm had finished ripping through you, you slumped back, breathing hard and cheeks flushed.

Pulling your hand from your skirts, Chan tried not to focus on the way your fingers glistened as you wiped them off on your dress.

He was rooted to the spot, watching you come down, cock aching and leaking down his leg, wishing he was the one who'd undone you so fully, when you finally met his gaze once more.

Your expression was unsure, lips pressed into a thin line, when you repeated softly, defeatedly, "You. I think about you."

You sat up, straightening your skirts with your clean hand, and Chan resisted moving closer to you with what very little willpower he had left.

You were biting your lip, staring at the ground between the two of you, when he conjured a trace of shadow, using it to caress your chin and tilt your gaze back up to meet his.

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, your skin pebbling into goosebumps beneath the touch of the shadow, but you didn't move, you didn't look afraid.

Chan felt the corner of his mouth lift into the hint of a smile as he let the shadow trace your cheekbone, brushing back a loose strand of damp hair into your elegant braid.

"You know, little blossom, my brothers say you're a problem."

Your eyes widened a little more, and then a flash of indignation crossed your pretty features.

"Why?"

Chan cocked his head, studying you, and you stared right back.

"Because I want you, but I can't have you. And I tend to have a fatal flaw of getting obsessive over things that are kept from my grasp."

He flicked away the shadow with his fingers, burying his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he let the words settle between you.

His dick was still unyieldingly hard.

Your lips parted slightly, as if surprised by his admission, and then a brief, mischievous smile flashed across your lips, catching him off guard.

You tilted your head, and your lips quirked upward into a bigger, sweeter smile.

"Your highness?"

"Yes?"

You hopped down from the ledge of the fountain, and found your shoes, slipping your feet into them as he watched, waiting for you to continue.

When you stepped toward him, closing the distance, he resisted every urge to grab you and slot his mouth hungrily over yours.

You looked up at him curiously, studying his features, your eyes large and dark, framed by the longest eyelashes he had ever seen.

When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, as if you were telling him a secret only known to the two of you.

"What do you think about when you come?"

He stared at you, trying to put the words with the movement of your lips.

Finally, he swallowed, watching your eyes flit down to follow the movement of his throat.

"You."

"Hm." You hummed beneath your breath, lips twitching, as you finally slipped past him, headed back in the direction of the party.

Chan whirled, watching you go, and as if you could feel his eyes on you, you turned and paused when you reached the hedges, fingers trailing over the dark, emerald leaves, leaving shining pink flowers behind in their wake.

"Interesting." You arched a brow, giving him a half, knowing smile. "And here I was, thinking my little obsession was one sided."

Chan let a shadow slink from the hedge beside you and trail around one of your ankles.

You grinned at him once more, and slipped silently from view.

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Chan steps off the elevator and is immediately met with the largest bouquet of flowers he's ever seen, shoved directly into his face.

He swats them away with annoyance, and the person carrying the atrocity comes into view, panting like they've just carted weighted rocks up the floors of the building and not obnoxiously perfumed flowers.

"Oh, hey boss." Jeongin beams, adjusting the vase of flowers in his arms, so that he can reach up and push the cap he wears back slightly, revealing a sweaty swath of dark hair.

"I got you flowers!" He holds up the arrangement, as if Chan can't see them, and follows him when he stalks past him toward his private office.

Setting the bouquet down on the front desk as they pass, flashing Chan's assistant a winning smile, Jeongin hurries to keep up with Chan's long strides, floating slightly above the floor.

"Well, Persephone did, technically, but you know, she asked me to give them to you so-"

Chan ignores the chattering messenger god beside him, and turns a left down the hall, already silently going over the meetings he has scheduled for today in his head.

Turning another corner, he's just about to push into conference room two, when Jeongin slides in front of him, spreading his arms out to block his way and trying to catch his breath.

"Whoa, boss. You can't go in there."

Chan stares the kid down, expression stoic.

"Jeongin. Get out of my way."

Jeongin doesn't budge, though Chan can see a flicker of fear flash across his dark gaze as he stands in front of Chan's looming, annoyed figure.

He reaches up, scratching at the back of his neck in clear discomfort, and shuffles from one winged foot to another.

"Okay, but here's the thing-" He starts, hemming and hawing, glancing past Chan and to the hallway, then back to the god standing in front of him.

"Jeongin." Chan warns, beginning to think there's something going on that he doesn't know about, and nothing pisses him off more than to be oblivious.

Jeongin clears his throat and gives him a half hearted smile. "Persephone kinda asked me to keep you out of the conference room today because she's kindameetingwithhermomtodiscussthingswithoutyou."

Chan stares blankly at the boy in front of him, wringing his hat now between anxious hands, and then asks quietly, dangerously, "She what?"

Jeongin swallows, the gulp is audible in the tense silence, but still holds his position blocking Chan from the doorway.

It's admirable, he'll give him that.

He gives a little shrug and a sheepish smile. "Sorry, boss?"

Chan growls beneath his breath in frustration, and pinches his nose.

He can feel a headache coming on.

"Fine." He grinds out, the muscles in his jaw popping with his irritation as he clenches his teeth and glances past Jeongin to the waiting conference room. "But you're to come and get me as soon as they're finished." He points a stern finger into the middle of Jeongin's chest. "And Demeter is not, I repeat not, allowed to be alone at any time while she's in the Underworld, understood?"

Jeongin nods and gives him a little salute, even as Chan is already stalking away.

"Yes, sir!" He calls out down the hallway, voice echoing off the walls and exacerbating Chan's growing headache. "I won't let you down, boss! You can count on me!"

Chan mumbles something beneath his breath about hiring new wingmen, and locks himself in his office.

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Chan doesn't get to see you for the rest of the day.

The hours slip by, and he's faced with problem after problem-mortal souls unhappy with their judgement, wraiths he employs needing his every attention and signature, accountants wanting to see him about the toll to cross the Styx ('inflation is happening you know!')-and by the time he finally gets home, well after sunset, his every muscle is tight with irritation.

He walks in to see you in the kitchen, apron tied tightly around your waist, Cerberus at your feet, dozing with his head on his huge paws.

The dog gives a thump of his tail when Chan appears, alerting you to his presence, and you glance up from whatever it is you're chopping, giving him a wide, bright smile.

He's not fooled. It doesn't reach your eyes.

Pushing aside the monstrous bouquet from earlier that now resides in the middle of the giant, granite island that takes up a majority of the kitchen, he raps his knuckles on the stone, watching you carefully, his head cocked.

"I heard your mother stopped by today."

He watches the way your chopping stalls, but you don't look up at him, chest inflating with a silent breath before you turn, tossing the carrots into the large stew pot on the stove.

"Yes." You finally say, back still to him.

He tries to force the irritation simmering just below the surface down, relaxing his whitened fingers one by one, as he blows out a long, slow breath.

"(Y/N)."

You turn then, at the use of your given name said in his stern tone, and resume cutting, chopping blocks of beef into smaller cubes.

Chan blows out another breath, harsher this time, and rubs at his temple.

The headache from before is still lingering, pounding now that he's finally left the office for the day.

"What did you talk about?"

You flick your eyes briefly up to his, and then back to the meat beneath your knife.

"Her 'temper tantrum' as I believe you put it."

Chan winces slightly. That wording probably didn't go over very well.

"And?" He prods, leaning against the counter, leaning down so he can glance into your face.

You bite your lip, and he sees you blow out a breath, before you look up at him and force that smile back onto your face-the fake, overly saccharine one from before, the one he doesn't buy for a moment.

"Do we really need to talk about this right now? You just got home, and dinner is almost ready-"

Chan flattens his hands, palms down, on the cold granite, and doesn't let you look away.

"Yes."

Your fingers tighten around the knife, and he sees you let out a shuddering breath.

At your feet, Cerberus cocks his head, your obvious display of uncertainty grabbing his attention.

"Channie-" You start to say, and he watches the way your throat bobs with a swallow.

Anger swirls into embers in the pit of his stomach.

He leans forward, dark eyes flashing. "What did she fucking do? If she so much as made you feel bad for any of this, I won't hesitate to pay her a little visit in the mortal realm-"

"No, no." You wave your hands, finally meeting his gaze once more, your bottom lip wobbly and your eyes shiny. "It's nothing like that."

Chan feels his heart immediately sink.

A tear drips down the length of your cheekbone, and he resists the urge to lean across the counter and swipe it away.

You rub at your eyes with your hands, and breath in an unsteady inhale.

Cerberus stands, butting his blocky head into your hand, until you let out a slight, watery chuckle, and begin to pet his dark ears.

"She-" You start to say, then stop, and Chan stares at you, frozen in sudden fear.

The flowers sitting in their vase on the counter begin to wilt and turn brown and brittle, dropping leaves to the granite like snow fall.

Chan ignores them.

You take in another breath, and pick the knife back up, moving to chop again.

"She wants to make a deal. She wants me to spend Spring in the mortal realm, with her, so I can fulfill my duties every year. And then I'll stay here, with you, the rest of the time."

You look up at him, your expression vulnerable, unsure. There's hurt in your eyes.

Chan's thoughts stop. His body goes cold. There's a buzzing in his ears, and he doesn't know if the shadows are lengthening, or if his sudden loss of control is causing everything to creep in.

He turns, and without a word, flicks a shadow out to send the vase of now withered flowers crashing to the ground.

You yelp, jumping at the noise, and Chan stands, back to you, staring at the mess he's made, chest heaving, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

The mess he always makes.

After a beat of silence, he hears you put down the knife, and then your soft footsteps, as you pad around the counter and kneel on the ground next to the shattered vase.

Slowly, without looking at him, you reach out and begin to pick up the broken pieces.

Chan breathes in, breathes out. His headache is pounding.

"Little blossom, leave it-"

He starts to say, moving to crouch before you, just as you pick up another piece of sharp ceramic and wince, instantly dropping the piece back down with a clatter, as you pull your hand back against your chest.

Chan reaches out and tugs your hand back into view, watching as the cut on your palm starts to slowly leak golden, shining ichor down the line of your wrist, dripping on the floor between the two of you.

His breath stalls as he glances up to your pained expression, all the anger leaving his body in an instant.

"You're bleeding."

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"You're bleeding."

Chan glanced up at the sound of your voice behind him, meeting your concerned gaze in the mirror, where he remained, leaning over the basin, palms on the cool ledge of the sink, watching the water swirl away down the drain.

"Yeah, well-" He gave a little humorless chuckle as he watched the water shimmer with the ichor he washed from his knuckles, before he straightened and dried his hands, glancing once more at you in the reflection of the mirror. His mouth quirked up into the hint of a smirk, and he winced as it pulled at the split skin of his lip, tasting fresh ichor on his tongue. "-luckily for me, my brother hits like a pussy when he's been drinking."

Your eyes widened. "He hit you?"

Chan turned, swiping a hand across his mouth now, tossing the towel to the side. "Yeah, well, I probably deserved it."

