#lost god reader

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

reader: i hope the deity appreciates my gift, even if all i can offer is my love and care- the deity in question, disguised as a priest who might be developing maybe just a lil tiny crush: UR GOOD DON'T EVEN WORRY ABT IT I BET THEY'LL LOVE IT- REALLY LIKE IT I MEAN THEY'LL REALLY LIKE IT,

[mafuyuakgae]

even if I came to love humanity in the end, there’s no proof I was ever here, right?

[literaila]

atf satoru try not to kiss wife for 24 hours challenge

“seven feet, satoru,” you tell him, moving yourself to the opposite end of the couch. “seven. feet.”

“but—“ he’s whining, obviously, and stretching his obnoxiously long body to fit the space you just left. his hands rub at the body warmth you’ve left behind longingly. “this is cruel and unusual punishment.”

you only roll your eyes, resuming your very diligent email checking.

“c’mon,” he pleads, throwing caution—and his glasses—to the wind. puppy eyes are very persuasive. “it’s been three hours.”

“oh good, only 21 more to go.”

satoru groans, pulling at his hair. “three hours.”

“three hours since what?”

you both look up, tsumiki standing at the end of the couch, smiling at you and scrunching her nose at satoru.

“morning, ‘miki, how’d you sleep?”

satoru whines again and shoves his face into the couch cushion—but not before he lifts his head so that tsumiki will give him a kiss on his forehead as she walks by, which she does, because she loves him or something.

she sits down next to you. “good. what’s wrong with him?”

you blink at satoru. “want to tell her what you did?”

“t’was a’ accident,” he mumbles, hanging his limbs in defeat.

tsumiki giggles again, but she still asks, “what did you do, dad?”

at that, satoru lifts his head. “nothing. i did nothing and your mother still refuses to touch me—i feel my limbs getting weak already,” he sits up, hand to his chest. “tsumiki i need you to call shoko.”

“shut up. you know what you did.”

he pouts.

“he pushed me out of bed in the middle of the night,” you tell tsumiki, shaking your head. “and he didn’t even wake up to check and see if i was alright.”

at that, tsumiki attempts to hold in a laugh—which she almost does, except she’s spent eight years living with the two of you so—

it’s safe to say that she coughs into her hands very subtly.

“i checked!” satoru argues, hands floating circles around his head. “i woke up from a very nice dream, which was ruined, and i tried to grab you but you weren’t there. i was all alone.”

“because you pushed me off—“

“why are you yelling,” and then your second child comes into the room and if satoru was going to win this fight—which he wasn’t—any chances have just been ruined.

“god,” satoru lays back down, turning so hes facing the couch, back to all of you. “i am a victim,” he says, very promptly and then shuts up.

tsumiki just gives megumi a little wave.

“sorry,” you say, even though you’re not sorry at all. “did we wake you up?”

megumi steps over your legs, his bed head very endearing. “no.” he sits next to tsumiki, resting a single palm on the top of her head as a hello. “where’s the coffee?”

“ask your father. he probably drank it all.”

megumi stares at satoru. white hair shakes sporadically, but the man-child makes no move to turn around.

you just shake your head, all of you waiting for satoru’s inevitable excuse.

[magicalbunbun]

My favourite ship dynamics

Talon! Reader x jason todd

Nile! Reader x Ra

[voidcat]

At the beginning it was Narumi's impulsive and impatient ass that'd rush to any yamazon order he sees delivered to the base and grab them all for himself before checking for the possibility that some of them might not be his...

But after one too many times getting scolded by your, getting his ear pulled or getting into a heated argument with you- right in front of many people no less- He sees the fruit garden of an opportunity as it is, and decides to use it for his advantage.

Especially when the orders /are/ delivered to his person by accident.

Who can blame the poor delivery guys though? They are giving the boxes to him by muscle memory at this point- sick of coming back to the base doors day after day and always the same darn name on the papers: Narumi Gen

Meanwhile Narumi enjoys seeing the growing frustration on your person when the telltale message of "orders delivered" has arrived yet there is nothing in sight. Some orders have you worried more than the others, piquing his interest and going as far as to try his chances every once in a while when he's feeling bold: "Oh? You want these so badly? Then beg"

(It results with a hardcover book of yours meeting with the crown of his head every single time. Always a different book and the current one always heavier than the previous...)

[ameagrice]

Capsize

Percy Jackson x fem reader

chapter thirty-two I see trouble on the way.

There wasn’t an exact word to describe the way Chiron looked at you, that summer. Months and years down the line, you still couldn’t place it. That weary look, like watching something play out that you can’t really put a stop to. Of course, then you couldn’t have known. Not amongst friends, at your cabin table.

“Barbecue chicken wings!”

The food sprouted on the plate, a magic you’d never grown used to seeing. Newcomer Clarissa, a girl with extravagant blue hair, blinked, jaw-dropped.

“Twenty barbecue chicken wings!”

“Greedy-guts,” Annabeth chided beside you, munching on a side of lettuce.

You shoved three wings in your mouth at once, side-eying her. “You’re eating rabbit food.”

Your eyes lifted to the head table, where Chiron talked with an expressionless face to the new guy beside him, in an orange colour of the fruit itself. “I don’t like him.”

“You haven’t even talked to him,” Annabeth stabbed her fries with a fork.

“I don’t have to. Something’s off.”

Your sister groaned at your side, reaching for one of your chicken wings. Your mouth gaped, a sound of protest that she ignored. “Don’t start with ‘the vibes are off’ again.”

“Vibes are very important!” You rebutted.

He happened to be a man in at least his early to mid-fifties, short as anything and skinny, too, with a mess of dark-grey stubble around his jaw and a thin layer of hair on his head. Talking to Chiron, he might have looked like any random convict. But you weren’t convinced he was harmless.

“Seriously, though. The vibes are off. Don’t you think? You’ve been here all summer with him haven’t you?”

Annabeth’s bright eyes raised to the man in question for a fraction of a second, before lowering to her food, pushing fries around with the fork in her grip. “Quintus is…difficult. You should be careful with what you say around him. Especially you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means,” she lowered her tone, as if it was a super-secret secret. “I don’t trust him…particularly, and I know you always have a lot to say. Besides, something’s happening, can’t you feel it? Nobody trusts Quintus the way we should, since he came out of nowhere. Somebody mentioned the Oracle and he went crazy, he shut ‘em down. You have to keep your mouth shut this year, okay? Don’t disrespect the Gods, and don’t talk back to him.”

Being serious wasn’t in your nature, but you tried, for your sister’s sake. “Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re Annabeth.” Clarissa choked on her food, while Annabeth rolled her eyes.

It was a total pain that, not long after arriving, you had cabin inspection. A bore, grinding your nerves that you had to clean a cabin full of mess that wasn’t even yours—but Annabeth told you to quit whining, so you did, figuring you’d annoyed her enough already. Every afternoon for the first week, a senior counsellor came around with a checklist for every cabin. Thanks to your team efforts, you got the hot, clean showers first every time. Unfortunately for Percy, he fell somewhere around the middle-bottom league. You asked for snacks in return for your cleaning efforts, putting your home skills to use. Your best friend carried through on his promise—goods from the cabin store delivered promptly to your cabin every week.

Somewhere between the end of the first week and the weekend, you dipped your fingers in the lake water, watching the dark trailing swirls as you moved. Your ankle gently tapped Percy’s in the water, sitting at the end of the walkway. You can’t help noticing how much more grown up he looks this year. Older than you—you can’t seem to shed your baby face and freckles. Eyebrow waxing and tinting can only do so much.

“You know,” you say quietly, into the evening stars. “I think the Oracle wants to see me.”

Percy remains quiet at your confession. In the water’s reflection, you watch him nod. Maybe he thought this was a continuation of your want to see the future, carried through from last season. This time is very different, you want to tell him. Because this time, you feel it in your body that your time is here.

Dark curls gently sway with the movement of his nod. Even at fifteen years old, Percy respects your wishes, even if he doesn’t agree with them. “Want me to come with you?” Just being there is enough for him. There are no questions, with Percy. He understands you, and the way you talk. There is a mutual understanding that he’s there if you want, and there anyway. There is an underlying message in his words: I’m here if you need me to be.

“Yeah,” you dip your head, to your fingers laying just beside each others, not touching. “I’d like that.”

Intuition as a demigod means a lot. It can help the demigod avoid dangerous situations, or get them to act appropriately in time. In a few years from now, walking, lonely, along a shoreline yearning for someone who isn’t there, you’ll remember this moment, and question your own sanity. On the other side of the water will be a boy, sitting and praying on his knees in the sand, for your return. You’ll feel a million miles away yet so close, just the way you do now. This moment, in the present, feels so prominent and so odd that you commit it to memory, for later. Later always comes too soon. You shouldn’t get so caught up in the past, you hear a woman’s voice telling you. You want to scream until your throat feels raw; so why is the past always catching up to me? We live in memories; they shape you, they guide you—maybe that’s why you eventually feel so lost.

The next day, you kick yourself into action. You set about making a sword from scratch in the armoury (and bribing some Hecate kids to charm it for you, to a bracelet, or something. You haven’t quite decided yet). Something in the style of Percy’s sword would be beneficial.

“Do you think there’s a reason why my sword works so well with you?” The boy mutters, hanging upside down on the dock at night, cicadas singing all around. “Back at the school, I mean. You just…used it like it weighed nothing. It came to you.”

There probably is a reason. Chiron would know. But for now, you’re young, and you don’t care.

You go down to the training arena the next evening and watch newcomer Quintus fight against Percy—practicing. The older man might try to come across as harmless, and friendly, but there’s something you really can’t place your finger on.

“Good try,” the man nods. “But your guard is too low, Percy.”

Said boy parries back, undeterred. “Have you always been a swordsman?”

“I’ve been many things.”

And if that wasn’t strange enough, the purple insignia on his neck was. In the shape of a bird, the symbol sat against his stark skin like a terrible bruise. A reminder, he called it, when Percy asked. You decide you don’t want to know much more. You’ve made your mind up about the man.

The evening that you’ve made up your mind on going to the Oracle, something strange is in the air. It feels different, like it had when Ares met you in the diner your first quest, and the way it had when you ran away from home. Something was changing—had changed. When you raise your eyes to Chiron, talking with an animated Connor Stoll at his table, he raises his gaze like he’d been expecting you. He knows that you feel something is wrong, and you know that he understands what you mean. It’s a sure sign that this isn’t you being paranoid—this is real. Something is coming, and you wish you could avoid it with all your heart. Chiron shakes his head, curls jostling at his shoulders, a silent warning for you to be quiet—to let it be. He’s handling it.

In the middle of the dining place, striking across the floor, sits the crack where Nico di Angelo brought forth the dead. Since then, he’s been missing. And nobody will let you look for him. His grief showed his true colours, a hidden talent buried deep down. If Bianca hadn’t have passed, poor Nico would be here, and happy. He’d be safe.

Annabeth jokingly digs her hand into your side. Ticklish, you almost elbow her. “Shift it! I’m starving!” You draw your eyes away from the past, though it’s staring you right in the face.

You fall asleep that night with your fingers still against the edge of the curtain that stops right above your pillow, playing with it to watch the stars above camp. When you manage to drift off, feeling heavy and tired, you only hear words in the darkness.

“An exchange. A soul for a soul. A soul that should have died already. Someone who has cheated death.”

You can’t help but think, that’s you.

So you pull on a jacket and shoes, and slip from your cabin, trailing across camp in the quiet of night, taking in the sheer silence. In the distance, Festus snored and the Golden Fleece glowed, but that passed as you took the steps to the Big House, creaking under your feet. The lights inside are on, as they always are—the Big House is never closed. And somebody is always awake.

Unfortunately, tonight, the someone you want is not awake. Mr. D. is. You’re about to turn around when he blinks up from his magazine at the table, and waves his hand briefly. The door flies open, whacking the wall unapologetically. You stand, in mismatched socks and a saggy jacket, unimpressed.

“Where’s the manager?” You ask, folding your arms.

“That would be me.”

You scoff, stepping inside. “Bullshit.”

Inside, the lights are on, the house like a beacon. It smells of alcohol and coffee, though Mr. D. can’t drink ethanol. The scent lingers with him, like the smell of Cola. He sits in a too-big, starry shirt with red cheeks and bright orange pants. A fashion icon, on a different planet. A warm breeze drifts in from the open doorway, brushing your bare legs. The animal on the wall, above the chair where a clock also sits, stares at you, judging.

