#temple of mars fit

[snowpuff79]

You go girl!!!

i love giving people*the person I infected with madness therapy

[arachine]

started thinking about seasoned jujutsu sorcerer!yuuji and thus…whatever this is was born :3

mdni, sexual content, hand kink…

yuuji and his strong hands.

his hands that are rough, and callused, and big. hands that’ve laid men and lesser beings 6 feet below the earth’s soil. they’re a spectacle to you. the way they tell a thousand stories—of his past, present, and everything in between.

they’re such measly things, you think. appendages molded from flesh, blood, sinew, and bone—but they’re so much more when he’s using them for the things he’s fond of.

like, when he’s holding your hand. intertwining them any chance he can get because he likes the feel of your smooth ones to his ‘rugged’ ones, as he liked to call it.

his hands dwarf your own. so much so, that you’re fully convinced he could fit the both of them in a single fist. it excites you, oddly—the size of them. how something so insignificant could have such an effect on you.

but yuuji’s different. his hands were carved to give, to touch, to love. they’re rough, and scarred, and have killed many a men, you know this, but they’re tender in the way they touch you. so gentle, and experimental, and considerate in the way they traverse down the pastures and plains of your body.

you reckon it’s because underneath all that rough exterior, under all that marred skin, and the shiny scars that dance across his skin like starlight, he is gentle. a juxtaposition to what anyone would perceive him to be.

he holds you in the palm of his hands like you’re the world, holds you with revere. like you’re something to cherish. to protect.

he expresses this when you’re under him, flesh pressed against flesh. forehead pressed to forehead, slick with perspiration. uses his digits to rub on your clit when you’re close to climaxing. presses a flat palm on the fat of your abdomen and tells you to feel where his cock is inside of you.

and when you’re on top of him, rolling your hips against him in the way you know he likes, in the way that diminishes him into nothing but putty, they roam your body in hurried movements. like he’s afraid of leaving any part of you untouched, unnoticed. to him, your body is a temple. he pays his respects when you let him grab you up. when you let him force you into a tight hug as he’s spilling his load into your cunt.

his face is buried into the interstice of your neck when you’re in this position, and he’s uttering expletives and mantras of ‘i love you’s, peppering wet kisses up and down the column of your throat, thanking you in hushed mumbles for letting him use your body like this.

all the while, his hands mindlessly run up and down the column of your spine, tracing random shapes in their wake as a means to soothe you, him, the both of you, as you settle into your post-orgasm bliss.

yuuji and his big, callused, scarred hands. you hope you’ll get to hold them forever.

[iliketangerines]

Tangerine, can I request angst?

One wherein the reader is Shang Taung's minion who was sent to Liu Kang's timeline to disrupt their peace but fell for the Fire God instead because he helped her find herself. Like originally, the reader was like Harley Quinn towards Shang Tsung but Liu Kang helped her heal. Angst ensues when her origins were revealed and she was defeated by Titan Shang Tsung and was taken back to her original timeline where she was killed by that timeline's Liu Kang.

Sorry if it's too long, and it's alright if you don't want to write it!<33

you're not him

a/n: ahhhh, yes, let me flex my angst writing muscles real quick, haven't done this in a while, changed some stuff around but it still fits the basic permise

pairing: liu kang x gn!reader

warnings: canon typical violence

this wasn’t right, none of this was right

he was kind, nice, warm, everything Shang Tsung wasn’t, and you felt yourself drawn to the god despite your orders

you really had tried your best to create chaos, to find this timeline’s Shang Tsung and Quan Chi and harness their ambition and sorcery to create death

but then, you had gone and found them and saw that they were already taken in by Liu Kang, to be reformed and taught to harness their powers for good

you had tried to infiltrate Empress Sindel’s court, to whisper thirsts for power to General Shao and Reiko nand cause an uprising to kill Outworld’s champions

but the suggestions seemed to fly right over their heads, and they remained fiercely loyal to Empress Sindel

you didn’t even try with Mileena, and when you had gone in search of anyone that could and should have wanted to usurp the throne for themselves, you found nothing but peace and tranquility and happiness

every problem that they might’ve had were already solved or mitigated, and your mission was on the trajectory to fail

you could not fail Shang Tsung, he would kill you if you came back fruitless and without disrupting the peace of Lord Liu Kang’s timeline

and so, you went straight to Liu Kang, to go straight to the source of all this peace and kill it at its source, except that he had already been expecting you

he had seen you through the sands of time, granules not meant to be in this hourglass, and he sat you down and drank tea with you

not an ounce of stress or worry marred his features as you picked at your fingers in nervousness, had he poisoned the tea? was he planning on killing you? was he going to send you back to Shang Tsung with no results?

he didn’t do any of those options, instead he talked about idle things, about how he solved his realm’s problems before they got out of control and how he knows you’re here to disrupt his timeline

and yet, even after that conversation, he offers you reprieve, to train underneath him and get away from Shang Tsung from your timeline

you hesitate for a moment, confused by the warmth he extended to you, but you take his hand after a moment

one of his monks escort you to a personal room, gives you clean training uniforms that fit you, and leaves you alone to gather your thoughts

you want to kill him, you need to kill him, to please Shang Tsung, because Shang Tsung would slit your throat, would kill you, would torture you, would spare no mean to make sure you suffer

then you thumb the soft material in your hands, the clean training uniform, a personal room, an adjacent bathroom just for yourself