He'd no more than finished the admission than you're at his side, taking his hand in yours, your eyes raking across the golden liquid that marked his knuckles, tacky and congealing.

You glanced up at him, curiosity flashing across your pretty features.

"What did you do?" You questioned in a whisper, as if asking him to divulge a dark secret.

Chan almost grinned-you're too fucking adorable-but he leaned in, his forehead brushing yours, expression serious, and lowered his voice to match yours.

"I told him, little blossom, that there's no way in fucking Tartarus that I'm going to another one of his stupid, historic parties, unless of course, it's thrown for us and planned in celebration of our marriage."

You stared up at him for a silent moment, and Chan almost backtracked, wondering if he'd been too bold, when a slight smile curved your lips up mischievously.

"Well." You released his hand and straightened the collar of the suit he wore, before stepping back, eyeing him up and down, head cocked with interest.

The look on your face took his breath away.

"Then I guess you'd better get me a ring, hadn't you?"

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Chan slips your ring carefully from your finger, lying it beside the sink, before he tends to the wound on your palm.

You protest the whole time, claiming it's fine and you're fine and he's being dramatic, but Chan's heart won't stop pounding in his chest until every last drop of your golden blood is wiped clean from your skin.

When he's satisfied with himself, he helps you get down from your position atop the bathroom counter, and pushes you gently toward the waiting shower.

"I'll just be a minute." He says, as you roll your eyes, but strip your clothes anyway, waiting before he hears the water turn on, before he darts back to the kitchen.

He cleans up the mess he made in his anger, and goes back to the bathroom.

He watches you for a moment, through the steamy, hazed glass surrounding the large shower, your perfect outline stretched back beneath the pounding water, and then gets rid of his own clothes, tossing his suit to the side, before he slips into the shower to join you.

You glance at him over your shoulder as he enters, wet hair plastered to your skin, lips pulled into a worried pout.

"Channie-" You start to say, but he steps to you and pulls you flush against his bare chest before you can get any of the other words out.

Your arms go around his waist, fingers tickling the skin of his back, and he lets out a long, slow breath, the exhale rustling your hair, your face buried in the planes of his chest.

"I'm sorry." He apologizes softly, and you pull back to look up at him, eyes wide and soft.

"You don't need to apologize." You say, reaching up to shove some of his thick, dark hair back off his forehead, starting to grow heavy with water.

"I do." He nods, staring down at you, letting his finger go beneath your chin, as he traces the line of your lips with the pad of his thumb.

You're so fucking beautiful.

"You're my wife, yes, but you're also a Goddess, and I need to remember that."

You stare up at him silently, letting him continue, and he lets out another breath, reaching his hand up to cup the side of your face, your skin warm beneath his fingers.

"You have your own duties and responsibilities, and I'm being selfish keeping you here. I can't hide you away forever."

The corner of your mouth wrinkles, as if you're thinking about smiling.

"Are you sure?" You nuzzle into his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm.

"As much as I would like to-" He starts, leaning over to press a kiss to the corner of your lips, moving up along your cheekbone. "-I can't. The mortals-and Demeter-need you."

You sigh, he feels it in the way your chest brushes his, and lay your head on his chest, listening for a moment, to his heartbeat.

He strokes your damp hair, and finally you say quietly, "All right. But I don't have to like it, right?" You pull back, looking up at him with a tremble in your bottom lip.

"No, you don't, little blossom." He gives you a half smile, bending his head to press a kiss to your throat, than to the swell of the start of your breast. His cock twitches at the feel of your soft skin beneath his tongue. "I'm sure as fuck not going to like it."

You give a little laugh, slightly watery, and reach up to swipe the tears from your eyes.

"What will you do?" You ask with a shaky breath, staring up at him in a way that makes Chan's heart squeeze, his insides feel tight with all the love he has for you. "While I'm gone?"

He gives a slight shrug, leaning against the shower wall, as you move to start shampooing your hair into a lather.

"Run the Underworld. Judge the mortals. The usual stuff. I mean, what did I do before I had you?"

"Brood." You reply back instantly, glancing at him cheekily over your shoulder as you turn to rinse your hair.

He leaps forward and pins you to the wall as you shriek, tickling your sides as you wriggle to get away from him, laughing so hard it makes you breathless.

He pulls back, letting you breathe, and you push some wet hair from your face, taking in a couple of calming breaths, before your eyes meet his once more.

The mirth disappears from your pretty features, and Chan feels his chest tighten.

"Seriously though, Channie, I-" You swallow, Chan watches your throat bob, and your eyes grow shiny again. "-I don't know how I lived all those eons without you. And now, to have to leave-"

"Hey, hey." He steps toward you once more, caging you in the protection of his arms beneath the warm spray of water. You bury your face in his chest. "Pet. Look at me."

Finally, you do, raising watery eyes to his, and he gives you what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

"Listen to me, little blossom." He reaches up, stroking your hair behind your ear. "We're talking about months here. Just a few months topside, to soothe your mother, and then you'll be back home with me before you know it."

You sniff, swiping at your nose, and then nod.

"You're right. I know you are."

Chan gives you a half smile, gentle and soft, and leans down to press a kiss to the part of your lips.

The thought of you leaving his side is ripping him apart, but he manages to keep his expression neutral, if only for you.

He presses another, longer kiss against the column of your throat, and takes a moment to breathe you in.

"I love you. I always have, even before I knew you, even before I saw you, and nothing, and no one, will ever change that. You are, and always will be, my obsession, Goddess of Spring."

You look up at him with tear filled eyes, and lean up to press a kiss to his own lips.

"I love you too, God of the Dead. You're the only thing in my entire, immortal days that has ever managed to bring my heart to life, and I thank you for it."

A genuine smile tugs at Chan's lips now.

"Ironic, coming from the Goddess of Rebirth about the Ruler of Souls."

You give a little laugh, eyes sparkling as you look up at him. "I guess so."

Chan tugs you to him and, determined to memorize how you feel, kisses you long and hard beneath the cooling water of the shower.

Inside his chest, his heart flicks out a shadow to meet the flowering vine snaking from your own.

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"Do you think we're all fated to another?"

You ask, lying beside Chan on the grass, the cool night breeze kissing patterns across your bare skin.

He turns his head to look at you, staring up at the stars overhead, fingers twined within his own.

The ring on your finger brushes his knuckle, and a warm sensation washes over him at the thought that you're his now-for eternity.

"Isn't that mortal shit?" He asks teasingly, and you turn to give him a glare, but it only succeeds in making him more endeared, your nose crinkling up and your lips pursing.

"Well, yes, but-" You shrug, turning back to the sky, reaching up your free hand to splay your fingers against the backdrop of the shimmering stars. "-do you?"

Chan considers.

He's never put much stock in fate, or destiny, or anything else the mortals believe in, and he says as much, rolling over to look at you, his hand skimming your bare hip.

"I don't know. But what I do know is this." He props himself up on his elbow, looking down at you, where you lie, watching him, from the grass.

He lets his finger trail over the marks of his teeth blooming on your shoulder, the love bites already turning purple up the column of your throat, soothed by his tongue.

"Fate is fickle, I don't like to rely on it. Fuck, sometimes, I don't even think I can rely on myself, but I do know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you and I, little blossom? We were meant to be. And nobody, not fate or any of that other shit that mortals believe in, made that happen. We did."

He watches you as you pause, considering, and then you give him a smile that steals his breath, sitting up beside him to throw your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

"Fuck fate." You breathe against his lips, and right now, in this moment, with your skin pressed against his, your warmth settled firmly in his lap, his ring on your finger, Chan thinks he has to agree.

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Chan trips over one of Cerberus' toys and gives the big dog a glare, tucked safely away under the kitchen table, his head on his paws.

"I swear to god, your mom is coming home today, and if she sees the state you left this house in-" He threatens vaguely, waving the toy around, before tossing it into the basket in the corner.

"I'll what?"

Chan whirls so fast at the sound of your amused voice that he almost gives himself whiplash, turning to face you in the doorway, a grin on your lips and your suitcase in your hand.

You give him a little wave, suddenly shy, as he continues to stare at you, rooted to the spot.

"Hi?"

He's moving then, crashing into you and sweeping you up into his arms with such force that you lose your breath, dropping your suitcase to the floor, as he pulls you in tight to his chest.

You're laughing and crying, and Chan breathes you in, nose pressed to the top of your head, like he's a starving man seeing food for the first time.

You pull back, just enough to smooth your palms over the side of his face, your eyes still shiny with unshed tears.

"I missed you, Channie."

"Fuck." He breathes out, crushing you back to him again, never letting you go. "I missed you too, little blossom."

You laugh again, a watery sound, and press kisses to every inch of his face you can reach from his embrace.

Chan feels like he can finally breathe properly for the first time in months.

"What did you think about while I was gone?" You ask, your eyes sparkling, as if you already know the answer.

He lets out the breath he's been holding, and leans forward to kiss you breathless.

"You." He breathes back in response, and your lips part with pleasure at his answer. "Always you."

And then he kisses you long enough to make up for all the time missed-past and present.

[heartkaji]

lose it !

(n) — suo hayato only eats numbers

tw: ed ! please read comments !

you unlock suo hayato’s phone in aim of finding messages from other women; pictures from other girls or maybe even men.

instead you find a calorie app & the notes of a dead man walking.

suo hayato eats eight hundred calories a day.

for breakfast he logs coffee, black. no sugar or milk or anything because what is he, an animal ? lunch is rice cakes & hot sauce & cucumber as a snack but dinner is empty because it’s already 7pm & only fatties eat beyond seven so suo must wait till 12pm tomorrow before food can find his throat again.

suo hayato only eats numbers.

your heart breaks a little more as your fingers scroll further through his notes & logged meals. tuesday reads ‘no lunch, make up for extra cals from donuts with sakura’ & wednesday is empty because ‘water fast’. suo hayato is a disciplined boy but every log ends with ‘resist or regret’ but fuck this is unhealthy & why does suo resist himself an essence to live ?

“love, have you seen my phone ?”

you don’t realize your eyes are hot with tears until suo cups your cheeks in cold palms, eyes almond & scanning your own as if they’ve just seen a ghost. you press your body against his own & god he is so frail, you have never realized it before but now it’s so apparent & fuck if you let your mind wander any further you might become a woman half dead too.

“suo, i don’t want you to die,”

& suo hayato only sighs, because if only you knew he’d died a long time ago.