“I really need to speak to Chiron.”

“Not Quintus?” He lazily raises his brows. You laugh through your nose, shoving your hands inside your pockets. As you begin to walk the space, you blink at the dirt on your shoes, thinking.

“No. I’d rather jump off a cliff.” You stop. Pulling out a chair at the table, you sit heavily, legs outstretched, an arm over the back of the chair. You don’t look up. “I had a dream about that kid, Nico. He isn’t lost—he’s following someone’s orders. And we need to go get him. Someone wants to exchange lives—a soul for a soul. They said, someone who has skipped out on death.”

Silence fills the space. You look up, from your shoes. Mr. D. shrugs. “Okay?”

Fury fills you. “Okay? That’s all you got? Call for a quest!” You exclaim, getting to your feet. “Help Nico! A soul for a soul clearly means me. Did you just ignore the last quest altogether? How many times did I nearly die?”

His watery eyes blink, face unbothered. Mr. D. leans back on the sofa, flicking his magazine again. He hums. “How should I know?”

“You should! You should know these things. Please just…help me out, here. Get Chiron to call for a quest. Let me talk to the Oracle. We can save Nico! We can fix this! He’s a kid…he shouldn’t be out there alone. Someone is clearly controlling him. And personally, I think it’s a god.”

Now, he looks up. Those eyes harden. He doesn’t do anything, but the air shifts, changes, and you hate it. “Do you, now?”

“Yes,” you sigh slowly, watching carefully. Men can be unpredictable, you’ve learned that. Gods? A little bit more so. “Just…let me do this. Let me fix things before they get worse. Please.”

You plead the same way with Chiron, later that morning. “I know this is meant for me. This is my quest. My chance. Chiron, I swear. I feel this in my bones. We have to do something, because something big is happening. Nico needs somebody to help him, and someone powerful has risen. I’ve dreamt it. I feel it. And I know that you do, too. If you don’t believe me, let me talk to the Oracle! Talk to Percy. He knows about this. He knows how I feel about it all—!”

“Stop.” Chiron utters quietly. He cuts your rising tone in half, and you fall silent, waiting. He looks at you the same way that he has since you arrived—like you’re headed for your grave, and he’s trying to stop it. He sits looking out across the porch, across camp. “Go back to your cabin. Inspection’s due to start, is it not? I’m sure Annabeth would like your help—”

And…you finally snap. You swipe a hand over your hair, tugging on the ends. “Why does nobody listen to me?! I know that you can feel something is wrong. I know. If you’d just let me talk to the Oracle. Just this once. And I’ll stop. If nothing happens, I’ll leave it all alone,” you step forward, so you’re leaning on the railing, breathing deeply, waiting for his reaction. “We both know, though, that something will happen. You’re just scared of it.”

Later, you’ll realise, looking at a young boy on a rooftop, just why Chiron was scared. He was scared for all you heroes, then and always. Heroes die terrible deaths; they get hurt, and they don’t recover. They live difficult but happy lives. It’s the hard parts, he doesn’t like.

“We don’t all die,” you urge. “We don’t all suffer. If you let me do this, I’ll come back from wherever I’ll go. I’ll bring Nico back. I’ll fix all of this! You have to trust me on this one. I’ve had dreams. Nightmares. I know what’s coming, and what will happen if I don’t do something. You’ve always said that intuition is right, as a demigod. Isn’t that one of the first things you told me? Told Percy? Right now, my intuition is telling me that I have to do this! Please believe me.”

Waiting for his response is more nerve-wracking than spilling your thoughts to him at a million miles an hour. He holds a thousand-yard stare, like he’s seeing past you. Who is he seeing, you wonder? Which hero do you remind him of?

Chiron inhaled heavily, exhaling slowly. He looks tired. “You remind me…so much of your mother. So persistent to do the right thing. Not always the good thing, but the right. You young heroes…I will think about it. We have more pressing matters, right now. An Aethiopian Drakon was spotted this morning walking the camp border. We know Luke has made plans to invade, and my guess is this is the start of that idea. Quintus has suggested we have a round of war games tonight. You should tell Annabeth and Sienna, they’ll want to prepare no doubt…”

At breakfast, Quintus announces the war games after dinner. Annabeth yaps about how long it’s been since the last one. Clarissa tiredly asks what the war games are like. The conversation with Chiron plays on your mind while you scrape your offerings into the fire. A bit of toasted bagel and strawberries. The brightness of the flames reflect off your plate, grateful that you’re late to breakfast and there’s nobody waiting behind you.

“Help me get what I want, mom. We both know I’m meant for this. Let me save Nico. Let me save us.”

Whether she’ll listen—whether she even heard—is one thing, and carrying out on your wishes is another. A part of you wants to think about all the times she didn’t help you. But another part thinks of all the times she did, and you have a slither of hope that Athena will hear your desperation and help you out.

You remind me so much of your mother. You have lots in common, then. Maybe she’ll realise you’re more alike than either of you thought.

You turn and cast your gaze across the pavilion. Connor and Travis are throwing food across the table, so you’re not going there. At your table, Annabeth is staring at the sky like it’s the answer to all her problems. Silena Beauregard is sobbing her heart out at her haircut, so you’ll avoid her today. Finally, Percy and Grover. Percy in typical fashion of creased blue tee and jeans, and Grover chewing on lettuce, his horns poking through his curly hair. At the head table, Chiron is standing, not in the wheelchair, tall and…already watching. Maybe he does it on purpose—he just leaves. Campers shouldn’t sit at other tables, sitting with your own cabin is a where you should be.

You approach Percy, anyway, slinking onto the bench. Grover smiles at you, and you can’t tell if you’re paranoid or if Chiron has mentioned your talk this morning. Maybe you’re losing it—because you swore, hands down, that you talked to Mr. D. last night, and according to Chiron, he isn’t even at camp.

“What are we talkin’ about?” You pick at your bagel, eyeing Percy’s much more appealing chocolate pop tarts.

“Chiron wants Percy to convince me,” Grover utters, spearing his breakfast with a fork.

“Convince you of what?”

A plate smacks down on the table, rattling the dishes already there. Annabeth climbs over the bench and plonks down, reaching over you to steal one of Percy’s pop tarts. You have half a mind to snatch it back.

“I’ll tell you what it’s about,” Annabeth said. “The Labyrinth.”

You look between the three of them. “Labyrinth? Are we talking, like, Theseus’s Labyrinth? Ariadne, and shit?”

“Exactly that.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Percy hushes. “Either of you.”

“We all need to talk!” Annabeth insists.

“But the rules…” he frowns.

You shove the rest of your bagel in your mouth. “Rules-shmules. Cut to the point—I had a dream about Nico di Angelo, and he’s working with some psycho to exchange souls. He’s being controlled by someone. Last night, the Apollo kids went out to get rid of the drakon in the woods. I’ve had a weird feeling for weeks now that something’s coming and something has changed, and all of this is happening after Luke came up with the plans to invade and take over. Coincidence? I think not. We need to do something.”

Annabeth hums. “When you pair all that with the fact that Grover’s in trouble, and the Labyrinth we found this summer over in the woods? It’s all connected. It has to be. I think the only way we can figure it all out is by going into the Labyrinth. It didn’t appear for no reason, right? Clarisse found it by total accident, and we’ve been trying to investigate it all summer. We only get so far, though…”

“So,” Percy prodded. “It’s not under the king’s palace in Crete anymore. It’s actually under some random building in America?”

“It was never just under the palace, though,” you think aloud. “It was sprawling. It existed for so long before Theseus went inside that it just…adapted. Changed. If it grew there, chances are it isn’t just under some building in America. It’s probably everywhere. Just like Olympus moves with societal changes, and how an Underworld entrance is in L.A.”

“So, is the Labyrinth a part of the Underworld?”

It’s Annabeth’s turn to be confused. Grover shook his curly head. “No. There are probably passages leading down to the Underworld in the maze, but they’re not totally connected. Think of them as…alleys between streets. The Labyrinth is basically just under the surface of the mortal world, like a second skin. It’s been growing for thousands of years. It’s connected everything everywhere. You can get practically anywhere using the Labyrinth.”

It only occurs to you, then, that, “The Labyrinth that opened in camp…is Luke’s way in. It’s how he’s going to invade everywhere. He’s got it all planned to a T. Luke must have connections in camp, because the entrance to the Labyinth wasn’t here a few months ago. Someone has to be feeding him information on how it works, where it starts and ends. How to get inside. But who?”

It all clicks into place perfectly.

You’re your mother’s daughter, alright.

As it so happened, Chiron wanted Grover to explore the maze. Clarisse spent the summer inside of it, trying to get a feel for where it led to, the entrances and exits. It’s always changing, according to her, and she got lost a couple times. Chris Rodriguez went insane down there, says Annabeth. He’s still insane. But no other advancements have been made. Because nobody can find the entrances outside, or the exits inside. Grover still wants to find the god, Pan, and believes that the maze might be the only way to find him. But Grover is Grover, and he knows how he feels, so the maze isn’t a match. Annabeth urges him to go and keep looking. But…everyone knows something is wrong. Off.

When Quintus cleared his throat far too many times to be a sore throat, Annabeth got the hint and took you over with her to your own table.

“Convince him, will you?” She asks Percy, linking her arm with yours to pull your unwilling self along. “Talk to him.”

You eye Quintus and try to decide whether you’re a paranoid schizophrenic. Mr. D. would tell you straight. But he’s not here, and so says Annabeth, he never was. There’s excitement and unsettlement buzzing in your body, like you’re gearing up for something you don’t know about just yet. Sometimes, the body knows before the brain does, and it’s never wrong.

That evening, Quintus ordered the Capture The Flag armour to be handed out. Suited up and waiting for his orders, everyone crowded as the sun began to set, burning orange over the treeline. The mood among the campers was a lot more serious than when you played Capture The Flag.

“Right!” Quintus said, standing on the head table. “Gather round.” He dressed in black leather and bronze armour, like something from the past and the future mixed into one. Throwing in his greying hair into the mix was like seeing a ghost. The giant puppy (supposedly dangerous) that was Mrs O’Leary bounded and barked around Quintus, eating scraps off the floor. “You will be in teams of two—WHICH HAVE ALREADY BEEN DECIDED.” People began to grab at their friends and scream names, until he yelled over them.

“Awwwww!” Came a chorus of disappointment.

“The goal is simple: collect the gold laurels without dying.”

You lean over subtly to Percy, though you can’t just whisper in his ear anymore, he’s got so tall. “We do that every day.”

“The wreath is wrapped in the silk package tied to the backs of the monsters. There are six of these monsters, each has a silk package. Your goal is to find the wreath before the other teams. And…of course, you will have to slay the monster to get it, and not die.”

“Neat,” you mutter. It sounds straight forward enough. Around you, people agreed.

“I will now announce your partners. There’ll be no switching. No complaining. And NO trading.”

He went on to list the pairs, from a terrified Grover and spooked Tyson, to Clarisse and Joan, to Annabeth and Mason, to Connor and Travis, and you and Percy.

Percy grinned at you. “Nice.”

You shoulder-barged him so hard his armour turned ski-whif. You twirled your dagger between your fingers with what you could describe as utter skill, heading into the woods. The teams spread out, some walking, some sprinting. Percy held his sword at his side, and you were almost jealous of it. It was still light when you got into the woods properly but the height and density of the trees made it darker and colder than it really was.

“I spy with my little eye,” Percy spun in a circle. “Uhhhh…something beginning with T.”

“Trees.” You side-eyed him.

“Smarty-pants. Your turn.”

“I spy with my little eye, something beginning with P.” You hone in on the distant scuttling.

Percy gasps dramatically. “It’s a Percy!”

Your hand flies for his sword-side wrist. “No—package. Run!”

If this were a fun game, you might have run after the package strapped to the back of the creature. However…you were really quite scared. These creatures were huge, bigger than normal monsters, scorpions altered with huge pincers and poison dripping from their sides. When one came, three more followed. How on earth were you supposed to fight them all off? You nearly tripped over backward as Percy yanked on your armour. You scrambled to keep up with him, dirt flicking up off the ground. Another creature came out from that way, too, leaving you back-to-back with Percy.

“They don’t look happy,” he said.

“Absolutely not,” you agree.

You move slowly to be side-by-side instead, moving in the one direction the monsters aren’t keeping you stuck in. Your feet shift back, the ground declining. Percy, in front of you, trusts you to guide him, deflecting a hiss of poison with the flat of his sword just in time to catch it before it landed on your face. You exhale slowly, reaching your dagger hand behind you, catching on the side of a large rock, taller than the both of you, and one on the other side. The space between the two is slim, but with the creatures closing in on you, any sort of coverage is better than none.