Liu Kang had managed to bring peace to all of the realms here, and he must be a powerful god to do so, perhaps the god would be able to protect you from the wrath of Shang Tsung

and so, you train at the Fire Temple with the other monks, you meet his champions and become friends with them, you grow closer with Liu Kang as he talks to you over tea

he doesn’t poke or prod, just listens and hums, filling in the empty silence with his own words to keep the conversation going

day by day, you relax, you stop checking every corner for danger, you stop guarding your food like it’s your last and only meal, your stop pushing and straining your body until you collapse during training sessions

you feel your spirits lift, your body feels lighter, the world seems brighter and warmer and better

you sit next to Liu Kang, talking to him about a flower you saw yesterday, how beautiful it was and how it bloomed in the sun

it was something you had never really seen, no Shang Tsung’s realm was just full of death and anger and husks, nothing alive was there, nothing beautiful existed

he asks you more about the realm you’re from, how different everything is, if the counterparts of his champions live with Shang Tsung

you clear your throat, fingers gripping onto the teacup as you think and dredge up the memories

you tell him about Shang Tsung’s champions, about how Lord Raiden and Fujin still exist but do the bidding of Shang Tsung to clear and conquer the realms

you tell him about how screams constantly fill the air, how blood stains the ground and leaves the permanent sickly smell of iron in the air

you tell him how Liu Kang also exists in Shang Tsung’s universe, how he is much crueler, angrier, fast to fuse and killed without remorse

Shang Tsung’s Liu Kang was the perfect lap dog and weapon against any unruly civilians or protests or civil wars in the realms

he was Shang Tsung’s best fighter, and if Liu Kang wanted to, he could snap your neck easily, break you in half and not even bat an eyelash

you flinch as you feel Liu Kang place a hand on your thigh, drawing you out of the memories, and he smiles at you, a little concerned

he tells you you do not have to worry about that, that he will keep you safe from Shang Tsung, that you do not deserve to wilt in such an environment

it makes your heart warm as you blush and tilt your head away to hide your face and sip on your tea

after that day, the relationship between you and Liu Kang shifts

he’s much closer to you, much more handsy and touchy, and he always finds time to bring you bouquets of flowers from his personal gardens

you find yourself leaning into his touch, seeking him every time you walk into a room, reaching out to brush your fingers against his when you two stand close to each other

you lay in a field, an off day to relax from training, and you read a book, something that you hadn’t learned how to do until you came to this realm

it was fascinating, the characters, the words, and it was quite entertaining

you don’t even have to look up to know Liu Kang approaches you, and he sits next to you and glances at what you’re reading

he passes you a cup of tea silently and lets you read in a comfortable silence as he skims the pages while you go over the sentences

finally, you reach the end of your chapter and set the book down to look at Liu Kang, and you hadn’t realized how close his face was to yours

you flush but don’t move away, and he doesn’t either

instead, he leans in a little closer to you, bringing his hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, and you bring your hand up to cup his and bring it to your cheek

he holds onto your face gently, carefully, as if you would break

you tilt your head back, and he leans his head down, lips only a breath apart, so close to touching you, kissing you

the alarm bells ring in the courtyard, and the both of you jolt from your hazy daydream and back into reality as you stand up and rush to the main courtyard

you find Shang Tsung standing in front of a dark portal, clutching onto the neck of a monk and draining them of their power before dropping them to the ground as a husk

the titan spots you and gives a wide smile, but you can feel and hear the malice in his voice, how he’s going to make you regret for you decision to turn against him

you ready your stance, ready to fight him, but Liu Kang pushes you behind him, shielding you away from Shang Tsung’s maniacal glare

he laughs at how protective Liu Kang has grown of you before he starts to insult you, calling you a dirty traitor, a good for nothing harlot, how you’re useless and a pathetic excuse of a warrior

Liu Kang scowls at the words and his fists light into flame, and Shang Tsung smiles and continues his insults

you see him ready his claws, his powers glowing in his hands, and you know that this not an encounter Liu Kang will survive if you don’t intervene

as Liu Kang lunges forward, you grab onto his clothes and pull him back, using your body weight and momentum to throw him to the floor and yourself forward into Shang Tsung’s body

you push him through the portal, and the titan grabs onto you tightly, bringing you through the portal with him

you catch a glance backward, and you see Liu Kang reaching out for you, his words forming a sound of anguish

and then the portal blinks away and you’re back in your own dimension

Shang Tsung throws you onto your back, causing your breath to disappear into the air, and he stabs his claws through your stomach, and blood spurts from your mouth

but you grit your teeth and bear through the pain as he slashes and claws and beats you within an inch of your life

your blood paints the ground in a twisted canvas, but Shang Tsung stops just a few seconds before dealing the landing blow

he calls over Liu Kang, and you see him come over to you, eyes no longer warm, hands cold and painful, and words sharp and jagged as he beats you to death

he smiles at you wickedly as he deals the final blow, and you hope that your Liu Kang has found a way to protect the peace of his realm as your last thought

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

I really love you aemond fics!! The angst always on point, so I have a request you can reject it.

After the birth of thier child who doesn't hold targaryen features, aemond doubts his wife, and his mother doesn't help ease his doubts. He refuses to see her or even be in the same room, which makes the reader falls into depression it wasn't until the babe was few months old and able to open their eyes probably that the violet targaryen eyes are shown. He hears it from her personal maid and then tries to redeem himself after seeing the state she has fallen into, feeling great guilt because of his mistrust to her.

Sorry if it's too long and thank you!

Woof, nonnie, you're going straight for the jugular with this request.

I hope you don't mind, but I've altered this slightly to fit with the headcanons I have for Aemond. Drabble below the gif and cut. This is SFW, but still 18+.

You cried, tears of relief and exhaustion rolling down your cheeks as you fell back into the pillows. Finally able to relax, hours of painful and intensive labour were at an end as the nursemaids worked to remove the afterbirth and wrap your squalling bundle.

Aemond ceased his anxious pacing as the babe was placed into your waiting arms. Striding towards the bed and seating himself on the edge of it, he placed his arms around you protectively, kissing the crown of your head. "You did so well, my love, I'm proud of you."

"Congratulations, Prince and Princess, you have a healthy baby girl." smiled the nursemaid.