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, edit, translate or reupload

a/n : this is a serious topic, so please forgive me for this serious message.

my heart goes out to all the wintergirls & boys out there. the ones who go to bed fantasizing about what they’ll eat tomorrow & get moody when their one meal a day doesn’t hit the way it’s meant to. my heart goes out to all the girls & boys who watch mukbangs & cooking shows in order to drown out the growling in their stomach. the ones who flip their chip bags to the back on instinct & would rather die than eat a plate of waffles & syrup. my heart goes out to everyone who exercises all they eat, who sleeps & drinks away their hunger & ties their hair & clenches their throat every time they step in the bathroom after a meal. recovery is a bitter pill but you can only heal when all the pills have been swallowed. it is worth it. eating disorders kill & no you don’t have to be underweight or anorexic or ‘atypical’ anything because just a few months of calorie counting kills your mind & after long enough it will kill you too.

your body is worth so much more than coke zero & greek yoghurt & sugar free jello. recovery is real & it may take years before you are full of it, but everyday gets at least a little better when you are not eating yourself to the brink of death.

i am not the best at these kinds of messages, but i hope some winter girl or boy reads this message & thinks to themself, i am enough, not because you are under 110 pounds but simply because you are. your body is so much more than stretch marks & loose skin or arm fat & the likes. your body is yours & you are enough.

my heart beats for all of you because if you are not careful, it will not be able to beat for itself. i beg of you, choose to recover & please choose it today. why follow wonyoung & monster high diets when you are already so heart-achingly beautiful ? recovery is never easy, but it is worth it & so are you.

ps: so sorry for writing such a serious topic for such an unserious anime, but someone might need to hear this & that someone might be you. yes yes im aware suo is only on a diet because he’s a monk or something, but i know his little eating habits can be so triggering to watch to some & i just wanted to let you all know that it will be okay.

gosh why do i feel like such a monster for writing this

[ratticus-the-emperor]

yes, i could write a long and convoluted essay about how it irks me that zeus gets a lot of hate, and though a lot of it is “justified” most of it comes from a place of putting modern values and expectations on an ancient deity, not fully understanding the cultural context of Zeus’s identity, and the overall futility of holding a deity to the same standards as you would a modern human but—

i am totally and completely incapacitated by my adhd.

but don’t get me wrong, that’s not to say i approve or like Zeus in any way. i do believe using the gods and the perceived dynamics of olympus to tell stories about abusive families, fatherhood, the corruption that pervades the souls of people in power is good for storytelling, but you can tell when people just don’t understand. and this when the adhd monster strikes and drags me away because this is the segue to why i believe that ‘circe’ by madeline miller should’ve never been written.

how does this tie in to me being irked at the perception of zeus in modern media? oh, it doesn’t. but it ties in loosely to the idea of enforcing the modern on the ancient. but what irks me most about circe is the perception of odysseus. odysseus is not a hero, he’s just a man. but he’s also not the sexist or misogynistic monster some media portrays him as. he was just a man, and on top of that, a man who wanted to get home. circe follows the telegony which was composed centuries after homer, so there’s debate on whether or not it’s even canon in regard to the overarching story of the Iliad and the Odyssey, but personally i believe it isn’t.

the story that miller wanted to tell was a feminist one but using circe and odysseus was her first mistake. especially because odysseus himself is a victim of SA and the characterization of him as sexist and misogynistic is just… not true. there are countless of heroes in greek mythology who are, and miller chose one of the few who wasn’t. it shouldn’t have been circe. it should’ve been ariadne, because theseus is the bad guy people who subscribe to the image of odysseus make him out to be.

[ruh--roh-raggy]

Home Sweet Home (William Afton x Wife! Reader) - Part 5

Hello hello! After a bit of a delay I am very happy to present you with part 5 of Home Sweet Home! This chapter we get to see William and Reader's first date, super cute, super fluffy, I've been dealing with a lot of emotions so a lot of gentle reassuring William about readers self doubts. I hope you guys enjoy, if you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know!

WARNINGS: None

You can find my Masterlist here!

Word Count: 4,913

Part 4 - Part 6

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You stretched with a soft sigh, your feet sliding against the cool, soft sheets. A smile spreads across your face at the feeling of William’s arm slung over your waist. Your eyes fluttered open, a thin slit of light through your heavy curtains the only indicator that it was morning. You roll over, your hand trailing over his stomach as you cuddle into his chest. He lets out a soft hum as he wakes up, “good morning beautiful.” His voice raspy and thick with sleep.

“Sorry I didn't mean to wake you up.” You whisper, placing a soft kiss to his chest.

“Why are you apologizing? I get woken up to the most beautiful sight in the world.” He tilts your chin up, his lips capturing yours in a slow, needy kiss. His hand kneads at your waist, you smile as his mustache tickles your nose.

“What's the plan for today?” He rolls into his back with a groan, pulling you on top of him in the process. You lay your chin on his chest, bright, sparkling eyes staring up at him. He smiles softly, tucking some loose hair behind your ear.

“Well,” he starts, “we need to go to the store, we’ll try to make it quick but we have nothing.” You both share a chuckle. “And then we come back here and work our butts off until dinner.”

“And see you be all sexy and strong lifting those heavy boxes again? Yes please.” You grin at him, yelping as he lightly pinches your butt.

“You always have your mind in the gutter, don't you?” He teases back. “I'm surprised you can still even consider me sexy.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” You reach up to gently caress his cheek, he lets out a soft sigh as he leans into your touch. “You're not allowed to be mean to my husband, I'll have to beat you up.” He chuckles at your serious expression.

“I'm an old man now, rabbit.” He responds wistfully, combing his fingers through your hair as he studies your face. “I'm definitely not the rugged, muscular little punk I used to be.” He chuckles and you can't help but breathe out a laugh in response. Remembering all the photos of a much skinnier more awkward reflection of your husband that Henry had shown you. ‘The pride and joy of our robotics team.’ he would always muse, struggling not to get emotional over the loving expression you had while looking at them. “I've got all these wrinkles now, my hair’s going gray-”

“William,” he snaps his mouth shut at the sound of your voice. Your age difference was something that had eaten at him since the two of you had first started dating. Always worried he was going to move too fast or make you feel tied down. He never could quite wrap his head around how a pretty young thing like you could stand being around a miserable old fart like him. “It wouldn't matter if you were 20 years younger and were built like some sort of Greek God.” You shuffle around under the blankets, allowing you to push yourself up enough to be face to face with him, the tip of your nose brushing his as you talk. “I wouldn't give up any of the time you and I have spent together for anything. Will, I love you. A few wrinkles and a change in your hair color isn't going to change any of that.”

“So, you don't mind that I don't have shredded abs?” He jokes, making you laugh in response. Despite the sudden loss of seriousness you could tell your words helped.

“Abs are overrated,” you shoo off the thought with your hand. “I happen to love your soft tummy.” You state matter-of-factly.

“Well I'm glad.” He pulls you in for a soft kiss. “You’re perfect, you know that?” He mumbles against your lips.

“You're one to talk.” You quip back. He smiles before pulling you back to him. You hum as you feel his arm tighten around your waist, wanting to feel every curve of your body pressed firmly to his. The way William’s lips moved against yours was slow and methodical, he always knew how to kiss you in a way that left you feeling utterly breathless and dizzy by the end of it. You rest your forehead against his when you separate. Both of you shared soft, tired smiles as you enjoyed being in each other's company. He reaches over to his nightstand with a groan, wiping his hand down his face before putting on his glasses.

“What do you say sweetheart? Ready to start the day?” You nod, both of you reluctantly leaving the warmth of your bed and each other's arms as you got ready to tackle whatever obstacles you would face.

You stood at William’s side, trying to manage your wild bed head as he brushed his teeth. “What do you want for dinner?” He asks with a mouthful of toothpaste.

“I don't know, something easy.” You wince slightly as your brush gets caught on a particularly nasty snarl. “We could always get something frozen to throw in the oven I guess.”

“Absolutely not, I won't let my wife eat that filth if I can help it.” He places a kiss on your head as he heads out of the bathroom. You chuckle, shaking your head in response. “Think about it, I'm gonna go start the car.” He disappears around the door with a wink. You groaned at his request, you hated making food decisions. You threw on some clothes, deeming your appearance good enough for the grocery store, before heading downstairs. William stood at your kitchen counter, holding an old recipe book that looked almost comically small in his massive hands.

“Whatcha got there?” He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side.

“I saw this in your box of memories yesterday.” He smiles down at you, lowering the book in order to make it easier for you to read it. You looked at the worn, yellowing pages with a special fondness. This was the one cookbook William owned, a collection of recipes put together by a group of little old ladies around Hurricane. One of them managed to pass it off to him at their grandson’s birthday years ago, saying how a hard working man like him deserved some good home cooked meals every now and then. You ran your fingers over your husband’s handwriting in the margins next to one recipe ‘add garlic’. On the next page there was a recipe for chocolate cake, next to it in your own neat script it read ‘Will’s favorite' punctuated with a heart.

“Is this the one that has-”

“The recipe from our first date.” You finish in unison.

“Yes it is.” He chuckles. You remembered it like it was yesterday. The whole morning went horribly before you were supposed to spend the day with Will, you were about ready to call him to reschedule. “I think we both could use some comfort food tonight, what do you think?”

“I think that sounds wonderful.” You jump slightly as he snaps the cookbook shut in front of your face, you push him playfully before the two of you head out.

Will’s hand was warm as he held your own, his thumb languidly rubbing over your knuckles as he drove. Your eyes trailed over the treeline as it whipped past your window, smiling softly to yourself as you reminisced about how something as small and silly as beef stew could hold such a powerful memory.

You tried your best to quiet your sniffling as you listened to the phone ring, your heart jumping into your throat when you heard the click of the receiver being picked up. “Hello?” You felt yourself begin to well up all over again at the sound of his voice.

“Hey William, it’s-uh, it’s me.” You hoped he would be able to recognize your voice despite it cracking. “I think I'm going to need to reschedule-”

“Honey what's wrong?” The genuine concern in his voice opened the floodgates. A sob cracked free from your throat as you tried to explain the situation. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“No.” You manage to croak out.

“Can I come see you?” You froze for a moment. He wasn't mad about you canceling at the last minute, he just wanted to make sure you were okay.

“Yeah, that's fine.” You stutter.

“I'll be there in about fifteen minutes, okay?” You nod before remembering he couldn't see you. You rolled your eyes over how ridiculous you were being.

“Okay, I'll be here.” You sniffle before hanging up. You jumped as your buzzer rang, picking yourself up to the couch and slowly shuffling over to unlock the door. You undid the chain latch, meeting William in the hallway.

“Rabbit,” he starts softly. Seeing your cheeks still red and streaked with tears from another wave of crying that had hit you when he was on his way over. “Come here beautiful.” You hurried forward, melting into his embrace as he wrapped his strong arms around you. His fingers gently slide into your hair, cradling your head against his chest. You felt stupid for crying, you were supposed to be going out on this big, fancy date William had set up and now you've ruined it.

“I'm sorry.” You manage to get out after you have calmed yourself down somewhat. “You went through all the trouble of getting us that reservation-” he cuts you off, quietly shushing you as he continues to hold you, slightly rocking side to side.

“It’s okay bunny. It's not like we’re going to get banned from the restaurant for canceling our table.” He chuckles, managing to elicit a soft laugh from you as well. “But, I would like to know what's making my girl so upset.” He nods in the direction of your apartment. “Would it be alright if I came in for a minute?” You nod, his hand instantly taking yours as you separated from his embrace.