“Bit tight there, no?” Percy suggests nervously, reaching his free hand up to his shoulder where your hand rests up on his armour, guiding.

“Cover is cover, man. Oh, that’s a bit steep—”

Before you can say another word, the ground under your feet gives way. All the breath leaves your lungs in the sudden, unexpected fall. Percy yells, shocked, falling backward into pure darkness. You land on hard ground, your armour taking most of the impact. Slightly winded, you sit up and rely on Percy to help you up, staring at the hole you fell through, the light sky and scorpions peering down to you. The boy next to you breathes frantically, panicking.

It couldn’t get any worse, right?

Wrong. You watch in total disbelief, the hole knitting together and closing up to leave you both in the pitch black. The make of Percy’s sword provides a tiny glimmer of a glow, casting between your faces—his wide-eyed, unblinking and yours terrified.

“Percy—”

“Don’t panic. It’s—it’s fine.”

Your voice rises to a high pitch. “Where are we?!”

“Well, we’re in a hole.” His voice shakes in response.

It’s freezing down here, and damp. You take a step back, dropping your dagger. It clatters and echoes in both directions. Your palms fly back as you lean and hit a wall, sliding them across dewy concrete. A breeze blows from one direction, whistling, all the way down to the other. The space doesn’t feel tight. When you reach your hand out to find Percy in the darkness, you can’t feel him.

“Are you there?” You whisper, throat tightening.

“Right here,” he gulps, and warm fingertips land in your hair. You slide your hand up to meet his wrist and don’t let go. His pulse flutters furiously under your tight fingers. “The whole woods, and four monsters come right to us. We’re like magnets.”

“Just you, man. Son of Poseidon ‘n all.”

“Glad you find this funny.”

“I’m glad you’re glad.”

As the two of you calm down ever so slightly, you push off the wall, still holding Percy, and reach for his sword, turning the material’s dim light this way and that. It doesn’t do much. “What is this? Maintenance tunnels?”

You want to laugh. But something weak and nervous has settled on your chest. “Percy…I think we’re in the Labyrinth.” The ground beneath your feet feels like brickwork, jolty, uneven. “Safe from scorpions, anyway.”

“This is new. Has to be. We would have known if there were caves here. Surely?…”

You nod, sniffing. “Definitely.” You thought of the crack made by Nico in the dining pavilion. Had the two of you made this? But how? It didn’t seem right. You lower your hand from Percy’s sword, and he slides his hand down…into your own clammy palm, off his wrist. Eyes widening, you don’t question it. He keeps his hand there. Percy shifts the sword light.

“It’s a long room,” he mutters.

“It’s not a room,” you realise. “It’s a corridor.” The darkness felt emptier in front and behind, and you had the terrible, crawling feeling that something was watching. If this was the maze, it would make sense: the maze is alive, after all.

He took a step forward, slipping your hand away. “Don’t!” You cried, a little too loudly, partially out of worry for danger but mostly so as not to be left alone. “Don’t go down there. We need to just…find an exit. We need to get out.”

If he sensed your panic—which, being Percy, he definitely did—he tried to calm you. “It’s okay,” he tried, somewhat soft. “It’s right—there…oh.”

You tried to think rationally under the rising terror. If this really was the maze, who was the maker? You sift through hours of books and facts and history mentally in seconds, working at a thousand mental miles an hour. The original maker, would have been Daedalus—the father of Icarus. Ancient Greeks and their creations…

“There has to be some sort of exit here,” you utter, trailing your hand up the wall. You let go of Percy’s and brush both across the dewy walls. “A mark, maybe? Daedalus was a creator. All creator’s leave their trademark, I think. If we’re talking Ancient Greece then it’s probably a Greek letter or…sign…something.” You liked to assume the trademark would be something to feel, and close by. You heard Percy copying you without question. You know one another by now, and how each other works. You often lead—Percy often follows. It’s a level of trust you’ve had no choice but to build on over the years. Act first, question later.

His unsure tone came forth in the darkness. “I’m not—”

“Got it!” A eureka! moment brings relief, and a bit of weight falls from your shoulders. A dented brick in the wall, in the shape of the ancient Delta—a small L. It began to glow bright blue when you pressed into it. You’d have smiled if you weren’t so worried. The roof slid open, dirt falling in atop of you. You’d been expecting scorpions and sunlight, not…stars, and the dark sky. Elatedness turns into sheer and utter bafflement. Metal ladder rungs speared out of the wall, to the opening in the ceiling. People were screaming your names, some distantly, some close by. Percy glanced nervously to you, and nodded to the ladder.

Humid air greeted you. Up on the surface, the ground closed over again, like it had never fallen open in the first place. Percy, crouched, brushed his hand over the place there should have been a gash. Nothing.

“Where the hell have you two been?” Clarisse rounded into your space, face like fury. “We’ve been looking forever!” She demanded.

Maybe it was how you shook, leaning against the rock. It might have been the paleness of Percy’s face.

“We were only gone five minutes,” he said.

Chiron trotted up, followed by Annabeth and a new camper. “You guys okay?” She asked, breathing deep.

“We’re fine,” Percy got to his feet. “We fell into a hole.” People looked skeptically to him, but you opened your mouth.

“Honest.” Chiron looked like his worst fears were coming to life. “We were out here just fighting those scorpions and then the ground just opened. Didn’t feel that long down there, but obviously…”

“You’ve been missing for nearly three hours,” Chiron ran a hand over his face. “The game is over.”

“Yeah,” Annabeth piped up. “We nearly won. Until Tyson fell on me.”

You eyed the golden laurels Clarisse wore. Usually, she’d brag and flaunt in typical Ares-kid fashion. This time, the girl stood judging. “It just opened?” She repeated.

“Chiron, maybe we should talk about this somewhere else? At the Big House?” Said Annabeth.

Clarisse pushed further into the circle. “You found it, didn’t you? You went into the maze!”

You turned your head in a short tilt, scoffing. “Yeah. Yeah, we found it…”

Campers grew rowdy, yelling questions and firing anxiety. Chiron held his hand up and it grew quiet. “Tonight is not the right time, and this is not the right place.” He stared at the giant rock formations like they were dangerous. “All of you, back to your cabins. Get some sleep. You played well, but it’s well past curfew!”

There was a lot of complaining and mumbling, but campers dwindled and retreated to their cabins, no doubt going to talk about your missing evening with Percy.

“That explains what Luke is after,” Clarisse shrugged.

You froze. “So I was right, this morning—we found Luke’s invasion route into camp?”

If looks could kill, you’d be back in that hole. Annabeth nodded, staring at you. Clarisse popped off on a spiralling theory, and Percy pressed his hand into your shoulder. Chiron had turned grey, face stony.

You didn’t know, then.

You’d just just started digging your own grave.

taglist:

@bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore

@rottenstyx @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual

@marshmallow12435 @lantsovheiress @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol

@twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky @emu281

@charlesswife @jessiegerl @tojismassivemantiddies @mata0-0mata @jccc1000

@xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @nothankyou138 @i-love-books-and-the-bible

@obxstiles @mxltifxnd0m @ryujinraven

[a-dreamworld-fool]

part 01 - part 02

part 01 - part 02

[unrelatablenarrator]

Casual: part one

relationship: homelander x black reader

Tags: angst

word count: 657

Authors note: this will have three parts I think dunno

She sits on top of the roof, the cool breeze brushing against her skin as she gazes out at the sprawling city below. The lights twinkle like stars, a vibrant backdrop to the chaotic life she lives.

This place has become her sanctuary, a rare moment of solitude amidst the noise of her everyday life. But tonight, even the beauty of the skyline feels overshadowed by the weight in her chest.

Her relationship with Homelander has always been casual—light, playful, and sometimes exhilarating. Their connection was built on late-night encounters and flirtatious banter, a thrilling escape from the pressures of being a supe.

But as she reflects, a sense of stagnation washes over her. She can’t shake the feeling that they’re treading water, neither of them willing to dive deeper into what lurks beneath the surface.What began as a fun distraction has morphed into something that feels incomplete.

She cares for him, yet each encounter leaves her craving more—more depth, more understanding, more realness. Homelander, with his charming smile and charismatic persona, hides behind layers of ego and sociopathic tendencies that make it impossible to connect with the man beneath the cape.

The laughter they share feels hollow at times, echoing in her mind like a distant memory. She thinks about the moments when he’s truly himself, those fleeting seconds when the mask slips and she catches a glimpse of vulnerability.

They’re rare, but they leave her yearning for more—more honesty, more authenticity, more heart. Yet every time she tries to peel back those layers, he deflects, retreating into the safety of his charm.

Sighing, she leans back on her hands, staring up at the stars. “What are we doing?” she murmurs to herself. The question hangs heavy in the air, a reflection of her inner turmoil.

She’s drawn to him in ways she can’t fully articulate, yet the superficiality of their arrangement gnaws at her. It’s like being in a beautiful dream that teeters on the edge of nightmare; exhilarating but unnerving.She knows he’s not like other guys. He doesn’t play by the same rules, and his unpredictability is part of what draws her in.

But it also terrifies her. She’s seen the way he handles those who cross him, the ruthlessness that lurks beneath that charming exterior. Can she truly open herself up to someone like him? Can she risk the emotional stakes of something real?

As the wind whips through her braids, she closes her eyes, imagining a different scenario—one where he isn’t just the famous hero, but a man willing to be vulnerable, to share his fears, his dreams, his true self.

The thought makes her heart ache, a bittersweet reminder of the gulf between them.Maybe she’s being foolish, hoping for something that may never come to fruition. But she can’t shake the feeling that she deserves more than this half-life, this casual dance around their emotions.

She deserves a partner who will see her for who she is, someone who will stand beside her, not just when it’s convenient but when it matters most.

With a determined exhale, she sits up, the stars shining brightly above her. “It’s time to have a talk,” she says aloud, her voice firm against the night. “No more playing around. I need to know what this is.” The thought sends a thrill of anxiety and anticipation coursing through her. The idea of confronting him, of pushing for the truth, fills her with both dread and excitement.

As she stands, the city lights twinkling like promises waiting to be fulfilled, she knows she can’t keep pretending everything is fine.

It’s time to face the truth about their relationship, to confront Homelander and challenge him to be more than just the image he projects to the world.With a final look over the skyline, she leaps from the rooftop, her heart racing as she heads toward the sky.

[stardustedseas]

(based on my self ship/college era)

-

Something Ford admires about you is how passionate you are about the stuff you like and how when you want to do something, you’ll do it. Even if you’re not great at it at first, you’ll just keep practicing until you’re good, and even then you don’t stop.

He’s seen your work and can tell just how much time and effort you’ve put into the practice, even if it’s just a hobby. It’s the reason you’re one of Backupsmore’s star students.

Your drive and passion very nearly rivals his own, just in a different way. Whatever it is that lights your fire, you’re his kind of person.

1. im going to nuke tumblr if it doesnt tell me i have asks then fucking doesnt save what i wrote i swear to god 2. thank you sm for the ask! im so sorry this is so late being replied to ToT 3. RAHHHHHH yeah im gonna be rolling this around in my brain for awhile

this isnt as long as it was the first time i tried to reply and i may come back to try to remember what i previously wrote but youre so right omgggg he would absolutely love how passionate you are! even if its not something hes personally into, he would still adore how driven you are with it. seeing the fire in your eyes when you work on/talk about something makes him excited and more motivated to work on his own stuff as well! he could spend hours listening to you talk about whatever it is youre interested in, hearts in his eyes the whole time too

i dont think ford would have a physical type, but someone who is very passionate about something is absolutely his personality type. on the slightly younger reader x ford college au, he would absolutely be right there in the front row cheering you on the most, seeing you walk across that stage to get a physical manifestation of your seemingly never ending passion? hes ready to get on one knee rn.

hed love to see how far youve come with something too, whether its just been a couple days or decades, he would think its so amazing to see your progress, even if you still have a long way to go or much to learn, he would get so happy to see what youve accomplished so far and how you show no signs of stopping. i think especially post portal ford would have a serious admiration for how you never give up, it really can be hard to keep going when it seems like everything is against you.

even if its just a hobby, seeing how much you care and are dedicated to your craft would absolutely be one of the main reasons ford fell for you

[crystalflygeo]

Safeword. ft Zhongli + fem!reader

cw/tags: a bit of anxiety/panic attack, bit of dirty talk but it's all praise, bit of nipple play and fingering, safeword use, bondage (tied arms, blindfold) hurt/comfort, aftercare, just reader in general dealing with negative feelings but being comforted PLEASE BE WARNED IF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. READ THE TAGS.

notes: I literally just woke up and wrote this in a rush in my phone lmao what. Listen my mood jumps between depressed and horny and I've always loved safeword use and aftercare done right, it is very important and intimate. Also who doesn't want Zhongli softly soothing and kissing them? I almost made this gender neutral reader but I ended up being self indulgent so sorry.