You beamed up at your husband, as you cradled your newborn daughter to your chest.

The look of adoration and wonder shone bright in Aemond's violet eye as he gazed down at the infant. "We will call her Alysanne" he whispered.

You smiled, offering a tired "hmmm" in agreement. You eyes were heavy with impending sleep.

"I will let you rest, my love", Aemond said softly, placing a delicate kiss to your temple, "I must tell my mother the wonderful news. Avy jorrāelan." I love you.

Aemond had a spring in his step as he walked the corridors of the Red Keep towards his mother's apartments. He was a father, surely there was nothing that could sully this happy feeling?

Chatter from the courtyard below caused his ears to prickle, and he stopped in his tracks, lingering behind a pillar to mask his presence as he eavesdropped.

"I just can't imagine wanting to couple with...him..." a lady's voice said, full of disgust.

"I know!" the other assented, "Imagine having to look upon that marred face. It would make me sick."

"I shouldn't imagine that princess does look upon him much. Who would want to?"

"Yes, it's highly unlikely the babe is his. A bastard, I reckon."

Aemond had heard enough. Bile rose in his throat, as his heart hammered wildly in his chest. The search for his mother forgotten, he found his legs carrying him back towards your bed chambers.

Insecurity fuelled his actions. You'd never given Aemond any reason to doubt your love or devotion for him. If anything, you were slightly over eager to perform your marital duties and Aemond basked in the attention you rained down upon him.

There was always a niggling doubt in the back of his mind though. "She can do better. She deserves someone whole."

He swept back into the room, regarding you coldly, as he stood at the foot of the bed.

You paused your rocking of your fussing infant and looked up questioningly at your husband.

"Is she mine?" he demanded.

Aemond regretted the words the instant they left his mouth, seeing the hurt expression that crumpled your soft features.

"How can you ask such a thing?!" you gasped, holding Alysanne protectively to your chest, as if to shield her from the insinuation his question carried.

He felt his heart twist urgently in his chest as he struggled to find the words to placate you. "I..."

"Leave us!" you snapped, hot tears scalded the rims of your tired eyes.

Aemond felt as though his very soul was being torn from his body, he reached forward, desperate to comfort you in your fragile state.

"I said leave us!" you all but screamed, tears now flowing hotly down your cheeks. Your daughter wailed in your arms.

Aemond turned, downtrodden, and walked away. "What the fuck have I just done?" he thought to himself.

After a few hours riding on Vhagar, Aemond returned to the Red Keep with a sense of clarity and deep regret.

He slipped quietly into your bedchambers. You were asleep, unsurprisingly. The hour was late and your labours had left you exhausted.

Baby Alysanne lay gurgling in her cradle beside you. As he gazed down at the babe, the pale moonlight reflected the vibrant lilac hue of her doubtless Targaryen eyes. He hated himself for ever questioning her parentage. For questioning your loyalty.

He gingerly reached into the cradle, stroking a gentle hand over his baby daughter. A lone tear tracked its way down his cheek as she grasped his index finger in her little fist.

"ñuha byka zaldrīzes, iksan sīr vaoreznuni", he whispered. My tiny dragon, I am so sorry.

You awoke as the sun was rising, bleary eyed and waiting for the room to swim back into focus. Confused as to why you hadn't been awoken by the cries of your daughter.

The sight that finally met your eyes when you eventually sat up immediately melted your heart, all anger you'd felt for Aemond the previous day dissipated.

He sat slumped in an armchair beside the bed, dozing as Alysanne lay sleeping soundly on his chest. One of his large hands was splayed protectively across her back as she nuzzled into his neck.

You were unable to stop the happy tears that flowed freely and your sniffles startled Aemond from his light slumber.

Slowly and with much care he lifted baby Alysanne from him, placing her back in her cradle and moving to sit beside you on the bed.

"I am so sorry", he whispered, his voice mere moments from cracking, as he pulled you into his arms.

"All is forgiven, my love," you stroked his hair to soothe him, "I know you did not mean it, but why ever did you say it?"

He inhaled a shuddering breath, before pulling away from you and cupping your face as he looked earnestly into your eyes. "I overheard some common folk yesterday saying how awful it must be for you to have to lay with me and I am ashamed to say I let my own thoughts get the better of me."

"Oh, Aemond", you whimpered, "How can you let anyone make you think that? You know there is no one I would rather have as my husband than you. No one I love more."

"I know", he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "And I will never doubt you again."

"Good", you quipped, pressing forward to capture his lips with yours. When you finally broke apart you whispered, "And if you tell me who these common folk were, I will have them fed to Vhagar."

He chuckled drily. "Avy jorrāelan, ñuha nēdenka zaldrīzes." I love you, my fierce dragon.

Read on AO3

More Aemond fics

[monstersinthecosmos]

Vamptember Day 11 - Aphrodisiac

{northern lite - right now}

He watches from a booth in the corner. 

It’s a bit too loud in here, but he likes the pulse of the bass, the way runs through the leather  beneath him and the way it makes his glass buzz against the table and the way it even vibrates the cloth of his pant legs. He stretches his arms out over the back of the couch, sinking into all the sensation, enjoying all the balmy human heat trapped in the room. 

Daniel is out on the dance floor, smiling as he holds a woman by the waist. His eyes light up in a way that they never do at home. And it’s not just that he can still pass a human, but that he can pass as a young one. He fits right in with all the students, and Marius wonders if it’s his way of taking back something Armand stole from him.

His hands raise above his head as he dances along to the electronic melody in the music, shirt lifting just enough to see a stripe of his belly and the wiry hair beneath his navel. Skin flushed pink from feeding, and it takes so little to get him looking alive again. Young enough for that. Still so soft.