“I'm sorry about the mess, this morning definitely didn't go as planned.” He looked around the cramped space. The flowers William had sent you lay on the kitchen counter, the stems still glistening with water. A half cleaned up pile of broken glass lay on the floor next to the counter. He noticed a white dress that appeared to be covered in some type of tomato sauce laying in a heap on the dining room table. You started to explain before he even had a chance to question it. “My roommate got into a big fight with her boyfriend this morning.” William sat next to you where you had positioned yourself on the couch, elbows resting on his knees and his hands folded neatly in front of him as he listened attentively to what you had to say. “I was woken up by them yelling at each other, I heard some glass smash so I came out here to try and diffuse the situation. It turns out he had smashed the vace I had put your flowers in onto the floor.” You let out a weak chuckle as you felt a tear slip down your cheek. William reaches over, intertwining his fingers with yours in an attempt to offer some form of comfort without risking overwhelming you further. “And my-uh, my dress…” you looked over at the table, your throat growing tight at the sight. “He also ruined my dress in the process of us throwing him out. So now I have nothing to wear, and the flowers you got me are starting to wilt, and I ruined our date-”

“Woah, sweetheart, slow down. You didn't ruin anything.” He moves closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you into his chest. “There’s going to be plenty of other fancy dinners. Baby, I'm not upset over you not wanting to go out after the morning you've had.” He places a kiss on the top of your head, his thumb soothingly rubbing your shoulder. “Would you like to come spend the day at my place?” He asks in an almost timid manner. You look up at him, eyes still wet with tears. It made his chest tighten, you looked so small against his much larger form.

“I'd like that.” You smile.

“You go get ready, I'll clean up in here.” He offers with a small nod.

“Oh, I can't ask you to do that.” Your breath catches in your throat as he gently tilts your chin up with his fingers.

“Don't worry about it bunny.” He tucks some hair behind your ear. He nods for you to go get ready. You scurry off to your room, William cleaning up the glass on the floor. He searched through your cupboards, finding a suitable enough vessel to hold the flowers you seemed to love. He smiles at how adorable you were, getting upset over something so simple, it was sweet. His attention turned to the dress on the table, making an irritated sound as he picked it up. It wasn't a guarantee he would be able to get the sauce out, but hand washing it in the sink couldn't hurt. He thought about how pretty you would've looked all dressed up. Though somehow he thinks your new plan would end up being more fun.

You hurriedly looked through your closet for something to wear, not wanting to appear like you were trying too hard to impress him. You decided on a cute pair of jeans and your favorite T-shirt. You passed back out into the kitchen, smiling as you saw the large man hunched over your sink, trying to get the stain out of your dress. “Will?” He paused, a smile creeping across his features. This was the first time you had called him Will.

“I got it mostly out, we can throw it in the wash at my place if you want.” You nod, smiling at him adoringly.

“I wouldn't want to trouble you.” You start.

“It's no problem.” He rushes to reassure you. He slowly steps closer to you, almost as if he was worried he was going to scare you off. “You, uh, look like you’re going to cry again.”

“You’re just really nice, that’s all.” You crack out a laugh, William chuckling alongside you.

“Well, I’d like to be able to take care of my girl when she needs me.” He winks, making your cheeks flush. He holds out his arm for you to take, you smile softly as he pulls you into his side.

William opened the door, letting you step inside before him. You neatly tucked your shoes beside the door before padding across the soft gray carpet. Looking around you would definitely define William as a minimalist. You didn’t see any pictures or trinkets, everything was very neat and orderly. “Make yourself comfortable, I’m going to go start something for dinner.” You ended up trailing after him into the kitchen, wanting to spend as much time with him as you could. He unzips his hoodie, tossing it at you with a flirtatious smile. “You look cold.” You slip your arms into the too long sleeves, blushing slightly as you wrap yourself up in the warm fabric. William’s sweatshirt smelled like machine oil, cheap cigarettes, and musky, warm cologne. He pulled out a large wooden cutting board from one of the drawers, brandishing a pristinely sharp knife not long after. He hums softly to himself as he wanders around his kitchen, pulling ingredients from cupboards and setting them all out in a row on the counter top. He pulls out a large stew pot from a small closet, setting it on the stove as he sets in motion preparing the meal he had decided on.

“Do you want any help?” You offer with a smile.

“You just sit back and relax, bunny. Throwing this together shouldn’t take me too long.” The two of you chatted idly as he cooked. You had always enjoyed William’s dry humor, but this was the first time you had seen his full genuine personality outside of Freddy’s.

“You’re a gossip!” You exclaim your accusation through a fit of laughter. He gives you an offended look, his hand clapping against his chest.

“Me? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You couldn’t miss the smirk that passed across his lips as he turned his attention back to the cutting board. “You’re acting like I don’t know about your and Ashley’s little gossip sessions at the prize counter.” He rebuttals in a teasing tone. He straightens up, striding over to you. He puts a hand on either side of your thighs, caging you on the counter, “I bet you talk about me, don’t you?” He gives you a wink and a lopsided smile. Your cheeks immediately heated up as you thought about how much his name actually came up between the two of you. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead before moving away. He glances up at you as he slides a cutting board of carrots into the large pot at his side. “I’m glad you’re finally starting to relax.” He remarks happily.

“You promise you’re not mad about having to cancel the reservation?” You ask nervously, balling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt in your hands.

“I’m happy just spending time with you.” A small smile creeps across your lips at the sincerity in his voice. “You had a bad morning, I wouldn’t want to go out either.” He reaches out for your hand, you accept his request with a flustered grin. “Plan’s can change, okay? I won’t be upset.” He tries his best to reassure you.

It was a rainy day outside, the stew was left to cook on the stove. Will held your hand loosely in his, giving it a gentle squeeze whenever he reached a point of interest when he was talking about one of his newest projects. He leads you into his workshop, keeping you close to him as he guides you around various piles of mechanical parts. His hands find their way to your waist, easily lifting you from the floor to set you on a clear space of workbench. He bumps a button with his elbow, the garage opening to let in some of the warm, damp air from outside. “Mr. Emily was right about you being a workaholic.” You tease.

“It’s not my fault there's always work to be done.” He bites the tip of his tongue as he concentrates on what he had pulled in front of him, you noticed the glint of something silver catching on his front teeth.

“Will… is that a piercing?” You ask with genuine curiosity. His eyes widened slightly for a second before he cursed under his breath.

“I forgot I had that in.” He admits bashfully. “I got it in college, I just got so used to wearing it I never let it close.” You hop down from your position perched on the workbench, placing yourself directly in front of him.

“Show me.” You nod up at him. He raises an eyebrow and smirks slightly at your demanding town. He stoops lower, bringing himself face to face with you.

“I don’t know,” he purrs, “you didn’t ask very nicely.” You swallow thickly at his gravelly tone.

“Show me, please?” You try again. He chuckles at your flustered appearance before sticking out his long tongue, showing off the silver barbell. “Wow.” You found yourself nearly drooling at the sight of it, something about the small piercing made your heart race in your chest. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that William was a very attractive man, with his sharp features and broad, strong body he's drawn the attention of many wandering eyes. But, this new found detail about him only seemed to highlight the tough yet playful attitude you had grown enamored by.

“Maybe if you're good I'll show you how talented I am at putting it to good use.” He winks with a smirk. “Come on, this stuff can wait.” He places a kiss to the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist as you're escorted back inside of the house. It hadn't occurred to you just how much of Will’s day you had disrupted up until now. He was supposed to come pick you up at six o'clock sharp, glancing at a clock that ticked quietly on the wall you had realized it wasn’t even eleven.

“Will, I don't want to get in your way if you're busy.” You speak up, both of you pausing in unison.

“Bunny, let me tell you something.” He fully turns to face you, his hands resting comfortably on your waist. His dark silver eyes held a particular softness as they scanned over your features, his hands sliding around your back to pull you closer to him. He speaks in a low tone, giving the conversation a new found sense of intimacy. “I'm in no rush to get that work done, and if I'm being entirely honest if you left right now I wouldn't be able to get the image of how cute you look in my sweatshirt out of my head all day.” He breathes out a laugh. “I know you're worried about being a disruption but honey I promise you you're not. I want to spend time with you, I want to be there to make you feel better. If that means pushing off a couple projects to cook a homemade meal and to spend the day with you… we'll, I don't know about you but that sounds pretty alright to me.” He smiles softly at you, giving you time to allow his words to sink in.

You couldn't get over just how different he was than anyone you had been with in the past. There was no yelling because of the wasted effort, no being left alone to wallow in how awful you felt about messing everything up. Right now there was only you and William; how warm his large hands felt as he soothingly rubs his thumbs over your waist, how the smell of dinner cooking in the kitchen drifted through the hall, how he looked at you with so much kindness and understanding, and that was plenty. You pushed into him, burying your face against his chest as you welled up with emotion. William held you tightly against him, determined to brush away any negative thoughts that tried to creep their way in from the back of your mind. He had a pretty good idea of the guys you had experienced before him, the shithead he had met before he confessed to you said enough. You were used to being pushed around and treated like you were never enough, leaving you to feel like you were always taking up too much space and anything that went wrong immediately fell into your lap. William hoped that, given enough time, he would be able to help you remedy that way of thinking. “How about we throw on a movie? It's Saturday, there's bound to be something on.” He offers in a patient tone.

“I'd like that.” You sniffle in response. You slip your hand into his, allowing him to guide you to the living room. He pulled you into his side as he clicks on the TV, absentmindedly flicking through the station past re-runs of whatever shitty sitcom happened to be on and action movies that would definitely ruin the quiet intimacy the two of you had fallen into. He paused on a romantic comedy, looking down to gauge your reaction. You adjusted yourself in order to be more comfortable, your arm resting across Will’s stomach as your head fell against his shoulder. He was praying you wouldn't ask him anything about the movie he had thrown on, he wouldn't have been able to focus on it right now if he tried. Your small form was so warm against his side, the sweet scent of your shampoo was nearly intoxicating as he waited for you to get comfortable. He pulls the blanket off of the back of the couch, laying it over both of your laps.

“Will?” You call for him softly.

“Yes, rabbit?” His eyes drift down to you and the sight alone was enough to nearly break him. You looked so incredibly tiny curled up against him, your big doe eyes holding so much adoration as you gazed up at him. William froze, feeling as if he even breathed in this moment it would be over.

“Thank you for taking care of me today.” His heart nearly jumped out of his chest at the sight of your sweet smile. You slowly and carefully pushed yourself upwards, your lips pressing against his scruffy cheek.