Everything felt hot, too hot, but not in a good way. It was... sticky, ah, uncomfortable.

You squirm a little, shifting on your legs until you feel Zhongli's hands slowly caress your skin, making you shiver. His breath fans your neck "Good girl.” He mumbles at your shoulder, and kisses there.

Yes, this was fine. This is what you wanted, to just let go and release that pent up energy.

Right?

"Hmm... you've been so stressed lately, darling, haven't you?" His strong hands start massaging and kneading at your shoulders and you groan, it feels pretty good.

Until one of his palms lowers to your chest and starts playing with one of your nipples and you hiss. It hardens under his attention, sure, but feels... odd, it kind of hurts.

You shift again awkwardly, and the rope holding your wrists together digs into your skin.

You don't know what's wrong but something is. You don't feel the same lightheadedness as usual, in fact you're hyperaware, parted lips panting but the pressure is not on your lower belly, it’s at your chest instead. It feels cold, empty, oppressive.

Your hands clench into fists and you whimper.

Zhongli kisses around your chest down to your navel and that feels good too, tender, loving. His voice soothes you, even though you feel oddly disconnected.

"You look so beautiful my dear, laid out like this."

Did you really? The anxiety starts gnawing at you, body tense. Your mind is far away, going over some dumb mistake you made some days ago, some stupid thing you said last week...

You've been so frustrated lately, feeling sad, and angry, and disappointed and-

Zhongli's thumb circles over your clit and you gasp and keen, hips jerking on reflex.

Oh. That felt good, but-

But then why did you feel so wrong?

"Z-Zhongli." You hiccup. Voice wobbly, you feel your eyes start to water. What is wrong with you? You're suffocating. Choked up. Sweaty and awkward and-

His fingers dip inside you and you clench on them, crying out.

"Fuck... Y/N you're so tight." He rasps.

It's too much, you can't, you can't-

"Hng r-red. Red!"

In an instant you feel the mattress dip and shift with his weight as Zhongli quickly takes off your blindfold, and just like that the damn breaks. You start crying and hyperventilating as he curses and immediately frees your hands.

"Y/N, my love, are you alright? I'm so sorry." He starts, and though his voice is leveled as ever you can feel the slight stutter of panic. "It's alright, everything is okay, I'm sorry."

You shake your head, crying into your hands, you want to tell him it's not him. It's never him. But words fail you, you breath stutters.

You know he won't touch you without explicit permission, so you lean into him, your smaller frame trembling as you press closer to his chest. You need this. You need him.

"May I embrace you darling?" You nod frantically and feel his arms curl around you just so slightly, as to not make you feel trapped. One of his hands sweeps your hair over your shoulder and starts rubbing circles on your back, soft. "Is this alright?" He asks.

You nod and try to find your voice again "S-sorry. Sorry... don't k-know... wh-what's wrong."

Zhongli shushes you gently. "Please my love breathe, focus on calming down, slowly. It's ok. Just breathe. I'm so glad you used your safeword. You did well."

You placed a hand at your chest feeling your fast paced heartbeat and trying to calm down a little, regulating your breathing, leaning onto his comfortable touch and words.

You made Zhongli worry, you panicked out of nowhere and still don't know why, you feel dumb, needy, annoying. "S-sorry I'm-" You sob. "Don't know what's wrong...” You repeat unable to find words to express that creeping cold numb feeling that took hold you. “Please d-don't be upset." You add quietly.

You hear him sigh, his hand never stopping tracing soft shapes on your skin. "May I kiss you?" He asked instead and you gave a weak nod. Zhongli planted a soft kiss on your hair, on your forehead. "My dear, I would never be upset. I love you. I'd never wish to make you uncomfortable, I'm sorry I didn't notice in time." Zhongli sighs again, heavy. "But right now, I need you to calm down, you don't have to explain or apologize at all, what matters is that you're safe, and I'm here for you for anything you need."

Your eyes flutter close and minutes pass by while he holds you, whispering sweet nothings, your breathing calming down to a steady rhythm. You place a small fleeting kiss against his shoulder and he replied by nuzzling at the top of your head. After a while, you shift and look up at him, red puffy eyes staring at his beautiful cor lapis ones.

"Better?" He asks, swiping his thumb over your cheek tenderly. You nod. "Would you like to eat something? Or I can prepare a bath for you?"

Oh he's so doting, your heart flutters. "Zhongli I'm- I'm sorry I didn't want to make you worry." You can see he's holding back from objecting again but lets you continue. "It's just... I've been so stressed lately and I thought, if we... played... I could let out all that. I-It did feel good! But then it was just... too much. I don't know." You avert your gaze. “It wasn’t you I promise, I just got overwhelmed and everything felt… wrong.”

Zhongli caresses your cheek with his knuckles softly "As I said, you have nothing to apologize for dear, and I'm glad you spoke up. I'd be happy to offer you whatever support you want and take care of you. You're beautiful, hardworking, strong, kind, and I love you."

You feel your cheeks heat slightly and let out a small smile. You're truly literally blessed to have him. "C-Can I... take you up on that bath offer?"

He chuckles, and it's so refreshing. "Of course." He kisses you again and you nuzzle into his touch this time.

"I love you too, Zhongli. Thank you."

[magicalbunbun]

More of your ennead au when please?

Just designed new y/n look

Hehe

Big woman.

[heartfullofleeches]

“It’s alright, Dea my love, we can watch as much Bluey as you won’t, don’t cry sweetheart”

"You are too generous, my grace. My apologies for shedding tears- It is an honor to be introduced to such a touching program by your side and I fear my emotions got the better of me as they tend to frequently. I look forward to what other wonders your world has to offer you present to me proceeding."

[softshuji]

Tell me more about fugitive hanma 👀👀👀👀

Goddddddd

Okay listen.

During that time when he's a fugitive, it seems fun at the start, all that running, living on the road. He thinks it gives him a thrill to constantly be chased and have the police on him all the time, constantly looking over his shoulder and staying in different hotels or living out the back of the car he just stole. He uses fake names wherever he goes, and no one, not a single person ever has the pleasure of using his real name. He steals credit cards to pay for whatever he needs, only buys enough for a few days since he knows he won't be staying in whatever area he's in for long, just long enough to get information and stay ahead of the tail.

But honestly, when he really thinks about it? All this running is getting tiring. What first was fun now seems like a chore- he can't remember the last time he had a full night of sleep, or ate a meal that wasn't cheap takeout on the back of his bike or shacked up in a hotel room so he can use the shower and sleep with a gun under his pillow, or used his real name in fact. Most people are starting to seem like a blur to him, and he's constantly changing phones and using burners so he can't be traced or caught. Sometimes on the police radio he'll catch wind of someone having seen him and he'll sigh, big and deep, and move onto the next town.

Until one day he fails to stay ahead of the curve. He's been so fucking tired lately, and he can't remember the last time the sound of sirens didn't wake him up from a short nap, but he's driving fast on the motorbike - sirens getting closer when the engine dies and splutters and he comes to a standstill in the middle of the road. He can see them on the curve of the street, flashing lights that he knows are coming for him.

He looks around and it's the dead of night- lights off in every house and apartment save one..a tiny thing clustered on the corner, where the bedroom light still flickers with life. And without really thinking about it, he dumps the newest bike behind a car in one of the neighbors garages - a problem for another time- and knocks your door.

He doesn't expect you to answer, not at this time, not when it's so late and honestly you'd be smarter not to. He looks rugged he knows that, the road hasn't exactly been kind to him. His hair has grown out and there are tired eyebags and dark circles under his eyes too but you open it, a sliver, and ask him in the sweetest voice he's ever heard. 'can I help you?'

Something knocks in his chest. You've got one of those cute face masks on, a pink pretty nightgown with stars on it and you're half hiding behind the door, and he coughs into his hand, looking over his shoulder once and makes up some lie, the only one he can think of that might get you to let him in.

'Hey sweetheart, my phone has died and I'm a pretty long way from home, would you mind letting me use your phone princess?"

And you look up at him, pretty eyes taking him in, all 6'4 of him looking a little beat up, a little worn, but a funny warmth coming from him still, and you step away from the door.

And let him in to your house and into your life.

[sawturns]

Watching the world cup looking like this huh

[anteroom-of-death]

Teacher's Pet part 1

Synopsis: The Doctor notices a student. She notices him.

a/n: thank u to the moots for sticking with me. Yall are the best. This is going to be a series. Somewhat of a dark!doctor ish fic maybe. I haven't planned this far. I have ideas. Will switch between a 3rd party but doctor centric POV and a 2nd party student centric POV.

The sun drew itself in on the cold day, light filtering through large windows in the lecture hall. It caught and reflected the motes of light swirling around. First day of the Spring term. Lots of new students trickled in and found their respective seats. Of course, the syllabus was now online and such. But the Doctor still preferred to give a paper one. He felt it helped students focus if they had it real and tangible…unable to forget.

Just like he forgot so much. A lingering pain….

He started up his usual dazzling spiel. Enough to keep them from dropping out, but not enough to rile them to madness. He learned that lesson early on in this particular charade he was distracting himself with. All he had to really do was keep Missy in the Vault and attempt to rehabilitate her. Humans were such a delicate group to keep balanced. Too much stimulation and they would self destruct. Not enough? The same but in a reverse spiral.

Or just fall asleep.

He preferred it if a few actually did fall asleep.

Allowed him to build a reputation as a teacher. Keep the act up.

He didn’t notice the young woman intently staring, writing down the key phrases from his opening statements. He was enraptured in the normal routine he has become familiar with.

The hour came to a close, and he did a bow. He was to visit Missy again some time soon. Just a cursory check. See if she’d calmed down from her last temper tantrum, where she demanded a saxophone and stated that Billy Clinton was also a war criminal, but made some sweet jazz.

He could hardly agree. She already was a mediocre piano player. And the drum set she demanded earlier lay in tatters in her cupboard.

Being her keeper and therapist was rotten work, but it warmed him. Gave him a gram of hope that she may get better and he may have his friend back once more.

Though, he knew in both is hearts, hope could be a fragile thing for a man to hold onto.

But, especially in this body, he believed in redemption and change. They both had forever to change. They had forever.

A few weeks had passed, and he noticed that keen eyes were burning the back of his neck as he scrawled on the chalkboard. It felt different than the usual glazed-over focus of people trying to write or type out his valid points. It was hot and felt more personal. Less trying to pass a class.

He paused his sentence and raked his eyes over. It was a student with large gold hoops and a few tangled gold necklaces. The Doctor recognized two or three of the symbols used on some of them from his travels through Earth’s history. She was chewing hard on her pen. He could see flecks of her tinted chap stick clinging onto the sides of it. Her eyes were squinted slightly and a slight patch of blush rested on her checks. He couldn’t tell if it was a make up look or some feverish feature of her human body. Perhaps she was in the first phases of getting sick!

He went back to his lecture. Some misfocused student was the least of his concern.

But he still felt her eyes bore into him. Intent on something. He trudged on.

He came to a close, reminded everyone of their upcoming projects and let the day start to rest. The Doctor announced that his office hours were changing to represent the spring coming soon and to “Allow you all to feel the sun on your faces, you don’t know how long you’ll have. Humans usually only live once!”

He scanned the audience and saw her shoving her notebook and that well-gnawed on pen into her bag. Big purse with a rhinestone buckle. Resembled something that Rose or Jackie would have had, he mused.

She slung that and a tote bag that seemed overstuffed and ripe for the breaking over her shoulder. She audibly groaned under the weight. He pitied her. The stressed look she had on her face was oddly enchanting in the light just starting to sink.

He knew she was struggling in the class. She did good work, yes. When he opened up questions and debate, she usually had such pointed takes that verged on mind-racing. Sometimes others would bristle against what she said on the more provocative topics he offered up. Essays and tests? Not so much. She floundered.