And then a man behind him. The woman’s boyfriend, Marius assumes. They make eye contact above Daniel’s shoulder, as if this is a thing they do. Timeless, that; Marius had been similarly adopted by a couple when he was alive, too. He can’t help the smile as he watches, as the man leans into Daniel’s back, says something in his ear, as his palm anchors against Daniel’s exposed midriff.

The woman presses in to Daniel’s front, lifting up on her toes to kiss her boyfriend over Daniel’s shoulder, then turns to kiss Daniel’s cheek. The desire crackle through the entire room,  reaching Marius even in his dark little corner, even beneath the thick human humidity. Daniel’s thirst strikes him weak as she kisses him on the mouth next, and Marius catches the way his hands stutter at his sides, flexing in and out of fists, as he tries to resist hurting her.

Marius sits up. Watches closer, ready to step in If Daniel needs. Doing so much better lately, but still so young. 

Do you want to come sit? he asks. The man’s hand is drifting, petting over Daniel’s zipper. Invite them for a drink.

Daniel’s hair flies around him as he snaps his head to the side, finding Marius across the chaotic space. None of the humans seem to notice the unnatural glow of his eyes, the way they catch the colored lights. 

And he’s been so much better. Doing so well. But sometimes Marius isn’t sure which Daniel to expect. He might accept the offer as easily as he might become defensive and oppose just for the sake of it. The smallest things used to set him off. 

But, no. He speaks into the woman’s ear, and turns to kiss the man on the mouth, then nods towards their booth. The woman’s fingers hook into a belt loop on Daniel’s jeans as she follows him, as they weave through the sea of bodies, and finally slide in around the table.

Thomas and Bente, their names are. University students. A little out of breath as they settle into the couch, practically on top of each other. 

“This is my boyfriend, Mars,” Daniel says, speech stilted as he tries to shout over the music. 

Boyfriend, hmm. That’s new. 

Marius smiles politely, and beckons for a waitress. Orders them all a round of drinks. And it’s too loud to carry on a conversation, but Thomas and Bente curl against each other. Drunk enough to lose their modesty, perhaps comfortable enough in the shadows for Thomas’s hand to sneak beneath her shirt. 

Daniel’s hand rests on Marius’s thigh, nails digging in as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Getting overwhelmed, perhaps, and Marius turns to kiss his temple.

Are you all right?

Daniel nods. He breathes through his mouth, lips parted like he’s drunk. Perhaps he is. He usually comes away from the dancefloor with a cocktail of things in his blood. Club drugs, like the kids do today. 

They’re on molly, Daniel tells him, and he shudders. Shuts his eyes, nuzzles his face into Marius’s throat.

So you’re on molly, no? Marius asks. Daniel giggles.

His whole body is warm. Barely any blood and he’s feeling human again. Soft and clammy, feverish little thing. His lips drag cross the side of Marius’s neck, teeth grazing. He has permission, of course, but it’s as if he restrains himself for the recreation of it.

Thomas grunts, from the other side of the booth, and Daniel looks over towards them. Bente straddling his lap now, and her hand is not-so-subtly dipping into the front of his pants. Daniel squeezes harder into Marius’s thigh, until it actually hurts.

“Hey,” Marius says out loud. He lifts Daniel’s gaze with a finger beneath his chin, to stare into his eyes. 

He must have been so beautiful when he was alive. Boyish like this. Marius can imagine him, before Louis and Armand, before all the fear. He can imagine the innocence.

“I’m hungry,” he whispers, but Marius hears it over the music. 

Marius brushes a strand of hair from Daniel’s eyes. 

“I used to feel this way,” he explains. He cups a hand around Daniel’s cheek, and can feel the heat in his palm where Daniel is blushing. “Those first few decades, I remember. I was hungry all the time.”

“It’s different, it’s—”

“Like you’re still human, like you could die,” Marius says. Daniel swallows hard, and nods. He glances over at his new friends in time to see Thomas’s hand slide up beneath her skirt. “They want to take you home. And you want to go, don’t you?”

Tiny noise creeps out of Daniel’s throat. He nods.

“It’s hard, when you’re this young,” Marius says. His hand sweeps down across Daniel’s shoulders, where his shirt is damp and sticking to him. “Your body doesn’t know what to do with all the arousal. You’d let them fuck you, but you just want their blood.”

“Yeah…”

“Sweetheart, you must be starving.”

He hears the pitch of Daniel’s heart, even over the music. His pupils blow wide in the dark, as if tapping into his true predator. Big and dark and glossy from the drugs. They stare at each other for a moment, and Marius takes a peek inside, pretending that it’s just to check on him.

And it’s music in there, enjoying the DJ. And the scrape of Thomas’s stubble against his jaw earlier, and the taste of Bente’s lipgloss. And their veins, delicately humming beneath their skin, their tender little heartbeats, the heady rush of molly when Daniel had sipped from them. And the strain, like he could scream, when he forced himself to stop. Only taking a little, the way Marius taught him. The hunger aches, and he sees red, and he remembers when he was human and Armand would ruin his orgasms for fun.

But now he just stares into Marius’s face, and it gives him that chill. Intoxicating feeling of powerlessness, like he’s small, thrilling erotic rush of subservience.

I want to kiss him, Daniel thinks.

The corner of Marius’s mouth quirks as he tries to hide the grin. This is new, too, isn’t it,

“How very human of you,” Marius muses.

But Daniel is in his lap, almost instantly. Straddling him, holding his shoulders. Leaning in for it.

New. All these years living together, and with Daniel drinking his blood, it wasn’t exactly like this. Things have felt so tidy and safe and uncomplicated.

Daniel moans into it, and his mouth fills with blood. His fingers comb through Marius’s hair, one hand cupping around the back of his head as the other plants hard against his chest, feeling for his ancient heartbeat.

Never tasted Daniel’s blood before. Felt respectful to keep that boundary, perhaps. But even Marius is not immune to the charm.