“Of course, bunny.” He smiles, eyes dropping to your lips for a brief moment before he shook the thought from his mind. Today was about making sure you were alright, kissing you should be the furthest thing from his mind right now. Unfortunately for him, it was all he was able to think about since the two of you had started seeing each other. He hadn't kissed you since the night of his confession, worried that he would take things too quickly without realizing it. He jumped slightly as the timer on the stove started to beep. “I'll be right back.” He places a kiss to your forehead before getting up. Once he enters the kitchen, out of your line of sight, he drags a hand down his face with a soft groan. “Get a hold of yourself.” He chastises himself quietly.

You remained curled up on the sofa, smiling to yourself as you ran your fingers over the soft material of the blanket William had draped over your legs. You glanced back at the kitchen before turning back to the TV with a soft sigh. There was something about being with William that was so undeniably effortless; the way he pulled you into his arms, your body molding to his like you were always made to be pressed against one another, the softness in his voice that was reserved just for you, how the smell of his cologne calmed your ever racing mind. Your fingers drifted to your bottom lip, breathing out a laugh as you thought about your first kiss. It felt like a lifetime since then, your mind often wandering to the memory, leaving your heart racing and your cheeks flushed. You knew William wanted to take things slow, he was very concerned about you feeling pressured to do things you weren't comfortable with just because he was older. Even though you constantly reassured him that wasn't the case he still seemed to treat you as if you were made of glass. You heard the soft clinking of him grabbing soup mugs from a cabinet, your feet thudding softly against the hardwood floor as you stood from the couch. You sucked in a deep breath as you nervously made your way towards the kitchen, thumb running over the worn fabric of your boyfriend’s sweatshirt. William stood at the stove, humming softly to himself as he added the finishing touches on the dinner he prepared. You swallowed thickly as you watched his muscles shift underneath his fitted black T-shirt. “Will?” You continued to walk forward as you called his name, knowing if you stopped now you would lose your nerve. He turns to face you, his silver eyes catching yours. His arms opened to greet you the moment he realized how close you already were, your hands slid over his shoulders as his landed on your waist. You pushed yourself up on your toes, guiding his lips down to meet yours. He lets out a surprised yet pleased sound, melting into you as he kisses you back. You both pulled back, breathless and wide eyed. He swore every time he looked at you he found something new to fall in love with. The blush that dominated your cheeks from doing something so bold, how small you looked wrapped up in his sweatshirt, he hoped he would be able to keep the memory of you looking like this forever.

“Will?” He’s jolted back to the present by you nudging his shoulder. “Everything alright, baby? You spaced out.” He looked down at you now by his side. Your soft smile and twinkling eyes are still as captivating as they always have been.

“Yeah bunny, I'm alright. Just thinking about our first date.” He smiles. The two of you stood in your kitchen preparing the ingredients for the stew, the sound of you singing along to the radio a learned comfort to William’s ears. He still couldn't wrap his head around why you chose him of all people, his gruff and dry demeanor was a sharp contrast to your bubbly personality. Yet, despite how difficult he knew he could be sometimes, your love for one another never waivered. It took him a long time to be able to provide for you the way he felt you deserved, lots of late nights at the pizzeria and sacrifice were needed to get to where the two of you are now. But, through every rough patch, every struggle that would have seemed insurmountable on his own, it only solidified one thing.

You loved each other.

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Tag List: @yellowbunnydreams @zoey5252 @redflowery @loudchaosking @weirdoartist21 @residentevilbeast @lokanda (if you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know!)

[sleepnowmychild]

Depictions of Hypnos (an analysis??)

I’ve come to notice some commonalities in the way Hypnos had been depicted in art, compared to writing. Here’s my observations.

Always a young man, sometimes a baby when depicted with Nyx.

Always clean shaven

Always two temple wings (which makes me wonder why he shows up with only one for me)

Almost always naked, not uncommon for Greek gods in art. But it’s only really more recent depictions that have him clothed, and said clothes are very simple robes.

Pale, which contrasts how he’s written to have almost grey-ish skin described ‘like fine soot’ I assume it was mostly due to the materials used at the time, the ‘fine soot’ tone he’s written to have I believe is meant to resemble the colours of a night sky since he’s sleep, son of night. That being said though, it makes sense someone who lives in Erebus, darkness, would be pale.

Doesn’t often have back wings, but when he’s with Thanatos he does. Maybe it’s to show they’re twins.

Hair is always dark and curly, loosely tied back (again I wonder why he had white hair for me? My guess is to resemble clouds??)

Poppies and his horn are really all he has in terms of accessories, no armour, jewels or weapons.

Ironically, he’s usually awake in art.

Always quite androgynous and soft featured. Not that muscular, slim with a bit of a soft curve (hello that’s my body type :’))

Ears are typically hidden by his wings and hair

Make of all this what you will, I just find it interesting he’s stayed rather consistent in his depictions over the years.

[velvet-cupcake-games]

excellent choice re: will’s new name!

now this is a lore question: was john’s mum from a different tribe than their dad? considering his name is from a different language and tribe than Will’s. we know Will’s mum’s origins, but not a lot on John’s mum. am i veering into lore book spoilers (is there such a thing)

So here's the beginning of the skinny on how Sunjata is organized. Like how my Avalon is loosely inspired by various Medieval-approximate European cultures, Sunjata is loosely inspired by various North-West-Central African cultures. Emphasis on the "loosely inspired" for both nations.

Sunjata is a continent of city-states that has a strong emphasis on technology and trade. It is more technologically advanced than Avalon, with things like aquaduct systems (and more modern-style plumbing!) and dynamite.

The thing that unites Sunjata is a single religion and a single language. Hundreds of years ago, it is said that the god Amun devoured all the other gods, ending their constant battles against one another. With his greatly enhanced divine power, Amun blessed the bloodlines of his most devout worshippers, essentially giving them superpowers. These Blessed Bloodlines went on to conquer the continent and found the great city states that rule over Sunjata today. With the common religion and its conquests came a massive upheaval/movement of people and a common language that swept across the continent (the holdout tribes who continue to worship the old gods are more likely to have held onto their traditional languages as well - these tribes hold the great heresy that Amun did not devour, but instead imprisoned their gods).

Names in Sunjata descend from its variety of pre-Amunite languages and tend to follow certain regional trends, but for Amunites they are no longer connected to specific tribal identities. Sunjati continue to have strong kinship ties, but their cultural identity is generally tied to their city-state and to the Amunite religion in general. Thus you'll have family members with names from different Earth African cultures, similarly to how North American names are a real cultural mishmash (In my own family, my name derives originally from Hebrew and my sister's from Greek, but they're both considered standard American names - Sunjata at this point in history is similar).

That said, John's mother was not from his village. His father travelled often as the village chief, negotiating trade agreements with merchants in the larger settlements and the city-states. He met her on one of those journeys, just as he met Will's mother years after her death.

I haven't yet put together the finer details of Sunjati culture as I plan to do a lot more reading, research, and consultation before writing my second game (set in Sunjata with a Sunjati MC).

[allthedoorsareopennow]

ALRIGHT. LET’S INVESTIGATE THE UDAD PHOTOS. MUCH INFORMATION BELOW. SO MUCH

ok top left. brian is the oracle of delphi, of course in greek mythology the most prominent oracle

bottom left. for some reason the goddess artemis’ name seems to have been misspelled as artimes? I have no idea why. artemis is the olympian that features in actea and lyssa.

bottom right. seems to suggest marius’ lecture will take place in the aristotle institute - aristotle is a famous greek philosopher (among other things, grouped loosely as a polymath)

top right. as you likely know, these are military dog tags, usually intended to allow for the identification of corpses. an enomotarch is the commander of an enotomy, a division of 25-36 soldiers, bound together by oath. this seems to be a term originating in Sparta.

middle right. tipple seems to be a term for alcohol, consistent with the bottle top the term appears on. the toy soldier seems to have made its own liquor brand while in the city. (perhaps DB stands for dionysus bacchus, the greek and roman names respectively for the god of alcohol?)

right. a coin is shown, on one side reading ‘to speed the/journey down’. this likely is about the belief that the ferryman (charon) who takes the dead souls across the river acheron and into the underworld must be paid. virgil’s aeneid claims that if the deceased cannot afford to pay the ferryman, they must wander the shores of the styx (another underworld river, in some stories providing the same function as the acheron) for one hundred years before they are allowed to cross into the underworld. thus having this coin to give the ferryman would literally speed the journey down into the underworld in greek mythology. also depicted on this side is the logo of the acheron. on the other side of the coin is featured a headshot of ashes, with the text ‘a penny’ above (the smallest british unit of currency). I cannot discern the text below.

background. the blueprint for the aegis, which in homer’s iliad is a device carried by athena pr zeus, interpreted as either an animal skin or a shield, sometimes featuring the head of a gorgon, that symbolises protection.

the text on the left appears to read as follows:

‘…[ti]tanium…n for the…ens district…[lig]htning rod

‘spikes - they look badass

‘Durable Ti core

‘Moderator’

Ti is the chemical symbol for titanium. also depicted is a uranium fission reaction. a moderator is something else that is needed in a fission reactor core, so this must be a design for a fission reactor. ‘enriched to 90%’ refers to the uranium - uranium-235 is the most fissile isotope, so the more U-235 you have, the more fission you can achieve. for context, reactors often use uranium enriched to 3.5-4.5% - 90% is overkill by a long way for energy generation purposes. my guess is that this reactor core is designed to provide huge amounts of energy to operate sone kind of lightning device, likely intended for zeus (the god of lightning). it is signed by athena and raphaella la cognizi.

BRING FORTH THE NEXT IMAGE!

another acheron coin is shown. I'm not really sure what’s happening in most of this one.

ANOTHER!

more acheron coins and a half-visible toy soldier’s tipple bottle cap. the focus of this picture is a torn and blood-splattered coaster for Calypso’s, the bar from which the suits kidnapped ulysses.

NEXT!

now this is more like it

a zeus coin is depicted, showing five credits - presumably the official currency of the city

there is a gambling chip bearing the name hermes, perhaps referencing his role as a trickster god

the guitar pick is stamped with the name apollo, the greek god of music and song.

there is a fragment of a newspaper cover - we will get more shots of this later.

the emblem of poseidon is shown to be a trident, a weapon poseidon is often depicted as wielding, representing his status as god of the sea.

wow I wonder what name is on that card it’s mostly blocked I wonder if the next will have the name..

BEHOLD!

so that’s presumably an ID card for a security guard, whose name we can now see is Anippe ?aiad. Anippe in greek mythology is the egyptian daughter of the river god nilus, and is thus a naiad, so the name on the card is Anippe Naiad. I can find little information about her, other than that heracles killed her son.

we also get a look at ulysses here, the the text ‘//ALL POINTS FUGITIVE ALERT//‘ above their mugshot.