She had accommodations for some diagnosis or whatever. He could tell her mind was making connections in a far more tangential way than the other’s either couldn’t or wouldn’t make. And for that he did like her. Enjoyed what she brought to the table. Although, even his brains had difficulty making some of the leaps her brain did.

But why was she staring at him like that today? It was almost reverent. Very off putting.

She came forward to his desk and clicked open her notes app .

“Erm…Professor.” She cleared her throat and started up. “Uh, I was wondering if I could see you sooner rather than later. For office hours. I’m sorry for my late essay last week. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I can’t focus and I feel like I’m losing my mind half the time lately. May I have some insight or whatever you want on how I could do better. I know I’m doing…like, so bad.” She confessed and exhaled on the final note of her punctuation.

She turned a new type of stare towards him. Less intense and personal and more of a thousand-yard death grip.

Her entire demeanor in this moment was very lamb like. A confused air of innocent need to do well, to pass her classes, clouded her.

A weaker man would have felt more predatory, he noted.

She wasn’t unattractive for a human, not like past companions he worshiped the ground of. Of course. He was drawn to them for their natures, often ignoring their faces wholesale.

She started to chew and rip at her pinky nail and lower lip simultaneously…

“Of course,” He said. “I have to go help a friend with something, so I have to talk and walk.”

She nodded eagerly and gave such an appreciative smile. “Thanks!” The words came out so quickly, almost breathlessly.

She trotted along side him.

Once outside, they started discussing her options. She had to work nights, she stated, she said so they were arranging a time to work in a little extra help and tutoring.

He genuinely enjoyed her company and led her to a bench.

“What about your friend?” She asked.

“Oh, Nardole can handle himself.” He smiled. “He’ll not miss me for an extra four or five minutes.”

She laughed a bit.

She plunged her hand into her purse and started rifling around. It was a chaotic sight.

She produced a pack of cigarettes and a tiny green plastic lighter.

“Do you mind? I’m trying to quit, but it’s been hell lately.” She grimaced.

He shook his head, no, he didn’t mind. It wouldn’t affect him. Her, yes. But one little luxury, especially if she was trying to quit.

“So long as it’s your last for a while.” He took the teacherly route.

She lit up and took a huge drag. Closing her eyes he noticed that deep look of exhaustion had given her dark purple and almost black under eye circles. She had apparently tried to cover them up with some make up products and some mascara and smudged eyeliner. She held that breath in for a few seconds. It was almost beautiful.

She exhaled and fluttered them open. The smoke wisped and flew away quickly in the gentle breeze.

“Yeah, thanks. People get so weird about smoking. But they’ll vape? Like, indoors. All the time.” She rolled her eyes at that mildly hypocrisy.

They planned for her to meet up with him in his office on Monday just before the lunch hour. Then turned the conversation to some topics in debate that another student, a male who irked her with his constant urge to play Devil’s Advocate. She had some very often-overlooked viewpoints and a very bizarre way of describing things. It was enchanting.

“Thanks.” She ignored a boundary and squeezed his hand. He felt a holy jolt of electricity go up his arm from the small touch. “I gotta go…you’ve got a friend. Works been slow and I have some…appointments. So I have to make sure I’m perfect.” She elaborated with an almost tic-like shake of her head.

“Yes, my friend is probably going insane dealing with our little issue.” He responded in kind. Missy had probably caused Nardole to melt down or malfunction.

He watched her leave towards the bus stop. Her bags hitting her back as she rushed. Her coat barely covering her bottom and the belt caught in the hem of it. He felt himself feeling almost physically unable to leave the bench. Something tugging at his gut was preventing him from doing so. It felt akin to what River and Clara evoked in him but different.

River and Clara were strong and capable, avant-garde. Self-confident. Cocky. But this student was seemingly the inverse. Very vulnerable and nervous to the point of a near imperceptible, even to him with his keen Time Lord senses, shake and a heart that was audibly racing in its cage. Coupled with her addiction to cigarettes and minor tendency towards self mutilation via near-constant picking and chewing…

Something dark, but heartwarming rushed through his core and took root.

He felt himself deeply looking forward to Monday.

[ameagrice]

Capsize

percy jackson x fem reader

chapter thirty-four | logical

They moved back to New York shortly before the summer breakup. In a letter redirected to Percy’s apartment for you, your stepmom wrote that things were getting better. Your dad sold up abroad and moved back to be closer to you, apparently, so you could visit more often. The thought of it made you uncomfortable. Moving back to be near you wasn’t the worst thing, though—Rachel having another baby, was.

“The poor kid,” you stared, horrified at the letter.

Through a mouthful of Froot Loops, Percy raised his brows. “Huh?”

“I’m getting another sister,” you tilted your head, a flurry of emotions whirling. You’d love her like you loved Finn, but the thought of her going through the motions the way you did was not particularly pleasant. Would she be stuck inside, too? Would she be barred from leaving? Would she be judged on what she wore, or said or laughed at? Would she be in danger, too? Girls are always judged terribly. You wouldn’t worry like this over Finn.

“You don’t look…happy about that,” he chewed.

You hum softly. “I am happy. Just…I don’t know.”

Percy knew quite a bit about your unpleasant home life. He knew you had ran away last year to escape it, and he knew about the wilderness camp fiasco that felt so long ago. He knew you’d attended Yancy simply because your family didn’t know what to do with you, and it hurt. They were most certainly not equipped with the knowledge or the readiness to be parents to one, let alone three.

“They didn’t know what to do with just me,” you scoff, throwing down the letter in a stray spill of milk. “Why are they…?” Of course that always was the question—why? Why to everything they said and did. It made your brain hurt.

Cooking over by the stove, Paul Blofis flipped pancakes. You shared a table of them, Froot Loops and toppings, a feast fit for a king—and enough of it, too. Paul even let you and Percy flip your pancakes. You’d never been allowed to, before. Not because you were incapable—there was no reason at all. Your father just didn’t want you to, so you never did. But Paul? Patience. Of. A. Saint. Between the giant mess that was mixing the pancake mix with Percy, and actually scooping the mix from the bowl to the pan, burning your pancakes and flipping fresh ones, he was only smiles and encouraging (often strained) words. Percy found it all hilarious, of course, throwing the mix around and getting it on the ceiling. And once Percy did it you had to do it too, because what was being silly if not with your best friend? Sally had rushed to the store on the corner for more supplies and would be back soon with the promise of breakfast and then a visit to Central Park Zoo.

When another letter was redirected to Percy’s apartment, you discovered that your family had at last moved back. With the address scratched with a near-empty pen on a piece of scrap paper, Sally took you over while the boys sorted dinner. You didn’t want to go in, you explained. Only to check the place out. The address took you to a five-storey in a nice neighbourhood in the Upper East Side.

“You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to,” said Sally.

You stared, and tried to imagine your family inside. “It’s kind of a wasted trip, then.”

With the car parked up to the curb, you watched the street for a few seconds, Sally allowing you to collect your thoughts. “They’re having another kid,” you blurt. “They sent me away, but they’re having another kid. Is there something wrong with me?”

Sally reached out to you and took your hand in a surprising gesture. She did it to Percy all the time, laying her hand on his shoulder, or grabbing his hand when he struggled with something. You turn your head, to find her already looking at you. Your throat burned.

“No,” she shook her head. Percy had her nose, and her honesty. “Don’t ever think that. You’re one of the smartest, kindest kids I’ve ever met, and if they don’t see that, that is not your fault. Okay?”

Of course it wasn’t okay. You were more of a maid than a daughter, just something pretty to brag about in conversation and meetings. So how could you be okay with their new children potentially being brought up the same way, with a man who believed women were made for everything housework and then some, and that children were seen and not heard, made to abide by every rule the ‘man of the house’ sets?

“Can we go back to your house?” You asked.

She didn’t hesitate in turning around. Perhaps one day, you would tell her all about your thoughts in this moment, and of how despite them, you’d go right back again and again to be upset and humiliated. Human nature, and the want to feel loved. That’s all it ever was. And as a fifteen-year-old, setting boundaries didn’t come as second-nature.

The evening was spent playing Mario Kart, throwing Paul off-course with turtle shells and bananas. Percy beat you Every. Damn. Time. (but he let you win once, and that was enough). The evening ended on cheesy pizza and ice-cream, the radio blasting some recently released song, and Percy cracking jokes from the other room in the dark.

So…the tunnel was a dead end. Of course. You couldn’t have anything lucky. Gasping for breath after sprinting the whole way down, you leaned against the wall trying to catch some oxygen.

Percy keeled over with his hands on his knees. “Holy sh—”

“We’re dead!” Cried Grover. His hands flew to his hair hysterically. “We’re—oh, there’s another tunnel!”

Which, essentially, happened to be half your height and forced you to face the realistic possibility that you might have a fear of enclosed spaces. Crawling through on your stomach, monsters echoing, coming closer down the tunnel was not on the agenda. Something one-hundred-percent not human was too close for comfort, and just when you thought you were dead, the tunnel beneath you gave way, and you slid down a bright-red, plastic slide with a sudden scream, swirling around and around until you came to a stop, slamming into metal bars in a dark room. Percy came to a stop, slamming you once more against the wall with a yelp, and then Grover, screaming his way down the slide, and also colliding with the two of you.

“At least we’ve lost it,” huffed Percy, getting to his feet. He offered a hand down to you, and you took it. “There’s no way it can fit through…well, it’s closed up anyway. Fantastic.”

You offered a hand to Grover, pulling him up to his feet. He shakily exhaled. “But we’ve trapped ourselves, now. Look.”

You turned. The room was huge, a giant square space in which you were trapped, encased by metal bars from floor to ceiling. You approached the silver wall and tested the bars. They were cold to the touch, but moveable. Like jello, when you pressed your hand to it they wobbled but didn’t move apart. Taking the end of your dagger, you poked a bar tentatively. You created a dent in the middle of it that quickly closed up again.

“What the hell?…”

Through the bars were rows of what could only be described as cells, each with metal bars of different thickness and material. At least three stories of cells, except the two above yours were ordinary-looking and simple enough, joined by metal catwalks.

You hadn’t noticed Percy come to your side until he spoke. “It’s a prison,” he pushed on the bars. Though they wobbled, they bent ever so slightly. “Maybe we could…” he reached out for your dagger and tried sawing at them, creating little gashes that left dust floating to the ground. With enough friction, the bars would most definitely cut apart.

Grover approach the bars and tested them. “Someone take that side. If we pull on either side, someone can slip between the bars and get out.”

It might have been the most productive idea anyone’s had in a while. You take a hold of a bar just as Grover said and pull so hard that your arms are shaking. Percy shrugs off his backpack and throws it through the wider gap you’ve created before sliding through, breathing in dramatically with wide eyes. On the other side, he jumped around cheering. You might have smiled and joined him, if the chanting hadn’t started. A deep, low sobbing jolted Percy to shut up quickly, dropping his arms. High above in the building, a raspy voice came, words you didn’t understand.

“What’s that supposed to be?” You whispered to Grover anxiously.

He’d turned shaky, and nodded for Percy to take your bar. “Let’s keep moving. Like, now, Percy. I don’t like the sound of that.”

“But what is it?” The boy asked, pulling for you to slip between the bendy bars.

Grover didn’t reply. You held the bar for him and when he was through you carried on through the building. The ancient-sounding language had stopped, but the crying continued. The lights flickered, and you could hear the electricity running through them, clicking.

“I think it’s a prison,” you said, eyeing the cells. “A huge one. Ha! Imagine we’re in Alcatraz.”

“Be just our luck,” rolled Percy’s eyes.

It didn’t seem possible in the slightest that you could have exited the maze on the other side of the country far from camp, but realistically anything was possible these days. You’d nearly reached halfway through the room when Grover threw out his arm and hissed. “Stop!” You paused. “Can you see that?” He nodded above, eyes trained high.

You look where he did, and focussed on the shape of the second-floor balcony. Standing, if that was the right word, was a monster you’d only seen in books and history class at camp. At least twenty-feet long with the lower-half the body of a dragon and from the waist upward a woman, with constantly changing shapes and animals at her waist. Her hair reminded you of Medusa’s so long ago, snakes snapping and hissing.

“Get down,” Grover prompted, pulling on your arm. You hadn’t even noticed the boys had crouched in the shadows. The monster paid you no attention, and though the language was foreign to you, it was easy to understand that it spoke directly to whoever was in the cell. Everyone held their breath when the footsteps sounded on the stairs, descending. She spread wings you’d failed to see, and in a gust of hot, sulphuric-smelling air, disappeared.