You taste like your maker, Marius thinks. 

Marius’s own blood, filtered down like this. Electric pull in his body, like the Blood inside knows it. He savors the flavor, licking into Daniel’s mouth, holding him by the hips. Untamed, full of hurt. So very desperate to take a life.

Do you want to go home with them, Daniel? he asks, as his tongue probes into the open wounds. And he sees the answer immediately, the way Daniel imagines it. Their bodies, and the heat. He imagines watching them together, and drinking them after, and he recoils, his mouth still red, as he imagines killing them.

“You won’t,” Marius reassures. He licks Daniel’s blood from his teeth, and rubs the tops of Daniel’s thighs. “I’ll keep them safe from you. We can go, if you want to.”

Daniel breathes hard, like a mortal. Mouth open, and he looks lost, too turned on for words.

“You can watch them, the way your maker watched you, if that’s what you want,” Marius says. He leans forward and kisses Daniel again, biting him on the lip as he pulls away. “Is that what you want?”

And he’s trembling, panting, thirst flowing off of him like heat as he nods his head. 

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Shades of Grey || CL16 {4}

Summary: Your happy ending. Warnings: 18+ only, fluff to make up for the hurt I have put you through. Word Count: 2k

F1 Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || - complete

Two Years Later

Even with the moulded plugs fitting snug in your ear you could hear the roar of the Miami crowd as you stepped out onto the grid. It had been a long road of recovery and few people believed you would ever make it back into Formula One. But one person did, and he was there to support you every step of the way. 

“And the third Leclerc has entered the track now and she is in a decent space to be getting points after a good qualifying round yesterday.”

You blocked out the commentators that wove their way around the cars and teams, hoping to get a word from a driver or two, and continued your walk up the starting positions. Suddenly your earplugs were pulled out with an irritating pop and the full force of the atmosphere threatened to deafen you as you turned to the newest Audi driver.

“Nervous?” Arthur asked for the thousandth time since Williams announced you would be back in the seat and no longer the reserve driver just a few weeks ago.

“I think you and your brother have that covered,” you said as you looked ahead to where Charles was talking to the media from his place in P2. 

Charles had barely slept last night. He had laid awake, holding you close like he was afraid to let you go. He knew it was your dream to race again and he had watched you put in the monumental effort to regain your strength after waking from the coma but now that you were there he was having trouble letting go. 

He had hardly been able to concentrate during the free practices and especially the qualifier and you knew it had affected his pace. Instead of asking his team for updates on his lap times he was asking about yours, and when a yellow flag slowed the track down his heart rate had spiked in response until his team reassured him the flag was nothing to do with you.

It was almost more than he could bear just seeing the burn marks forever seared into the top of your back and he made sure he kissed the marred skin softly everytime he curled himself up against you. He hadn’t said anything about it to you, but you could see the worry in his eyes when he watched you getting dressed into the fireproofs that had saved your life when the fuel tank had exploded two years ago. 

“You’re still wearing your ring,” Arthur commented, pulling you from the memory of your morning spent wrapped in Charles’ arms.

You looked down at the simple gold band on your finger, smiling at the knowledge that the date engraved on the inside represented the best day of your life. “I only just put it on, and I don’t plan on ever taking it off.”

You both turned at the sound of Charles’ voice as he bounded over after finally breaking free of the Sky News reporter and a wide grin greeted you. He threw an arm over his brother’s shoulders, his helmet hanging by his fingertips, while his other hand snaked around your waist and pulled you into his side so he could kiss your temple. 

“Ready to make history?”

Arthur grinned back and nodded. “Three Leclerc's in one race.”

“Does one by marriage count?” you asked with a laugh as they both looked offended.

“Your last name is Leclerc, is it not?” Charles dared as he nodded to the ring on your finger and bit his lip. 

“So long as you keep looking at me like that it will be,” you replied with a wink and Arthur tore himself out from under his brother’s arm. 

“Get a room,” Arthur said with a juvenile gag.

Charles smirked as he placed his helmet on the ground and sat against the rear tire of brother's car so he could pull you between his legs and suggest, “There are still a few minutes to the race.”

“You only need 30 seconds,” Arthur joked before darting into the midst of his engineers where he would be safe from his brother. It was nothing new for the good natured sibling rivalry to spill over onto the track and as often as they were seen hugging, they were also seen trying to tackle each other down to the ground to settle some debate.

It didn’t matter that there were literally hundreds of thousands of people at the event and even more watching live on their tv’s at home, you wanted his attention solely on yourself and you cupped his jaw that was clenched after his brother's taunt. He slowly turned back to face you and you stared into eyes that were the perfect mix of green and gold, like autumn leaves just before they fell. 

“You look tired,” you murmured as you tipped his chin back so the sunlight chased away the shadows on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I like it when it’s just us out here,” he said, recalling how he had found himself laying under the starting lights with you at 3am. He leaned in and rested his head between your breasts but there was so much padding in the race suit it was almost impossible to feel. “You, me and the stars.” 

“And the alligators.” You grimaced at the thought of the animals that populated the state and draped your arms around Charles’ neck. “I can’t wait to go home. No alligators, or snakes, or Florida Man.”

“I can’t wait to go home so I can have you all to myself,” he said as Arthur made his way back over, complaining about the PDA as he approached, “with no interruptions.”

“Sky wants an interview with the first couple to race against each other,” Arther said as he jutted a thumb over his shoulder to the reporter behind him.

“Have they been in a coma for the past 5 years? Poor Yuki.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Charles groaned.

“What, Pierre's boyfriend? You know I’m kidding.”

His arms tightened around your waist as he held on a little tighter and shook his head and mumbled his response.

“Babe, you just motorboated me on live tv.” You gently pushed him back so his words wouldn’t be lost to the thick padding of the racing suit. “What did you say?”