NEXT!

the text on the ulysses info that seems to be on some kind of old tablet reads

…1) COUNT THEFT:

…[CYCLO]PS - POSEIDON PROPERTY

…OR CAPTURE: DR-25000

…E BOUNTY

…S:

SPONSORED BY POSEIDON INDUSTRIES

CLICK TO LEARN MORE

this seems to be putting a bounty of ‘DR-25000’ (presumably a currency?) on ulysses’ head for the theft of the eye of the cyclops.

more newspaper.. shall we take a closer look?

across four different images, here is the newspaper:

TRANSCRIPT BEGINS

ALL THE NEWS ALL THE TIME

LARGEST HOME CIRCULATION

LARGEST ADVERTISING VOLUME

DELPHI 2374

The City Oracle Telephone Number

THE CITY ORACLE

IN THREE PARTS - 46 1…

PART 1 - GENERAL NEWS…

ORACLE OFFICE

292 West Hector Stree[t]

VOL. LVIII KRONOU MORNING, GAMELION 5, 12390 DAILY, 5 DRACH[MA]

OEDIPUS IN INCEST MARRIAGE SCANDAL

SHOCKING NEW REVELATIONS OVER IDENTITY OF HERO DOCTOR'S WIFE AND MOTHER

MAN WHO CURED THE SPHINX TRIES TO PLEAD IGNORANCE - WILL SEEK TO FIND REFUGE OFF WORLD

(columns on right):

INSIDE

NARCISSUS DENIES PLASTIC SURGERY CLAIMS

HERMES TO UNVEIL NEW HI-SPEED MAGLINES

FORTY DEAD IN SUB-LEVEL 54D EXPLOSIONS: WHO IS “GUNPOWDER TIM?”

TWENTY YEARS FROM ILIUM: WILL THE SCARS EVER HEAL?

Oedipus Rex, the doctor hailed as a hero after successfully curing the disease ravaging the sublevel slums, has been revealed to have been married to his own mother for the last eight years, in what is being hailed as the social scandal of the decade.

Mr. Rex previously claimed to have grown up in one of the City's most troubled orphanages. However, a source within the Acheron has claimed that Teiresias, one of the network's most trusted interfaces, revealed his true origins yesterday.

“I didn’t know,” Oedipus told The Oracle, “I’d always believed my parents to be dead. I had no way of knowing they were even alive, let alone…”

Oedipus’ wife and mother, Jocasta Rex, has been unavailable for comment. She was last seen boarding a transport line to Outer Thebes, an area known for the number of suicides it attracts.

It is known she had been married once before to Laius, Mayor of one of the Thebian districts at the centre of the Sphinx epidemic. It was repoterd that he disappeared shortly before the announcement of the cure, under circumstances described by City PD as ‘suspicious’.

CONTINUED PG.5

HERACLES ACQUITTED ON MISTRIAL TECHNICALITY

The City High Court finally came to a ruling today in the case of Heracles, the notorious figure at the centre of the murder trial which has gripped the City for the last four weeks.

Heracles, who worked for the House of Zeus as head security for fifty years before resigning under unknown circumstances last Theozenios, was found not guilty of the brutal slaying and dismemberment of his wife and two children.

According to sources familiar with the case, he was found lying unconscious in his home, surrounded by the bodies of his family, holding in his hand what was at first thought to be the murder weapon. However, forensic evidence regarding the blade was judged to have been inadmissible, and his insistence he was defending his family from an attacker swayed the jury.

Heracles has been unable to identify the assailant against which he was struggling. This is not the first time Heracles has been involved in accusations of violence. Rumours persist that he may have been the infamous “Thunderbolt of Zeus” while working with the company, despite no connection ever being proven between the Olympian patriarch and the unknown hitman.

CONTINUED PG.9

TRANSCRIPT ENDS

Delphi and the oracle are referenced several times.

A drachma is a greek unit of currency, hence why I have guessed that as the unit of price for the newspaper.

Teiresias, the one referenced as revealing Oedipus’ parentage, is a blind prophet of Apollo from Thebes, known for clairvoyance and being transformed into a woman for several years. he is referenced as being one of the first brains volunteered into the acheron in the fiction, and holds and manages all the knowledge of the acheron.

Theoxenia seems to be a descriptor for greek mythology stories in which characters show benevolence and hospitality to strangers who turn out to be disguised deities capable of reward. These stories encourage people to treat anyone they meet as potential disguised divinity.

ONWARD!

another oracle of delphi ad, the corner of the newspaper, and part of hades’ file on oedipus..

TRANSCRIPT BEGINS (pencil markings in orange)

Name: Oedipus Rex not given surname

Occupation: Doctor (Retired) Disgraced

Age: 52 No records- abandoned at birth. Estimate Height: 5’10” Weight: 132l[b]

Hair: Chestnut Eyes: N/A self-blind[ed]

District: Thebes

Abandoned by wealthy but paranoid parents at birth. Olympians secret[ly] pulled strings, used him as poster [child] for failing orphanage scheme. Notab[le] for successfully researching the cause/[…] for the Sphinx - exceptional intel[ligence] shown. Worthy candidate for "Trial [by] Wits". Currently seeking to leave T[he] City after publicised patricide and maternal relations; will likely pla[…] ball given ample funding. EXPLOIT

END TRANSCRIPT

the tab at the side reads WITS. as well as oedipus’ fingerprints, there is a dirty handprint in the top right of the document. the newspaper appears to be stained with rings of tea or coffee.

at first I thought the photo of oedipus featured in hades’ document was this one, but it doesn’t quite match. it’s a good photo anyway.

NEXT

gunpowder tim’s dog tags from earlier are visible at the base of the photo again. A different part of Oedipus’ file is shown, showing a handprint and the start of a date on the photo of Oedipus, beginning 08/12. a map is shown too, with crosses through two locations and a circle around another. from what I can see the streets seem to mostly have fairly generic names.

sadly I have now reached image limit. when I have made the next post, I will link it here.

update I realised some of the stuff guessing cut off words and such that I did is pointless because the full documents for a bunch of them are in the goddamn cd book thing. and I kind of can’t be bothered to finish cause it feels like half the stuff I did was pointless. if you would be interested say so and maybe I will do more. but otherwise. nah

[poisonedspider]

Alright, alright, a bunch of you told me to just go at it soooo. I'm putting it under a read more. Also very large trigger warning, this entire starter relates to suicide, mental health (specifically PTSD), trauma, etc. This is an open starter, so please reply if you want to and feel comfortable handling really intense mental health struggles.

There was honestly no point anymore. That was it, mic drop, curtain closed. I'm sick of the poison, wish I had something to live for tomorrow. The thing was, he wasn't even certain if he did. He had been in Hell a long time, pushing triple the amount of years that he was alive. It hadn't seemed so bad....at first. Hell, in some odd sort of way, was more comforting than his living years. At least down here he got to be himself, no judgment, because everyone else was on #teamdebauchery as well.

The lifestyle had been beyond fun at first. It had even been fun when he had met Valentino. Valentino, who had appeared like some fucking Greek God (or, Latino God, should he say?) and swept him off his feet. Found value in him, didn't mind his bad habits, told him he was beautiful and wanted. If he had known then what he had known now - well, he didn't know if he would have left with Val after his shift at Club 666.

It had still been a decade or so before the contract was signed. And then everything started to get messy. The drugs were never enough to numb it, the hundreds of men could never fill the aching pain in his heart. Between all three Vees, Angel had had to leave. Val, for the most obvious reasons. But he knew when he didn't belong somewhere, when he wasn't wanted. That had been his whole experience being Henroin's son. And he could only stand so many thrown slurs and insults before he would lose it.

He had when he was alive, after all. He had found solace in death.

And maybe, just maybe, that had been what had landed him here. Sitting on top of the roof on the edge of Pentagram City, between the Magne District and Cannibal Town. It was far enough away from the Entertainment District owned by the Vees, or the Mafia and Weapon district where he might run into family. Far enough away from the hotel.

The hotel. His friends. His chosen family. He loved them, but he couldn't say he knew if they felt the same. All they knew of him was the fake persona he put on, the show he performed every day. A bullshit lie, starring the one and only Angel Dust! Cue the fake applause track. He had done it to himself, of course. He would rather be rejected for an image of who he was, then be rejected for his true self. He'd already had that happen too many times. By his dad and brother. By Valentino.

Charlie, she cared, but she cared about everyone. But ever since Pentious had moved into the hotel, she had seemed to put less attention in her first and only patron. He didn't blame the serpent, but it had driven him into a further spiral. Valentino was right - addict trash like him never changed. No matter how much he tried, and put in genuine effort, it wasn't going to matter. At the end of the day, he still sucked dick for a living. He still hid cocaine under his mattress.

And of course there was Husk. Husk, who Angel had started to fall for, even though it terrified him. Love was terrifying. But Husk had always pushed away his advances. Seemed annoyed by him. Uninterested. Maybe their little 'moment' had changed things, but it hadn't seemed like it did. While Husk smiled at him more and seemed more proud of him, Husk still had said he was tired of Angel being fake. And the sad thing? Husk had probably been who he was most real towards. Flirting or otherwise, it was because he had....wanted to try. With him.

This all led to here. He of course had tied all possible loose ends, or so he thought. He had cleaned out his room, the neon lights and pictures and fluffy purple pillows shoved into boxes, looking like he had just decided to move out without a word. Given up. Maybe he had. Fat Nuggets had been the hardest. It hurt his heart to leave his hellpig behind, but Nuggets deserved a better mom than him anyways. He had left a note for Charlie, not about his plans, but secured under Nuggets' collar. Please take care of him. xoxo Angie

Short, simple. He knew she would, too. Just like she did for Keke, for Razzle and Dazzle. Getting the angelic weapon had been the easiest part. Valentino's cabinet was stuffed with them. While Angel didn't have the money to get one on his own, it was incredibly easy to take one from Val. One would think it wouldn't be, but despite their rocky relationship, Valentino trusted Angel. He knew Angel still loved him, and would never do anything to hurt him. Not to mention that by contract, he couldn't.

Valentino would notice one of his guns missing eventually, but it would be too late by then. He had thought nothing could possibly be worse than being alive. Now he felt like nothing could possibly be worse than being dead. And double dead? That was the only unknown. Though surely, nothing could possibly be bad when ceasing to exist. He would never know it. He'd be gone. Nothing. Just like he felt in that moment.

He flipped off the safety, taking a deep breath. He knew how to do this - guns were his specialty, he'd killed so many people before. But fuck if this wasn't scary. When he had died, it hadn't been intentional. Maybe it had been unconsciously - he had wanted to die, and he had taken just too many drugs, more than he knew he could handle. He had slipped into the coma, and he had never woken back up. This was different. This he had to actively pull the trigger. Angel didn't consider himself weak, but he hated how his hands were shaking in that moment.

Hammer pulled back, gun cocked, he looked over Pentagram City one last time. In an eerie way, it was beautiful. He didn't belong amongst any of the good here. An angel he was not, despite his namesake. No, he was just Anthony. Scared. Alone. Nothing. Worthless. He had to shake his head to snap out of it, knowing the best aim - gun positioned right underneath his chin, angled so that he wouldn't fuck it up and end up suffering until he died of blood loss. Finger on the trigger. It would be okay....it would be okay....it would all be over in just three....two....