Grover exhaled beside you. A glance at him provided you the sight of him sweating lightly, weary. “H-horrible. I haven’t smelt a monster that strong since forever.”

“Definitely an old one,” you agreed, leaning forward ever so slightly to peer up the floors, hands pressed to the cold ground for balance.

“What was that?” Asked Percy, shoes scuffing as he shifted.

“Kampê,” shook Grover. “When the Titans ruled the world, they imprisoned Gaea and Ouranos’s earlier children. Cyclopes, and Hekatonkheires.”

Percy spluttered. “The Heka-what?”

“The Hundred-Handed Ones,” you shivered. You felt a little ashamed of the disgust you acknowledge at parts of your own world, the unpretty parts. If the gods could hand down traits to their children, you were sure that liking and paying attention to only the nice things was one you had unfortunately inherited. Vanity, and ignorance. “They called them that because they had, like, a hundred hands. They’re the elder brothers of the Cyclopes. Grim, right?”

“Kampê worked for Kronos,” Grover continued. “She kept the Hundred-Handed Ones in Tartarus, tortured them and kept them imprisoned for years. Until Zeus came, I mean. He killed Kampê and freed them all. In return, they fought in the war, against Kronos.”

“And now she’s back.”

Grover nodded. “And now she’s back. So who’s in that cell?”

“Maybe it’s someone she’s captured before? I mean, why else would she be back and making someone cry?”

There was only one solution: checking it out.

With your dagger drawn, Grover on high alert and ready to indicate monsters, and Percy with his sword, together you crept up the metal steps, backs to the wall, scaling. As you grew nearer to the cell, the crying grew louder. You couldn’t help holding back when you saw the creature inside, because you weren’t completely sure on how you would react. It sat against a wall, the colour of milk and pale as anything, with long limbs. His chest sprouted more arms than you could count. His face was long and sad, and the eyes were dark brown with no whites to be seen. All in all, you felt a little sick. No wonder Aphrodite paid special attention to you; you only liked the pretty things in life. Despite the aversion to him, you couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Somebody so sad didn’t deserve your hate.

“Either the sky isn’t so tall anymore,” uttered Percy, “or he’s short for a Hundred-Handed One.” Said creature looked up when he spoke. You jumped violently.

Grover’s voice shook when he approached the bars. “Hundred-Handed One, please help us.”

The creature wiped his face with numerous hands, and you had to turn around for a second and collect yourself. “Run while you can, Satyr, for I cannot even help myself.”

“But, sure you can! You’re a Hundred-Handed One. You can do anything!”

The false positivity did na-da. The creature’s hands twisted bits of metal and wood, building a toy boat, and pretend characters with swords and bows and arrows. As quickly as they appeared, they dismantled.

“I cannot!” He denied, weeping sadly. “Kampê has returned. The Titans will rise and throw us into Tartarus once more.” You couldn’t argue there. The way things were going, chances weren’t looking good.

“Come on! Put on a brave face and let’s do this!” Oh, Grover, ever the positive. You couldn’t say the same for Percy and yourself—you looked at him, to find him jabbing his thumb down the stairs.

The creature’s face morphed. He now had a pointed noise, arched brows and a strange smile, but it quickly faltered and melted away, returning to the sad one. “No good,” he sighed depressingly. “My scared face keeps coming back.”

“How did you do that?” Percy gasped.

You coughed. “The Hundred-Handed Ones have fifty different faces, Percy!” You smiled to say please shut up.

He shrugged. “Must make it hard to get a yearbook picture.” You struggled to not laugh.

“Guys,” Grover interrupted. “We have to get out of here. Kampê will be back and sooner or later she’s going to sense us in here.”

“Break the bars,” you nod to the creature. His hands start playing rock-paper-scissors, making no move to escape.

“Listen, what’s your name?” Said Grover.

The creature mumbled sadly, deflating visibly against the wall, slumping. “I am Briares.”

Percy leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Why is he not breaking out?”

You turn your head ever so slightly. “He’s just scared, I think. Imagine being imprisoned and tortured not once but twice?”

“I cannot,” Briares moaned. “Kampê will only punish me.”

“It’s alright!” Said Grover. “You’ve fought the Titans before, you can do it again!”

“I remember the war,” Briares’s face morphed into one of reminiscing. “Lightening shook the world. We tried hard. The Titans and the monsters almost won, and now they are close to doing so again. Kampê said so herself.”

You wave your dagger around flimsily as you talk. “What, and you just believe everything Kampê says, now? Come on, man! Get up. You can’t change anything if you don’t try.”

“That’s the spirit!” Cheered Percy. “Come on, Briares! You’ve got this!”

He didn’t move an inch.

“How about a game of rock-paper-scissors?” Voiced Percy lightly. You gave him an ‘are you crazy?’ look.

Briares’s face turned hopeful. “I always win rock-paper-scissors.”

Percy clapped his hands. The sound reverberated. “If I win, you come with us. If you win, you stay and rot in this cell. How about that?”

He agreed. There came a series of hands on palms, three times, and thanks to Briares’s hundred hands, it was like thunder rumbling. On three, he came up with an assortment of rocks, papers and scissors, enough for a school set. He shook his head sadly again. “I told you, I always—what is that?”

“A gun. Gun always wins.”

“That’s not fair!” Briares protested.

“I never said anything about fair,” smirked Percy. Kampê won’t be fair if we hang around. Now, get up, and let’s get out of here!”

Briares sniffled, but climbed to his feet. In one swift move, he reached out with his hands and ripped the bars right out. “Demigods are cheaters.”

You felt relief at finally moving again. That is, until you took the steps frantically, only to walk straight into Kampê, waiting at the bottom. She snarled at you, waiting. You backed up right into Grover, knocking him over.

“The other way,” said Percy.

Briares was more than happy to do this. In fact, he ran ahead, arms waving frantically at the sight of Kampê. You took the lead next, lungs burning, Grover and Percy right behind. The sound of giant wings took to the air above, and though she spoke in her ancient language, you didn’t have to understand it to understand her intentions. Through a corridor, down the stairs and out into another prison block, facing doorway after doorway. You faltered, skidding to a stop.

“Agh—that way!” You dove left, the boys close behind. Now in the prison yard, surrounded by security towers and old barbed wire, the bright sunshine blinded you. People milled idly, taking pictures of the building you emerged from. You turned, and lo and behold—“Alcatraz?!” You fumed. Over the edge, San Francisco stood proudly, in the North, dark clouds gathered over Mount Tamalpais, where Atlas held up the sky. You had a sudden, scary thought that that must be where the Titans were preparing. After all, nobody else would dare approach the area.

“Keep moving! She is behind us!”

To the far end of the yard, right up as the far wall exploded, raining dust and hard debris. Coughing as it pelted you, holding a hand out to the closest wall, you tried to wipe it from your face. People screamed all around.

Percy looked to you. Even covered in dry dust, his eyes were furiously bright, just like the green of the ocean on a clear day. “It’s your call,” he said.

“Run.” That was the end of the debate. Out the gates, emergency sirens blared. It was like something from a movie. A group of tourists stood by the Wharf, where a boat sat. Grover said you should take it.

“Too slow,” said Percy.

“We should go back into the maze.”

Across the yard, where you tripped on stray bricks, the wall to the cell block stood ripped open. Through the messed-up conundrum, you located the entrance to the maze. Briares ripped off the bars of your previous cell, but upon searching the wall for the mark of Daedalus, it came up smooth.

Grover reached high on the wall, for a tiny dent. Upon touching it, the indent changed shape and glowed. The wall opened up. Down the cell block, Kampê roared. She charged, but came up slow. As you were the last to dive into the maze, you watched as the wall closed up, and not a second too soon. Hot air cut off as the wall shut. You dug around your pockets for a flashlight, flicking it on.

The group moved through the maze, through a room purely made of waterfalls all leading into one large, slippery pit. The steps around it were covered in moss and dew; one wrong move and you’d fall and drown. When you shone the flashlight down the black pit, all you could see was murky, dark water, and not the bottom of the pit. Percy looked unsettled.

Briares slumped against a mossy wall along the steps. “This pit goes straight down into Tartarus,” he declared. “I should jump in now, and saw you demigods a lot of trouble.”

“Don’t think like that,” you sighed softly. “It’s not right. You could help with what’s coming.”

“I have nothing to offer,” he shook his head. “I have lost everything.”

“What about your brothers?” Asked Grover, offering logic. “Surely they’re still here. You could find them again.”

Briares offered only sadness and the sense of giving up. “They have faded. They are gone.”

Percy, a little irritated, clasped his hands. “What exactly do you mean they’re gone? Surely monsters are immortal like the gods.”

Grover said weakly, “Percy, even immortality has limits. Sometimes monsters are forgotten, and they lose their will to stay immortal. They grow tired.”

You only thought of Medusa, and her sisters having left her. As awful as she was, nothing could be worse than being alone and forgotten in the world. How cold it must be.

“I must go,” Briares stood.

“Kronos is going to take over the world!” Grover protested. He went to move, but looked at the waterfalls, and thought better of it. “Help us!”

“I cannot,” he hung his head. It was like watching a dying animal with nothing to help it. “I cannot, demigods. I do not have a finger gun to win this type of game.”

“Maybe that’s why you monsters fade,” Percy glared. “Because you give up on yourself. Not because mortals forget you.” Ouch.

Shame wrote all over his face. Without a word, Briares turned up the steps, where different paths had appeared. He took one at random and disappeared down the dark corridor.

You sighed, shrugging your backpack higher on your shoulders. “Come on, guys. I hate it in here. Let’s go find someplace to sit; I’m starving.”

In a marble corridor, with bronze torch holders lit and hanging from the walls, you settled against the wall. It reminded you very much of an old Greek tomb, and felt somewhat comfortable for the soul, like reattaching with a piece of yourself after so long. Chewing on a cereal bar, you said, “We’re probably close now. Hopefully. We’ll get going again in the morning.” If it was even night time, now.

“How do we know when it’s morning?”

You smiled. “When we wake up, Grover.”

He pulled a heap of straw from his bag and ate some, making the rest into a pillow. He was out like a light before you could say ‘goodnight’. Percy took a place a little away from you, further down the corridor from where you sat keeping watch. You dug out a thin book from your bag and read in the glow light from the walls, keeping your ears open and looking up every few seconds.

There’s a shuffle of Percy getting up and sliding down the wall beside you. You lay your book down on your knees.

“You should really get some sleep,” you tell him. “You’ll be exhausted, otherwise.”

“I can’t sleep. Are you doing okay?”

You eye the wall opposite. “Hm. I mean, besides being down here for a ton of time and not making any contributive progression to the quest? Sure.”

“Hey,” he reasoned softly. “You’re doing great. We’ll get to the workshop, I know we will.”

You sigh deeply, crossing your ankles out in front. “I know. I just wish it all made some sense, really. I mean, I thought that we could have a system and stick to it and get to the workshop and back as quick as possible. But everything keeps changing and none of my ideas are working out so…I mean, how have we travelled from state to state in a day or two? It doesn’t make sense. I thought I could do this. But really, Percy, I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing. I took a huge bite out of something that wasn’t meant for me, I think. I was kidding myself.”

“Look, if that was the case, the Oracle never would’ve given you the prophecy. She gave it to you because this was meant for you. Don’t doubt yourself, B, you’re doing great. And, besides, when do we ever really know what we’re doing? Like when we got led astray by the wood nymphs in Central Park—”

You bark an echoey laugh. “That was your fault!”

“And the time you got us thrown off that ride at Waterland?”

“Again, your fault!”

“See!” He laughed, knocking an outstretched leg into yours. “We’ll be okay. I promise.”

You smile, but Hera’s words suddenly do a loop in your head. “Percy…”

“Yes, B?” He tilts his head, thinking you’re going to say something funny. His face falters at your serious look.

“When Hera said you know how to get through this maze, was she telling the truth?” He opens his mouth. “Because if you know the way and you’re not telling me—”

“I don’t know what she was talking about,” he denies. “Honestly.”

You lift your brows at the front, knitting together. “You’d tell me if you did, wouldn’t you, though?”

“Of course I would. Just, maybe if…”

“Maybe what?”

“If you told me what the last line of the prophecy was, it might help.”

Being so busy in the maze had you forgetting that you’d kept that part of your prophecy a secret, not only to keep your panic at a low level, but everyone else’s, too. But maybe he’s right; you’d be admitting to something big, for you, but at the end of the day, if anything were to happen which you could prevent…

“…’Lose a love to worse than death’. That was the last line. Super cheery, huh?” You pick at a thread on your pants so you don’t have to look at him.