He ran a hand through his thick tufts of hair, his wedding band catching the sunlight as he did so. “Please, don’t joke about anyone being in a coma.”

Your lips parted with a sharp intake of breath and a stab of guilt hit you in the gut. “I’m sorry, my love,” you apologised as you saw the hurt in his eyes. “I didn’t even think.”

Charles nodded and rose to his feet, his forefinger trailing up your neck to your chin to guide your head back. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about it every single second today. You are my world, and I nearly lost you once already.”

“You’ll never lose me, Charles,” you murmured as you ran your finger over his wedding ring. “I’m yours, forever, like I promised in our vows, I’m yours in this life and the next. I found my way back to you once before, there’s nothing that could keep me from finding you again.”

The noise on the track fell away as Charles dipped his head to capture your lips, stealing your breath when his tongue traced along your bottom lip. Your lips parted for him and he moaned softly at the access he had been desperate for, shamelessly deepening the kiss in the middle of the grid.

The final warning alarm sounded and you reluctantly pulled away, his hands tightening for a moment before he sighed and released you. “I’ll walk you.”

Thankfully the media crews had moved on so there were no interrupts after wishing Arthur well and heading further up the starting grid. Charles’ bright red racing suit stood out amongst the sea of dark blue Williams’ crew but he felt at home around your team like they were his own too. 

You grabbed your bottle of water and held it out to Charles since he had been busy talking instead of drinking. He gave you a small shake of his head but dutifully wrapped his lips around the straw and sipped the electrolyte infused water. When you pulled a few macadamia nuts from your hidden stash in the car he outright laughed. 

“Seriously?”

“As your wife I take the role of keeping you fed and watered very seriously,” you said as you picked one and lifted it to his lips that curled up in amusement before letting you feed him. 

“Satisfied?” he asked after chewing the snack and swallowing it. 

“With you, always,” you said with a wink before one of the engineers handed your balaclava over, followed by your helmet. “Ready?”

Charles inhaled slowly, his nostrils flaring and his lips pressing tightly together as he swallowed deeply, and he took the white balaclava from your hands. “I’ll see you at the finish line.”

The air turned heavy as he battled his fear and though you felt the same apprehension your focus was on easing Charles’ mind. Forcing a smirk onto your face, you brushed his dark hair back from his forehead. “You’ll see me in your rearview, right before I overtake you.”

Charles chuckled and pressed his lips to your forehead. “Would I still have to be your slave for a week?”

“Oh, babe, I don’t think a week would be enough for what I have planned with you.”

Charles pulled the balaclava over your head and straightened it with precision before stroking the top of your cheek that peeked out of the eye hole. “Win or lose, I’m yours.”

You reached up to his neckline where his own balaclava was tucked in so he didn’t have to carry it around and you pulled it over his head, brushing aside his hair that flattened nearly all the way down to his eyes. “I’m yours,” you echoed. 

The teams were starting to pack up and the grid was emptying as things got into serious race mode. Charles would have stayed until the very last second before he had to be seated in his car but you knew that wasn’t conducive to focusing on the race so you grabbed his helmet and pressed it to his chest. 

“Your cars looking lonely,” you said through the thickness in your throat. “Go.”

He was torn as his hands closed over yours and he looked down at his red and white helmet, the updated design holding both your initials and the date of your wedding as well as your racing number. Your’s was the same, only the colour scheme matched your car that had a complete overhaul and improvements since the accident. 

“Drive safe,” he rasped as his green eyes seared yours. He pulled the material of his balaclava down to free his lips and you did the same to seal the promise with a kiss.

“Always.” 

He started to walk away to finish his climb up the grid, two rows separating your places, but before he was out of ear shot you called out. “Hey, Chuck!” He turned, his shoulders bouncing with a laugh that you couldn’t hear. “I love you.”

His palm slapped his chest twice before resting over his heart. “I love you too. Always.”

–

The first light turned red and you began your starting sequence. 

There was a moment where it felt as if the entire world held their breath and time slowed. Your eyes looked dead ahead but they saw more than just the five red lights ready to disappear and signal the eruption of chaos. You saw the vibrant flags in the grandstand, the baby blue of the sky above, the lush green grass past the first turn, and the bright red of the Ferrari two rows ahead. 

This was right where you were meant to be, not a single shade of grey in sight, no more voids of darkness. This was light. This was love. This was life. 

You were going to live it.

Tagging: @alwaysclassyeagle @abeanontoast @theslytherinwriter @pjofics @91vhs 

[catierambles]

Witch Hunt Ch. 1

It was a smell you never forgot. Once it was in your nose, you would always know it. Putrid, almost sickly sweet, with a coppery undertone. Several officers keeping the scene secure were either green in the face, or had their shirts over their noses, a couple looked like they had already gotten sick.

Walter did his best to ignore it, putting the mask over his mouth and nose to try to at least dampen it. He also did not need that smell on the back of his tongue. The body itself was in good condition, all things considering. The fact that it was still smoking slightly made him think it was fairly recent.

“We know when it happened?” He asked, crouching down on his haunches.

“People who called it in reported an explosion about thirty minutes ago.” The uniform said, “Blew the windows out, caused some damage to the cars outside. There was no active fire when the firefighters got here, and they found the body.” He looked around, seeing the shattered windows, the glass out on the street and sidewalk with only a couple pieces on the floor. Definitely broken from the inside.

Scorch marks surrounded the body, especially where the...charring was the greatest around the face and neck. Eyes, lips, nose, most of the face really, burned away. What hair was left and not burned was gray. The hands were intact, no sign of fire damage, the skin thin and wrinkled on the backs with thick fingers only slightly marred by arthritis. Older man, most likely. Walter gave the area another sweep, seeing the hand written tags on items in display cases, or ones that had fallen to the floor. A register sat on one counter, older model, everything done by hand. It was closed and he would have someone check, but robbery didn’t seem to be a motive.