[mask131]

The myth of Apollo (4)

As with Dionysos previously (see here), the Dictionnary of Literary Myths of Pierre Brunel offers two different articles about Apollo. Here is the loose (but free !) translation of the second one, « Apollon, the mythical sun ».

APOLLO, THE MYTHICAL SUN

Pontus of Tyard wrote in 1552: “Of all the poetic gods, Apollo is the one that has been the most disguised by the fables and the etymologies of his name.” The mythical figure of Apollo, which has been turned in Western literature as one of the most conventional figures there can be, was considered by ancient mythographers as an extremely complex character, because he was given many names and many properties. Apollo is first and foremost an universal archetype of the Divine, of which literature kept – alternatively as much as indiscriminately – three main names: Apollo(n), Phoebus, Sun. The chronological evolution of the god allows us to isolate and separate the solar god (as a symbol) from his mythological adventures, since the solar Apollo is more present within poetry than within legends.

I/ The names of the Sun

In the Platonic tradition, all the way to the end of the Renaissance, numerous significant and diverse etymologies were invented for Apollo, all reflecting the various functions of the solar god. Within the name Apollo(n), interprets can read as much an idea of destruction as an idea of freeing (from the verb “luô”, to untie) or purification (from the verb “louô”, to clean). This reflects the “drying” effects of the sun, which can be negative or positive – and thus is a survival of the ambiguity of the archaic god.

The interpretations found within the “Cratylus” (see the previous part of “The myth of Apollo”, “The Antique Apollo) allow us to define the four main attributes of the god: medicine, divination (both seen as manifestations of “purification”), music and the art of shooting with a bow. The name Phoebus has been associated by Isidor of Sevilla with the endless youth of the ephebe (e-phoebus), while Cartari (in 1556) linked it to the vital light (phôs, light, bios, vie). For Platon, the name of “Sun” within Ancient Greek meant he who “nuances” the colors (“helios”, the sun in Greek, derived from “aïoleïn”, to nuance) ; and all the ulterior commentators assimilated it with the Latin “Sol”, tied to the adjective “Solus” (the sole, the unique, the lonely), a link which can be found in the neo-Latin languages (in French “soleil” and “seul”, for example). Cartari, who was follow the works of Plotin and Macrobe, linked this precise etymology to the Greek name of Apollo that he translated as “he who is not multiple” (“a” as a privative + “polu”, many) – highlighting again the important idea of unity within the idea of the sun-god.

II/ Main attributes

The mythographers of Renaissance made a very useful synthesis work that offers us in their roughly definitive state the various interpretations of the myth of Apollo, compiling together the commentaries from Antiquity, the interpretations from the Middle-Ages, as well as the point of view of some Oriental civilizations. Within his “Images of the Gods” (1556), Cartari divides the solar myth in a series of elements linked together as part of a long allegorical chain:

1) The sun represents at first, in the diversity and universality of its effects, an archetype of the Divinity. The Assyrians assimilated it to Jupiter as the soul of the world (because through all the other gods, it was always him who was evoked). As such Macrobe noted in his “Saturnals” that all theology always returned to the worship of the sun.

2) As a symbol of eternal youth, as the allegory of the always-new day, of the always-resurrecting light, Apollo is depicted as beardless (except for the Assyrians) and is associated with Dionysos.

3) Because of its central position within the Universe, it is called “heart of the heaven”, by analogy with the vital function of this “pulsing” organ within the human body. The sun is the source of light that communicates their movements to the other astral bodies. It is why Apollo is sitting in the middle of the nine Muses, allegories of the nine celestial sepheres, and with them he embodies the Harmony and the Universe, as a symbol of “symmetry and concordance” (according to Tyard). As such the Music of the Spheres, that R. Lulle will represent through the “Great Lyre of the Universe”, is reflected in Apollon’s association with Music and Poetry (Poetry which was originally simply the art of singing).

4) The rays of the sun are depicted by the arrows of Apollo (just like by those of his sister Diana). They can penetrate the very core of the earth – it is why there is an archaic tradition according to which Apollo is a chthonian or infernal god (and can sometimes be called Hecate, since the primitive gods were without genders).

5) It is due to the purgative and drying effects of his rays that Apollo is also the god of medicine. Mythographers tie this function of the god to the fable of the snake Python killed by Apollo soon after his birth: they assimilated Python to the mythical Flood, as a principal of morbid humidity wrapped around the earth.

6) The attribution of the laurel to Apollo, and the fable of Daphne, are explained by the medicinal virtue of the plant, the always-green plant that never rots, and that the mythographers saw as a symbol of Health. The laurel is also tied to the alchemical symbolism of Humidity, because Daphne was metamorphosed thanks to the intervention of her father, a river-god.

7) Finally, Apollo is the god of divination, because he is the eye of the sky, he sees all and he reveals all secrets (hence why in mythology Apollo was the one who denounced the adulterine love of Venus and Mars). He has the role, within the Universe, of the eye within the human body – he is the “spy of the intellect”, the “censor” or the “rector”, and his eminent position makes him a sign of omnipotence. Cartari described a hieroglyph that designated the sun as a scepter surmounted by an eye – which would identify the mythical sun with the idea of royalty.

Such a synthesis – within which each of the god’s main attributes were defined and linked together – as the interpretative model which was used as a basis for all ulterior poetry. For example take Du Bartas: in his “Sepmaine ou Création du Monde », in 1578, the sun, which is not a god anymore but a mere « ornament of the sky », is always designated by metonymy through a series of names that resume all the attributes of the solar god in his cosmic function: Phoebus with gold hair, the blond Titan, the Torch of Laton, the Archer, Apollo giver-of-souls, the Fountain of Heat, the Life of the Universe, Giver-of-honors, King of the Sky, Eye of the Day, Censor, Torch of Delph, Torch of Delos, he who “makes the face of the world young again”. In a parallel way, from Cartari’s work, the different aspects of the character will be slowly simplified until he simply becomes the god of Poetry, crowned with both sunrays and laurel leaves, sitting among the Muses on top of mount Parnassus, always holding his lyre (which can sometimes represent him in his entirety), distilling the poetic inspiration under the shape of the Hippocrene spring (created from Pegasus’ hoof), a spring that Ronsard will describe as “the fountain of verses”.

III/ The philosophical Sun

Symbol of the Philosophical Gold in the alchemical tradition, uniting the fundamental opposites that are the fire and the water, the dry and the wet ; or a symbol of the divine creative soul within Orphism and Pythagorism, the go of Poetry s the very image of all creation within the Neoplatonic literature, in which Apollo with his lyre is always associated to his “mortal double”, Orpheus. Within the Renaissance, Apollo was the god who inspired the “Poetic Fury”, without which the lyrical production cannot be: it is under his influence that (according to Ronsard’s Hymn to Autumn) the spirit can “penetrate the secret of the heavens” and the soul “rise among the gods”. It is under the sign of Apollo that the soul finds back its celestial origin through the effects of the divine enthusiasm (from the Greek “theos”, god): this is the Orphic origin of poetry. For Ronsard and the poets of La Pléiade, the “inspired Poet” is both the “prophet” and the “priest” of Apollo (hence why in the 16th century it was believed that the Sibyls and the oracles were exceptional poets).

This Neoplatonic interpretation of the myth, which confuses the two main attributes of the god, prediction and lyrical art, this same tradition that shaped the image of Apollo we have today, relies on the commentary by Marsile Ficin of “The Symposium”, which divines four different divine “furies”, associated with four patron-deities. First is the highest, the poetic fury, which is caused by the Muses ; second is the “mystery fury” or the sacerdotal fury, which proceeds from Dionysos  ; third is the prophetic fury, given by Apollo ; fourth is love, and it originates from Venus. Despite the distinction marked within this text between the Muses and Apollo, poets usually invoke indifferently one or the other – the god understood as the “universal principle” and the Muses as allegories that represent the individual repartitions of the poetic virtues. It should be noted that within the Neoplatonic context, Apollo is not opposed to Dionysos – rather their functions are complementary. The god of divination, who is also the god of the penetration of divine secrets, forms a couple with the god who initiates humans to the divine Mysteries ; it is to the point that they are called “brothers” by Pontus of Tyard, who explains the epithet of “Delphic Apollo” by a fake etymology “adelphos”, “brother”, for the “fraternity considered between Denys (Dionysos) and Apollo”.

For the Neoplatonicians, if Apollo is one of the poles of the duality of the world, he is rather opposed as the One, as the universal principle, to Diana, who embodies Nature – that is to say the Multiple. According to the Platonic idea taken back by Giordano Bruno in “Eroici Furori” (1585), the Nature (Diane) is the mirror of the God (Apollo). Apollo is the absolute light whose essence must be hidden, who blinds and kills those that see it directly, and thus he can only be perceived through his reflection. A variation of this idea, developed by Léon Hébreu in 1535) made Apollo the “simulacrum of the divine Intellect”, while the Moon was the “simulacrum of the soul of the World” and acted as an intermediary between the divine plane (the intelligible world) and the corporal plane (the sensible world). This conception has been very influential in term of literary posterity, because it means in a very explicit way, that the sight is a sense that must be valorized: the sensitive vision, the one of the eye, is to be identified with the intellectual vision, the one that allows thanks to the spirituality of the light to distinguish the beautiful from the ugly and the good from the evil. The supremacy of the eye above all other senses will be abundantly developed, in poetic and metaphorical ways, from the 16th to the 17th centuries. Even within the anatomical descriptions of the baroque poets, the eye appears as an intermediary between the sensible and intelligible world, as a double of the Sun, whose light shines upon the minds as much as upon the bodies.

[potterandpromises]

Possible season 4 victims but it's only characters I personally think might be foreshadowed to die

In Only Murders in the Building character deaths tend to be foreshadowed in some way (although not necessarily to the victim's identity, often it's to the manner of death.) Examples include Sazz talking about the chatter on her ham radio in season 3, the broken elevator in season 2, dialogue relating to cold cases in both season 3 and season 4, and so on. Of course these things may be foreshadowing something other then the character's untimely demise, or may not be foreshadowing anything. That's the fun of it!

Propaganda:

Loretta:

Zach and Oliver talked about his wedding venue as setting the tone for their marriage; they're getting married in the courtyard of the Murder Building.

Both Mabel and Charles have had someone close to them (their oldest friend, albeit estranged on Mabel's part) get murdered. Oliver has not yet had that.

Jan:

She's still loose in New York, not Florida, doing god knows what or killing god knows who. Chekhov's gun applies.

Teddy:

Several times, Zach, who's playing Oliver, has been described as Greek. Meanwhile Oliver has twice this season broken into an Irish accent while talking to an Irish person, emphasizing that he is Irish and not Greek. This references the season 2 plotline re: Teddy being Will's bio father and Oliver lying about being Greek, etc.