He sits silent for a minute. “‘Lose a love’ could be anyone, though, right? I mean…”

Your heart hammers away. You can’t look up but you know just the look he’ll have on his face. You both know which type of love the prophecy talks about. If he’s worried about Travis being the one, Travis isn’t here. And it certainly isn’t Grover.

Percy sighs quietly. “Oh…”

You chuckle. “Yeah, oh.”

“Is that why you were upset, in your cabin? That’s why you…asked for me to come, but worried about it…”

“Now do you see?” You shuffle, bringing your knees up to your chest again. You’ve just admitted that you love your best friend, and he’s oddly quiet about it. Maybe you’ve done the wrong thing. Maybe you ought to have kept your mouth closed. “I couldn’t imagine doing this without you, Percy, and clearly you’re a big part of this quest. I just don’t want anything bad to happen.”

“Nothing’s going to happen. To any of us. I promise.”

You smile unsurely. “You’re making a lot of promises, dude. That’s a bad idea.”

Running a hand through his dark, dark hair, Percy denies. “Not if I keep them. You should get some rest, anyway. You’re tired.”

You won’t say no to a bit of sleep, so you ball up a t-shirt from your bag and use it as a pillow, laying down with your back to the wall. Failing to fall asleep quick enough, you open your mouth into the darkness. “I’ve been having these dreams about Nico. I think he’s trying to raise the dead.”

He replies straight away. “Me too. I think he’s been using the tunnels for a lot longer than we have. That’s where he went in winter, when he disappeared. I think, anyway.”

You can’t imagine how scared he must be. You’re fifteen, and with your friends, but the terror down here is unlike anything else. It’s a constant, eery feel up your spine, like somebody really is walking on your grave.

You don’t think on it too heavily. You close your eyes, hand under your cheek, and sleep.

You began to grow agitated the more time went on. A quick breakfast of cereal bars and a small box of apple juice, and the three of you were back once again to rule the roost of the labyrinth. Or, you liked to think so, anyway.

Dead end after dead end, you eventually started to lose it. “Goddamn it! This doesn’t make sense!”

Grover, eating a roll of straw noisily, nodded in agreement. He watched you like he was watching a reality television meltdown episode. “My brain feels like it’s turned into water.”

You point at him with the end of your dagger unintentionally, making him yelp and scatter backward. “That. That is accurate. Now—why is it turning into wood?!” You followed the changing interior with your eyes, from stone into wooden beams and rock. “It should still be stone!”

Nonetheless, your group pressed on until the walls turned into a room full of sharp stalagmites and dark, dirt floor. Nothing stood out—besides the giant, silver foil wrapper just laying around. You leaned down to pick it up with the tips of your fingers, grimacing at the crumbs falling out.

“D’you think Nico was down here?”

Percy hummed. “Summoning the dead, still.”

“Smells like the dead down here,” Grover agreed, sniffing violently. “Definitely dead things.”

“Beautiful.” You crunched the wrapper in your hand. “Do you think we could use it to find Nico?”

“Like Hansel and Gretel?” Percy quipped, with a cheeky smile. Grover belched a laugh promptly. Boys. Irritation became you.

Despite their joking at the serious matter, you were grateful they’d managed to keep their cool, especially since you’d been slowly losing yours the longer you were down in the maze. You walked on ahead, footsteps oddly quiet with the vast nature of the space. Behind you, the boys laughed about some stupid to programme and Burger King, but their odd conversation was the least of your worries. Through the dark tunnel ahead, a single beam of light shone through from above, like the clouds in the sky would part and let light in from a distance. Something twisted in your gut, and the farther you grew from the boys’ jesting, closer to the grid of light, the stronger the feeling became. You’d guided the way on pure feeling, of what felt right and what felt terribly wrong. You couldn’t help feeling, now, that you’d made the right choice coming this way.

Standing under the pitch of light, looking up, your stomach lurched, and a full-body feeling that you’d done the right thing came over you. You could see trees, and bright-blue sky. No clouds, but a whole lot of sunshine. It felt warm. You were looking through a metal grate, and staring a red-color cow in the face.

A red cow?

You pulled a face, and pocketed your dagger in your backpack. Reaching as tall as possible on your tiptoes, you reached up for the grate, touching your fingers to the metal bars and pushing as far as you could. The cow moved along, thank goodness, because you were starting to think that the feeling in your stomach wasn’t that you were going the right way but actually because the sight of a red cow was ringing alarm bells (and mild nausea).

By the time Percy and Grover caught up to you, you’d managed to shift the grate over a little bit.

“What is it?” Percy breathed. “We thought you’d—”

“I think it’s a cattle-guard,” you cut him off. “Give me a boost, Percy. I’ve got a feeling we’re about to find Nico.”

“What’s a cattle-guard?” He asked, kneeling. Percy cupped his hands, and you placed your foot in it. As he boosted you up, you grabbed Grover’s shoulder and pushed, leaning to shove the guard out of the way. Your fingers brushed soft grass, and you almost melted.

“They put them at the gates of ranches,” explained Grover. “So the cows don’t escape. They can’t walk on them.”

“How’d you know that?” Really, Percy?

Grover huffed indignantly. “Trust me—if you had hooves, you’d know about it.”

Once your upper body is out, you shift your lower body out of the grate, elbowing your way out and across the grass. It’s warm and soft, and you could almost believe you were safe. If it weren’t for the bright-red cows, the color of cherries, roaming the place and eyeing you like you were a great source of minerals. For some reason, Hera’s visit plays on your mind. You reach down on your stomach for Percy, next, as he steps into Grover’s clasped hands and reaches for your arms. After he’s up, the two of you reach for Grover, who takes a jump at the opening while you both grasp his arms, yanking him out of the maze.

Grover wrinkled his nose, eyeing your surroundings. It might have been heavenly if not for the animals and the weird smell of manure. “Red cows? They’re sacred to Apollo, aren’t they?”

Percy barked a laugh. “Holy cows?”

Nodding, Grover clicked his fingers. “Exactly. But what are they doing out here?”

“Go ask one—”

Percy slapped a sweaty hand over your mouth. You almost gagged, and pried his hand away. He shook his head, and that’s when you heard it. Rustling, and tiny treads. Turning around, goosebumps rattling your skin, you came face-to-face with…

A dog.

But not any normal dog, because you weren’t that lucky. A two-headed dog.

You rolled your eyes so violently it hurt. Waving a hand to the dodgy dog, you sighed. “Just go back to the maze. Get in the maze. I can’t, really.”

"Hang on!" Percy held out his hand. "Didn't Hera say something about a farm?"

Ah. "I mean...she couldn't have meant one with freaky dogs and cows, could she?" Abnormal is normal in your world. Unfortunately, more likely than not, abnormal means you're on the right track. Its when things die down that you have to worry.

"Nico might be here," Percy reasoned. "Why don't we go ahead, take a look around, and if he isn't here we'll go back, inside the maze"

With a deflated sigh, you cast your eyes around the fields. Hills rolled, and rolled, and rolled as far as the eye could see, holding your hand up to shield your face from the sun. Cacti and boulders dotted around, and trees sprouted randomly, almost bare under the burning of the sun. Those red cows grazed on grass, mooing in the distance. You didn't like the feel of the ranch by any means, but you did feel that you were on the right track. Percy was right; Nico was here, at least nearby. What was the harm?

The dog growled behind you, you'd almost forgotten it was there. With a bark from both heads, it advanced, sniffing the air. It closely resembled a greyhound, thin and long with sleek, brown fur. It, obviously, did not appreciate seeing you on its farm.

And neither did its owner.

A tall, broad man came trudging from the same bushes the dog emerged from, wearing a straw cowboy hat and a tee that said 'Don't Mess With TEXAS'. He carried a huge wooden club sporting spikes bristling from the end against his muscular shoulder. His white hair lay messed from whatever work he was doing, and his mouth was curled in an impressed snarl.

All in all, a very good sign.

"Heel, Orthus," he grumbled. The dog whined but sat, paws held tight together.

You choked on your own breath. "Orthus?" You wrangled out.

Percy leaned in close, as if the man and his dog were not standing right there. "Is that a bad thing or just a really bad name for a dog?"

"This is Cerberus's brother!" You beamed shakily. "The lovely dog we met in the Underworld, remember?"

Gulping, Percy leaned back. "Ah."

The place really was a Greek past come back to haunt you. From ancient monsters to ancient greek ghosts, the party never ended. Maybe it was Luke's doing, releasing them back into the world Perhaps you just got unluckier the further you wewnt on this quest.

"What've we got here?" the man swung down his club. "Cow-pushers?"

"We're only passing through. Just travelling."

"We're on a quest," added Grover helpfully.

The man, who couldn't have been older than middle-age, raised a suspicious brow. "Oh yeah?" he said sardonically. You nodded your head frantically. Being under fire was the least of your concerns when the dog still sat there. "Half-bloods, eh?"

Percy scratched his head. "Could you tell?"

Dropping your hand on his arm, you back Percy up peacefully. Maybe an explanation will help. The man considers the three of you. "This is Percy, son of Poseidon. And Grover, the satyr. I'm a daughter of Athena-"

With a nod of his head, the man's mouth curved. "She the mediator?" He looked from Percy to Grover, completely blanking you. Humiliation pinched you. The man dropped all feelings of humour at your expense and glowered. The change was so sudden you couldn't help raising your hand to the strap of your backpack and feeling for your dagger, making sure it was still there. "I know what you are, half-bloods, because I am one. Surely if you know your legends you should know who I am, missy?" You were not offered a chance to guess. "Eurytion, the cowherd for this ranch. Son of Ares. And I'm guessin' you came through the maze like the other one."

"The other one?" questioned Percy. "Did he mention his name?"

"We get a lot of people come through the ranch," Eurytion uttered somewhat darkly. "Not a lot leave."

"Wow," drawled Percy. "I feel so incredibly welcome."

Eurytion looked over his shoulder like he was expecting someone. Then he turned back and lowered his voice. "I'll only say it once, demigods. You'd better get back inside that maze before its too late."

"Ha! Don't have to tell me twice." You make for the empty cattle-grid hole. A firm hand pulls around the strap of your backpack and stops you before you can jump down.

"We're not going anywhere," Percy said adamantly, "until we see this other half-blood you mentioned."

Eurytion grumbled. He set on past you, past Grover analysing him, and the move of Percy's grip from your bag to your hand, gently tugging you along after the man. "Then you've left me no choice. Should have listened to your girlfriend, here."

Percy spluttered, you stared mortified after the man. Grover shoved a hand at either of your back's to urge you along the way.

Despite his threatening nature, and unhappy expression, the dog at Eurytion's feet seemed relatively happy, diving in and out of bushes and around cacti, barking and springing around. Heat danced off the beaten path he led you down, going on for forever. A blister began to rub at the back of your heel, and before long you were shaking off your jacket, sweating like crazy. It dripped down your face and flies buzzed at your ears, so when you swiped them away every five seconds you closely resembled a crazy woman. At this point, it didn't feel far off. Every few yards, you passed by pens of the cherry cows, and weirder animals, like horses with zebra stripes in black and green, and lizards in cages with tiny little wings and bloodshot eyes that followed you. A fence held back horses in a pen, covered in spikes. At first, you wanted to take Eurytion's giant club and break them free, until you watched a couple breathe fire. The ground at their feet was dirty and charred somewhat, and their stack of hay was on fire.

Percy and Grover shared your reluctance for the animals. "What are they for?" asked Percy. Grover attempted to talk to them and recieved a billow of fire.

"We raise animals for lots of clients; The Lord Apollo, Diomedes, others..."

You draw your eyes to him. "Such as?" you drawl.

"No more questions!"

Your guide came to an end at the approach of a big, white house on an incline, all stone and beautiful windows. It might have been Victorian, judging by the porch trimming and the rose-tinted stained-glass front door.

"Don't break the rules," uttered Eurytion, quiet as ever. "No fightin'. No weapons. And no comments about the boss."

Up the steps, you snorted. "What's wrong with 'the boss'?"

Before he could reply, a new voice called out along the porch. "Aha! Welcome to the Triple G Ranch!"

Oh, sweet gods. At first glance, he seemed normal enough, if you took away the Sportacus-style moustache on his face. He had shiny black hair, and smiled individually at each of you. The wrong part of this was the three bodies.

You held back a gag. The nightmares would be neverending once you got out of here.