And a flamethrower wasn’t exactly the ideal stick-up weapon.

It also wouldn’t have blown the windows out. Not enough damage for a explosive device of some kind. Only the victim and the immediate area showed any real signs of what happened. Pushing up the sleeve of the victim’s shirt with the tip of his pen, he saw bruising around the wrists indicative of being restrained, but there were no restraints on or around the body.

“Ma’am!” The officer at the door snapped and he stood, seeing the woman push past him with an annoyed look. Dark hair was clipped back away from her face, her black suit fitting her in a way that looked tailored.

“Who’s in charge of this scene?” She asked.

“I am.” Walter said, approaching her and pulling the mask down, “And I’ll have to ask you to—”

“Agent Logan, FBI.” She said, pulling a badge from her inner jacket pocket. He held his hand out for it and she gave it to him, watching him look it over and then back up at her.

“How can I help you, Agent?” He asked, handing the badge back. She just looked around him to the body on the floor, tucking the badge back in her pocket.

“Shit.” She said when she turned her attention back to him, he was suddenly struck by the vividness of her turquoise colored eyes, framed by a dark fringe. “What do we know so far?”

“We?” Walter asked, arching a brow.

“Let’s start over.” She said, “As previously stated, I’m Agent Cait Logan with the FBI, and I’ve been tracking a killer who uses this method all over the country. Restrain, torture, electrocute, burn.”

“No sign of electrocution or torture.”

“He burns the face after running a few thousand volts through the temples. Your medical examiner will confirm it. They’ll find no smoke or soot in the lungs, victim was already dead before being set aflame.”

“What does he use to burn them?” Walter asked.

“No idea, I’ll be sure to ask when I catch him.”

“And we know it’s a him?” He asked and she nodded.

“Behavioral Analysts at Quantico pegged him as a white male, about late-30s to early-40s. A narcissist who hates being told no. Shitty at interpersonal relationships, and probably pays the bills by selling stolen items. Robbery isn’t the motive, though, just a means to an end. I’d have your guys find the victims inventory logs, double-check it against what’s still here, put out a BOLO for anything that doesn’t come up.” She said and looked around, “Seeing a lot of old stuff, but not thrift. Antiques. There’ll be pictures for insurances purposes, either here or with the insurance company.”

“How does he choose his victims?”

“It appears to be random. He doesn’t stick to any kind of victimology. I have a theory it’s less who they are, and more what they can give him. Head-shrinkers agree with me.”

“Like what?” Walter asked, “You said robbery wasn’t his focus.”

“It’s not. Again, I’ll ask when I catch him.”

“You’re including us in this investigation?” Walter asked, “Expected you to take over.”

“No.” She said with a snort, “Unlike my esteemed fellows, I don’t think I’m better than local cops just because my jurisdiction is a country, not a county. You have home court advantage. The only think I ask is that I be the one to make the arrest and take custody if and when we find him. Same request I made of all the others.”

“I can agree to that.” He said and she gave him a dazzling smile.

“I look forward to working with you I never got your name.”

“Walter Marshall. Detective Walter Marshall.” He said, finding himself start to return the smile.

“Okay, Detective, let’s get to work.” She moved around him, walking a tight circle around the body but being careful not to smudge the scorch marks. “This is where the victim was lit up, but not where he died. You found signs of restraint?”

“Bruising around the wrists.” Walter said, pulling the mask back up as he joined her. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulled out another mask and offered it, but she waved it away.

“Thank you, but I’m fine. I’m a bit nose blind to it now.” She said and he tucked it back in his pocket with a shrug. “He takes his time with his victims so he’ll need seclusion, but still be close by.” Heading deeper into the shop, she stopped by a door, “Did anyone dust this door knob for prints yet?”

“Not yet, still waiting on the techs.” Walter said and she pulled a pair of black nitrile gloves from her suit pocket, putting them on before opening the door.

“There we are.” She said and he joined her. It was a one-person bathroom, thin bits of cord still hanging from the pipe under the sink “He comes in, probably at closing, overpowers the victim, drags him back into the bathroom and ties him up.”

“No blood.” Walter pointed out, “You said he uses torture?”

“Electric shocks, probably a stun gun or a cattle prod. Low voltage at first just to cause pain, and then when he gets what wants, he cranks up the power and well...” She gestured to the body on the floor.

“Why burn them after?” Walter asked, “If they’re already dead, why not just leave them? Why make a show of it?”

“Narcissist, remember? He wants people to find the body as soon as possible, he wants people to know what he did. He doesn’t want to be caught, but he wants people to know it was him so he does things to set him apart from others. To make him unique.”

“He has an ego.”

“Don’t they all.”

[blicketdabest33]

FINAL CABIN PLACEMENTS I DON'T WANT TO EDIT IT AFTER THIS

So many of y'all had so many good ideas (and since a lot of these i came up with without any real reasoning) here's my updated version that i think fits A LOT better

#1 Zeus Cabin: Jimmy, Joel Jimmy: He's a Zeus kid, but everyone somehow forgets about it. Joel: He's competitive and strong. Also, because Jimmy is his half brother through godly parent, i get to make a fun bit about him dating Lizzie. And one of his origins in Afterlife SMP was a thunderborn

#2 Hera Cabin: Scott, Impulse, Ren Scott: Scott's whole thing is loyalty. Hera is the goddess of marriage and is insanely loyal to Zeus. However, I feel like Hera should get at least one affair. So now Scott can use peacocks as weapons. Impulse: According to @dawnfire7 Impulse is known for loyalty, which i did not know. He's also known to hold grudges. Perfect Hera kid. Ren: He's apparently known for loyalty (and i didn't really like his Nike placement anyway)

#3 Poseidon Cabin: XB XB: Something about water temple guardians

#4 Demeter Cabin: Sausage, Shelby, Bdubs, Stress Sausage: This man built Sanctuary in a jungle and has flowers in his hair. He sells wood. There is no other place to put him. Shelby: Mushroom gnome, spooky mangrove witch, powerful storm witch, i need not continue. Bdubs: Moss man. Stress: SHE HAS FLOWERS

#5 Ares Cabin: Martyn, False Martyn: His planet is Mars, which is the roman version of Ares. He ended Limited Life in such a violent way, i can't help it. He was also red for the majority of Secret Life. False: I just feel like False should get to kill people more often.