In 4x09 Mabel says: ""We're the most listened to murder podcast on the Upper West Side that's sponsored by a deli chain." They were sponsored by Dimas Delis (Angel Inc) in season 1, and apparently still are, somehow.

In 4x09 there's a TV broadcast shown about "Nicky "the neck" Caccimello, the Dry Cleaning King of Brooklyn" who has ties to a crime family, and has gone missing. Teddy has been described as "the deli king" and is part of a two person crime family. There could be a plotline related to organized crime, and their murders could be related in one way or another.

See second point about Loretta—it also applies to Teddy.

Lester:

See third point about Teddy. Lester is seen with dry cleaning in season 1 (possibly multiple times, although I don't recall.)

Nicky "the neck" Caccimello, the Dry Cleaning King of Brooklyn:

He has gone missing and the show went way out of it's way to tell us that. He could turn up dead in the Arconia and the next season could simply be about his murder.

Counterpoints:

Loretta:

It might be like, way too sad to kill her off at this point, given that she's marrying Oliver and has only just reunited with her son.

There's likely not as much to learn about her as there has been with previous victims—she already had a secret explored re: Dickie, and it isn't clear that she has more.

Jan:

Season 4 had a Charles-centric victim, and I'm not sure they'd want to have two in a row.

Teddy:

He hasn't actually been in the show since season 2, just indirectly referenced.

Lester:

After a season about the theater and a season about Hollywood movies... would they really have a season about dry cleaning?

Nicky "the neck" Caccimello, the Dry Cleaning King of Brooklyn:

See point about Lester.

Might be seen as a kind of emotional downgrade to bring in an unknown victim right after Sazz.

[gingermintpepper]

Day 6: Iaso

Interpretation notes and trivia under the cut!

Okay the first thing I'm going to say is I know she has a criminal lack of jewellry but I really didn't want to draw all the little baubles 😭 She's also missing her headscarf but like,,, shh, it's fine. Actually her design her is very very loose - for example the back of her two scarves should be tucked into her belt, and they should be tied off in front before flaring out again beneath her belt. Also her belt should be clip on with a silver clasp instead of a tied off sash like the greek women HOWEVER, what if I just drew her barely clothed and completely a mess? Okay? Okay mwah mwah mwah. Me committing liberal fashion faux pas aside, I think Iaso is the first true "what the hell does she have to do with the story of Hyacinthus and Apollo" character I've introduced and that makes me very happy, get used to that it will happen again. As the second child of Asclepius, Iaso has spent her life supporting her mother and chasing her father's shadow. Machaon, her older brother, has never disliked the nomadic life their family leads, travelling from place to place, lending their aid where they can and healing whatever sick and afflicted they find but Iaso has only ever wanted to fix her family - to keep her mother happy and to make her father stay with them. When the opportunity comes for her to fix it all, of course she springs for it and rushes off on her own adventure, still that little girl chasing after her father's shadow. Determined, upbeat and kind of precocious, Iaso's the sort of girl to take her fate into her own hands, for better or for worse.

Some assorted trivia:

Has never met her grandfather and doesn't actually care much about being the granddaughter of the Radiant. The only members of her paternal family that she's familiar with are Artemis and Orpheus. Artemis because she frequented Asclepius' home when dealing with The Hippolytus Incident and Orpheus because all of the children, even the twins, know Uncle Orpheus.

Despite her skill with healing and ingenuity when it comes to administering and refining medicinal receipes, she doesn't want to be a doctor and very much wishes she had the freedom to be something else. Hasn't had time to have a hobby but she thinks she'd like horseback riding.

Extremely good runner and fantastic at concocting poisons. Surprisingly hardy and due to handling home affairs for so long as Epione was usually busy for long hours in the healing tent, can haggle and cook with the best of them.

Routinely pilfers a lot of the jewellry Machaon inherited from their father and is especially fond of the bronze snake anklet Asclepius wore on his wedding day. It was originally given to Machaon in the hopes that it would help him find a bride but considering Machaon hasn't yet told his father that he has no interest in such a pursuit, the boy passed the bronze snake to Iaso who wears it religiously. She even says a charm spell each day just in case she finds her special someone while on the road!

Thinks the current world without the Radiant is beautiful enough and that people will ultimately perservere even if the god of light never returns. She hopes her father can understand that divine matters should be left to the gods and that his priority should be the family he built with his own two hands and not his paternal family who can never seem to agree on anything.

Favourite colour is the greenish-yellow of olive oil, favourite season is the lingering fall. Her favourite food is her mother's menemen (without onion).

[sweetpandorabox]

I Love You - Cedric Diggory x Female Reader (One shot)

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨sweetpandorabox୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎…⋙

Synopsis: After 5 months of dating your older boyfriend and a charming yet brave Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory, has finally said the words I love you on the morning of your birthday as he also brought along a little gift for you.

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Female Reader

Story Settings: This fanfiction is set in a year after you and Cedric have graduated from Hogwarts. (Yes in this one Cedric survived through the Triwizard tournament and tied with Harry and you also moved in with him).

Warnings⚠️: None this one is pure fluff.

A/N: Hey sexy it's Angel here, this week I've decided to write some more super short one-shots for all of you, I'll be sure to make one for at least all of the Harry Potter boys and girls because it's super easy, and, and don't require a lot of time, anyway enjoy love you. xx

Word Count: 907

✯¸.•´¨*•✿ I Love You ✿•*¨`•.¸✯

You're woken up by the sweet scent of freshly made pancakes drenched in syrupy and a touch of butter right on the top, just the way you like it coming your way closer and closer salivating your mouth wet, heavily desiring for those pancakes to fill in your rumbling morning tummy, you slowly open your eyes awake with a smile stay put on your lips only to find your boyfriend Cedric shirtless wearing one of his favorite grey sweatpants resting low on his hips showing off just how well he's taken care of his body. His defined abs that look to be shaped by the Greek Gods themselves and his sharp-cut Adonis belt sticking out caught your eyes right away, leaving them glued down there as he made his way to your side of the bed with a breakfast tray floating itself up in front of him.

"Happy Birthday to you" Cedric begins to sing in a cheerful tone, "Happy birthday to you...Happy birthday dear Y/N... Happy birthday my love" he finished the song, setting the breakfast tray right by the nightstand with his wand leaving you to giggle away at his adorable singing voice. Cedric placed himself on the edge of the bed right by your foot tucking a loose piece of hair behind your messy yet sexy bedhead, "Happy birthday my love, I hope you like your breakfast in bed, mom taught me how to make homemade pancakes the other day so I could surprise you" He explained softly traveling his hand once form your ear down to caressing your cheek, his hands were warm and gentle how could you be so lucky you thought.

You gave him your best, most happiest smile at his efforts before saying "Thank you so much for all this love, you didn't need to do any of this at all... a good morning kiss would have sufficed" you giggle quietly once more, "Now come here and give me my kiss before I dive into those delicious looking pancakes" you demanded and just like that Cedric charming yet toothy smile appears as he scoots closer to your face and leaned in to place his soft silky lips into yours. The kiss was fiery and needy even after 5 month of dating Cedric passion for you has never run our of fuel, he's willing to do anything to make you happy and although the both of you haven't actually announce the L words to each other Cedric feels that he's ready and it's the perfect time to do so.

After what felt like hours Cedric managed to get up from the bed, grab onto your waist, and pick your small frame off the bed and into his arm all without breaking the kiss walking off into another space inside your shared bedroom, finally, he stops walking, he's take you out to the balcony of your shared bedroom. The cold morning air slithers in over the both of you, cooling down the burning and passionate make-out that both of you have been doing for the last 5 minutes. You break the kiss slowly only to find Cedric smiling happily, you haven't seen this smile since you agreed to be his girlfriend or when you agreed to move in with him, it was indeed a special smile, you smile sweetly back at him, as he stares into your eyes getting lost in their beautiful color before he finally said "I love you" you eyes opened wide at his words, and he managed to skip your heartbeat about 3 times faster he said, he finally said it, you couldn't imagine being happier then you are at this moment.

"I love you too Cedric" you blurted before you giggle leaving him to smile and spin your around in his arm, joyful that the both of you have finally reached yet another chapter in your relationship journey, and after a while of giggling and him spinning you around, he lands you down on the balcony making sure you're safe and sound before he reached for his pocket. "I've got a surprise for you princess, you're going to love it... close your eyes" he blurted out before pulling out a red velvet box while you did as you were told to close your eyes. Cedric opened the box gently and take out its content which was an elegant Ruby necklace laced into a gold chain, he close the box and puts it back into his pocket before unclasping the necklace and walking right behind you to put it on.

He placed the necklace gently on your neck and clasp it closed before telling you to slowly open your eyes, you did as you were told giggling in the process only to find a shining red stone sitting on your neck. You've always talked about how you wanted a ruby necklace such as this because it reminds you of your grandmother who possesses the same looking one that she would wear all the time before she passed away not that long ago. You couldn't contain your happiness and even your eyes started to well up with happy tears but you turned around to face him, got up on your tippy toes, and placed your arms behind his neck to pull him down for yet another thank you and passionate a kiss, as he rests both his hand on your waist leaving a great start to your birthday.

What the necklace looks like in my head 👆🏻

[reddogf13]

and were back with another edition of these icons. since i had started on the second set i knew i really should "paint" them and slightly mimic the style of the comics with a lack of thick outlines. but i kept rejecting that because I'd have to start the icons from scratch in a way. but eventually i buckled and the icons look far better.

the first icon has a better visual with the fire theme that actually matches the chapters contents.

ch3 icon as well i was struggling to draw the gold effect. painting it had it turn out much better and actually representing the melting of false idols better.

many of the icons are recreations of holy paintings. or represent a piece of religious story's.

ch2 recreates the pose of Jesus with his hand up creating 4 letters in greek. “IC XC” Marta is shown with a big grand halo showing her unbreaking loyalty and faith that has sadly been lead astray to her downfall by turning into a choking barbwire.

ch3 being a point toward burning false idols > the golden calf story.

ch6 features Marta's new staff. which is a point toward the rod of Asclepius. -both a reminder of God’s miraculous healing and as a warning for disobedience.-

ch7 recreates the painting of saint Sebastion. tied to a tree and shot by arrows. he was a known for keeping away plagues. (this chapter also revolves around Blake reentering the quarantine zone to help the scalled.)

ch13 points to the story of Daniel being thrown to the lions and surviving because he was innocent of the crime he was punished for. in the icon, Blake is also replicating the Jesus "bless thee" posed painting.

ch15 (used to be 14) loosely recreates the fallen angel painting.

there are a couple generic ish bits like characters having halos. Blake, Marta, and Val have specific ones. Marta's was stated above. Blake's halo still shines, but has been harmed and now has a circling halo of thorns. it also dulls and brightens with confidence. val has a similar set up where hers was very large, glowing and used to have regular tines like Marta. but after all the damage and betrayal its gone dark, shattered, and the tines have become massive broken blades to keep away others.