Eurytion nudged you. "Say hello to Mr. Geryon," he muttered.

Your voice failed you. Before anyone could do anything, the colored doors to the house flew open, a young voice calling out. After so many months, hearing him was like a breath of fresh air. You could breathe, because Nico was here. Black hair in flat tendrils brushed his brown eyes, a very pale face and small nose scrunching, eyeing the labelled jar in his hands. You forgot, almost, how young Nico really was, but he was here, wandering the maze alone.

You stepped forward, the porch creaking. "Nico?"

It grew silent, but quickly changed. Nico threw the jar to the ground, and it smashed to tiny, tiny pieces. Drawing his sword, he angled it almost instantly at your throat, a fierce expression on his face. The sword he pointed at you was short, extremely sharp-edged, and black, some sort of iron you hadn't seen before. Was it a gift from Hades, you wondered?

Geryon yelled when he saw it. "Put the sword away, Mr. di Angelo. I will not have my guests killing each other."

Nico's face dropped, eyes wide. "But..."

Geryon threw down the skewers he was holding. They clattered against the metal grate of the barbecue he cooked at. You jumped. "I know who they are!"

"They let my sister die! They're here to kill me, too!"

"Nico!" astonished, you reached out your hands, but he shoved away, a terrible hatred in his eyes. "We want to help you, not hurt you. Bianca was an accident—”

“Don’t say her name!” He yelled. There was such an act of anger in his voice. “You’re not even worthy of talking about her! You killed her!”

“Hey!” Barked Percy, approaching behind. “That’s not fair. It’s—hang on, how do you know who we are?”

Geryon winked. “It’s my business to know of everyone who passes by the ranch, sonny. Everyone who comes this way wants something, you see. Now, Mr. di Angelo, put away the damned sword before I have Eurytion take it from you.”

Very reluctant, Nico sheathed his sword. If he weren’t a hell of a lot shorter than you, the boy might have been looking down his nose to you. “If any of you come near me, I’ll summon help. And trust me, you don’t want me to do that. Got it?”

So demanding. To keep the peace, you nodded once. “Yeah. Sure. That’s fine.” If you looked compliant to Nico’s demands, you stand a better chance of him leaving the maze with you.

Geryon approached heavily and clapped a hand on Nico’s shoulder. You wanted nothing more than to pull the young boy away from him. “There, there. We’ve all made nice. Come along folks, I wanna give you a tour of the ranch!”

You weren’t sure what to expect when he said tour, but a ride in a small two-cart and car mobile was not it in the slightest. The carts were painted black and white in a cowhide pattern, a bell dancing back and forth from the ceiling of the car cab.

“Damn,” you huffed, climbing up after Grover and settling heavily into the seat. “I was hoping for a Mercedes.” He snorted after you. “Never-less, we ride in style.”

The dire cart lurched forward, its gold bell ringing above. Geryon pointed out different animals and pens, chugging along the hills. You couldn’t help enjoying it somewhat, able to take the humour from the situation after a stressful few days. You pointed out some sheep with shaggy black hair and eight pudgy legs, like spiders. They walked in a line like Capybaras, round and round the pen. Past horses with wings but not Pegasus. Their wings were scarlet, and fluffy.

“Do they lay eggs?” Asked Grover, leaning forward to squint at the animals.

“Once a year!” Geryon called over his shoulder. You couldn’t help feeling sorry; the animals didn’t look too happy. “They’re very in demand, lately. The omelettes are spectacular!”

“That’s cruel!” Cried Grover, sitting back with hunched shoulders.

“Gold is gold,” Geryon waved off, a mean grin taking place. “And, you haven’t tasted the omelettes. Hush.”

“That’s not right,” Grover muttered. Geryon continued his narrated tour with the sun beating down. You wished you packed sunscreen as your cheeks began to itch.

“Now, over here are the fire-breathing horses. You probably saw ‘em on your way up here. They’re bred for war, fightin’, if you couldn’t tell.”

“What war?” Asked Percy.

You didn’t like his sly face. “Oh, you know, whichever comes around. And over there are the prized red cows.”

“There’re so many!” Grover peered.

“Yes, well. Dear Apollo is too busy to see them,” he sneered. “He subcontracts to us. We breed them vigorously; there’s such demand as of late.”

“That’s not dodgy at all.”

“Demand for what?” Pried Percy tensely.

“Food, of course.” Duh, Percy, it sounded like. “Armies gotta eat.”

You hum. “So, if I’m getting this right, you kill the sacred cows of a god for burger meat? I swear that’s against some laws, man.”

“Lordy, girl! Don’t get so worked up! They’re just animals.”

Grover almost had a fit. “Just animals?!”

“Yes. If Apollo cared, he would let us know.”

“That’s if he knows,” you fold your arms, putting your feet up on the side of the cart. Geryon met your eye in the mirror—if looks could kill.

A little voice cried from the back cart. Nico. “We had business to discuss, Geryon, and this isn’t it!”

“All in good time, di Angelo,” he mused. He hooted. “Look over here; my exotic possessions.”

The field now was crawling with scorpions, the giant, creepy ones that originally backed you and Percy into the maze. They snapped and clacked, and tried pinching at the fence as you passed.

“Triple G Ranch! Your mark was on the crates at camp. Quintus got his scorpions from you!”

“Quintus?” Geryon shrugged. “Short, grey hair, muscular?”

“Yeah,” said Percy.

“Never heard of ‘im.”

Something cold spread in your chest. Realisation, almost. “Oh,” you shivered. “Hang on. Quintus knew about the maze the whole time, then. He’s been going in and out for who knows how long trading monsters. We’ve been trying to figure out how the maze works, but the loser’s known this whole time!” Grover whispered for you to quieten down, but you couldn’t. Because if Quintus knew about the maze, knew where the ranch was and how to get to it, and back out again, who could say he hadn’t done it before. Who could say he hadn’t led Luke and the army into the maze, and who was to say he wasn’t guiding them. He hadn’t protested your quest. Just what the hell was he playing at?

“Now, to your left you’ll see the very best the ranch has to offer!”

The ‘very best’ turned out to be a terrible state of a stables, containing horses just mulling around in their own…you know what. Sitting beside a giant, green-tinged river, the stables had to be the most disgusting display of very best you ever set your eyes on. From the back of the cart, Nico gagged loudly at the smell.

“What the hell is that?!”

Geryon smiled proudly. “My stables! Well, technically we house the horses for a small fee. Aren’t they just…” he inhaled deeply, “beautiful.”

Percy scoffed, and Grover yelled out. “They’re disgusting! How can you even keep innocent animals like that?”

Geryon slammed a palm down on the cart. You didn’t jump this time; you expected it. “Y’all are getting on my damn nerves. These are flesh-eating horses. They like these conditions!”

“Have you asked them?” You tapped your fingers on your thigh.

“It’s in their nature,” Geryon ground through clenched teeth. “They love it.”

“Plus, you’re too cheap to have them cleaned out,” came a voice beneath Eurytion’s hat.

Geryon snapped. “Quiet, now! Alright, perhaps the stables are challenging to keep on top of. Maybe they do make me feel nauseous. And what? I still get paid.”

There were many words you could have used to describe Geryon: cheap, distasteful, creepy, rude. The fitting word in this case, given his prideful and clearly narcissistic nature, was…

“You’re a monster.”

Geryon stopped the cart. Grover let out a sad sigh, watching the horrible man turn in his seat. He met your gaze. “What gave it away, sweetheart? Was it the three bodies?”

You rolled your eyes and looked away, slouching down the seat as if it would get the attention off of you. “Don’t be condescending. I’m only telling the truth.”

His nostrils flared, hot-tempered. “My clients appreciate it. I do good work, here.”

You let out a sudden laugh sitting upright. “Is one of these ‘clients’ Kronos, at all?” Percy whispered your name warningly. “You just supply his army, don’t you?”

Geryon shrugged and confirmed it without words. “I work for anyone who can pay.” He climbed out of the cart and took a leisurely stroll toward the stables, as if he hadn’t just confirmed he was working with Kronos. A tiny figure scampered after him, and a much bigger one—Eurytion—after him.

“We really need to grab Nico and get out of here.”

Grover nodded in agreement. “How, though? I might be wrong but he doesn’t really seem to want to come with us.”

“Anyone got snacks left? Maybe we can bribe him with food.”

“He isn’t a dog,” snickered Percy. “We just need to get close enough and then run.”

“We’re not kidnapping a kid, Percy.”

“I came here for business!” Nico screamed from the stables side. “And you haven’t answered me!”

Geryon reached out and plucked up a handful of cactuses like they were soft teddies. “You’ll get a deal, all right.”

Nico’s tiny figure got right in Geryon’s personal space. “My ghost told me you’d help! He said you could guide us to the soul we need.”

You groaned. “He has a personal ghost assistant now?” Laying your head back against the wood, you watched Percy, grappling with something internally. His face twisted, then he nodded his head.

“I think it’s Minos.”

Grover spluttered, hooves clattering on the cheap floor of the cart. “As in, King Minos? Dead Minos?”

“I haven’t heard of anyone else called Minos…”

You exhale slowly. “Damn, I thought I was the soul Nico wanted. Y’know, after what happened to Bianca.”

In a tiny voice, Percy murmured, “Me, too.”

“You thought Nico wanted my soul and didn’t say anything about it?”

“Apparently so.”

“Can you help me or not?!” Nico cried.

Geryon shrugged. “Oh, I could. Your ghost friend; where is he?”

Nico struggled, looking uneasy. “He can’t appear in broad daylight. But he’s around somewhere.”

Geryon nodded slowly, watching Nico’s reactions. “I figured. Typical Minos, always disappearing when things get difficult.”

Nico stepped back, right into Eurytion. “What do you mean by difficult?”

“You see, Nico, Luke Castellan is offering a bit of money for half-bloods, especially powerful ones like you and Percy, over there. When Luke learns just who you are, Nico, you’ll be priceless! He’ll pay…very well, to put it lightly.”

In a flash Nico drew his sword, but Eurytion grabbed it with a strong hand and threw it from his grip. You jumped up in an instant and pulled your dagger, only to be thrown down back in the seat by a strong force and a snap of snarling jaws. Geryon laughed heartily. “I’d stay in the car, you guys! Or Orthys will tear out your friend’s voice box! So, Eurytion, could you please secure Nico and take the sword. I do hate Stygian iron.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes, you absolute fool!”

Eurytion picked up Nico in one strong arm, kicking and flailing, and the sword in his free hand. Geryon turned and clapped his hands, pleased. “So, let’s go back to the house, hm? We can have lunch and send a message to our friends in Kronos’s army. Once Nico has been delivered, you three are free to go! I have been paid for your safe passage, which does not include Mr. di Angelo, I’m afraid.”

“Paid by who?” Threw Grover.

“Never you mind!” He snapped, then calmed. “Let’s go, then.”

“Wait!”

You wanted to tell Percy to shut up and let you make the plans, because you’d gotten this far. But the dog still had you pinned down, and smelled so bad you could scarcely breathe without wanting to heave.

“You said you’re a businessman,” said Percy. “So make me a deal. I’ve got something better than gold.”

Geryon mulled over this. “Mr. Jackson, you have nothing.”

“You could have him clean the stables,” offered Eurytion not-so-helpfully.

Percy jumped at the chance. “I’ll do it! If I fail, you get all of us. You can give us to Luke.”

“That’s assuming the horses don’t think you’re a bite to eat.”

“Either way, you’ll get my friends! But if I succeed, you have to let us all go, and Nico!”

“No!” Screamed Nico ungratefully. “I don’t want your help, Percy!”

Geryon laughed mirthlessly. “Percy, the stables have not been cleaned in years. Though I could probably sell more space if they’re cleaner…”

“So what have you got to lose?”

Idiot boy.

Eurytion stared at the sun and nodded. “Okay. I’ll accept your offer. But if you fail, your friends are sold off and I get rich.”

“Deal.”

Eurytion rubbed his hands together greedily. “I’ll take your friends back up the hill with me. They can wait for you there.” He whistled, and the dog on your lap jumped away from you and onto Grover’s feet.

Percy climbed out of the cart and rounded to your side, sitting up. He was red in the face from the heat of sitting under the sun in jeans, and the pressure of making a terrible deal. He locked eyes with you.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, here.”

“I hope so, too.” His hand slipped from the edge of the cart.

“Sunset!” Geryon instructed. “No more time after that.”

You left Percy by the lake under the hot, hot sun.

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