#6 Athena Cabin: Grian, Pix, Owen, Xisuma Grian: This sums it up pretty well

Pix: Smart man. Archeologist and definitely a nerd. I wanna see him skipping out on training just so he can read history books. Owen: He likes to explore and discover new things in Pirates. In Rats, he's a tinkerer. In New Life, he's an explorer who wants to study hybrids. In Empires, he's a Llama who's curious about how humans work. Just a very curious character overall. Xisuma: Admin. I'm not elaborating.

#7 Apollo Cabin: Oli, Lyarrah Oli: MUSIC. MAN. Lyarrah: She writes the captions for the hermitcraft recap.

#8 Artemis Cabin: Pearl, Gem Pearl: Y'know, Artemis could've just like... had a kid, even though she took that oath. It wouldn't even have to be with a guy. Gods can change to whatever gender they want. Anyway, Pearl gets to be an Artemis kid because her symbolism is moon, she loves dogs, and will commit murder and hunt at night. Gem: Someone really wanted these girls to be sisters, and I think Gem and pearl should get to hunt at night and be fierce together. Oh, and she's got the whole deer aesthetic.

#9 Hephaestus Cabin: Doc, Mumbo, Tango, Zedaph, Fwhip, Iskall Doc: Redstone Mumbo: Redstone Tango: Redstone Zedaph: Redstone Fwhip: Redstone AND has a red scarf (don't ask me how that's relevant) Iskall: Redstone

#10 Aphrodite Cabin: Keralis, Skizz, Bigb Keralis: Okay, I don't know why, but Keralis gives me the vibes of a very charming person. His voice is nice to listen to, so imagine how useful it'd be if I gave him charm speak. Skizz: Person in the tags said he was really charming and you can't help but love him. I agree. He's here now. Bigb: Smooth talker. Someone (i think it was Scott) said in one of their videos "It's hard to kill him while he's talking". Charmspeak. Ma man, go do chaos.

#11 Hermes Cabin: Scar, Etho, Joe Scar: Trader Scar, scammer extraordinar. Etho: All i must say is Shady-E's. I get "jack-of-all-trades, master of none, often better than master of one" vibes from him. He's funny, he's mischievous, it just works. Joe: Comedy man. Excellent delivery. And, yet again, i look at this man and go "That right there is a multi-talented man with a habit for mischief."

#12 Dionysus Cabin: Joey, Beef, Cub Joey: *points at his season one empires theme* i need not say more Beef: Idk, food. I don't really have a reason. I don't know too much about Beef. Cub: Someone said Cub was really laid back, i liked this idea, he's here now. C'mon, go make ur empire.

#13 Hades Cabin: Zloy Zloy: Zombie man. He writes the Hermitcraft recaps in the dark at 2am with nothing but pure spite.

#14 Iris Cabin: Katherine Katherine: SHE. HAS. COLORS. and also I couldn't put her in Demeter cabin because Shelby is already there and i am NOT excluding Nature Wives from this au

#15 Hypnos Cabin: Wels Wels: @dingdinghq said something about sleeping during S6 and i completely agree

#16 Nemesis Cabin:

#17 Nike Cabin:

#18 Hebe Cabin: 

#19 Tyche Cabin: TFC TFC: Man goes mining and gets really lucky. That's it.

#20 Hecate Cabin: Lizzie, Cleo, Jevin Lizzie: Witchy vibes. Also, Arson. Cleo: Arson. She uses her magic for Arson. Jevin: He's a magic slime. Also, Arson. All Hecate kids love Arson.

[ejoym]

What is the backstory of Frankenfoot? Now I'm curious.

The short, spoiler free answer:

I thought it would look cute on her! So, I decided that she lost her foot during the final events of The Dark Urge’s storyline. I think it’s a fitting way to symbolically represent what she lost/gained to overcome her haunted past. And very sweetly, Astarion helped her stitch the corpse foot in place (which I might draw in the future)!

I also just like this dumb joke that she now has “one foot in the grave.” 

The longer, Dark Urge plot spoiler heavy answer:

Devlin doesn’t have many scars. As The Dark Urge she was a child of Bhaal and also his most loyal cleric. He granted her power over life and death so she could always cure wounds before any rigid scar could mar her sacred flesh. 

It is her bloodkin Orin though who leaves her with the greatest physical scar–the loss of her foot. In the climax of Durge’s story, Orin challenges Devlin to a final duel. Orin transforms into the slayer and immediately chomps Devlin’s foot clean off during this fight. Devlin, in excruciating pain, barely manages to kick Orin’s face in. (As the player, I had to get so creative because OMG ORIN HITS FUCKING HARD IN THIS FIGHT. I barely got by with strategically timed uses of Sanctuary, Hold Monster, Spirit Guardians, and Harm. It was brutal.) Through ingenuity and sheer luck, Devlin buys herself enough time to land the final spell that ultimately ends Orin the Red.

Orin melts into a puddle of her own flesh…and takes Devlin’s foot to the grave with her. 

Devlin had little time to process this before Bhaal appeared with his ultimatum. She rejects his offer and is punished by death.  Granddaddy Withers shows up and does the ol’ cleave body to soul thing for Devlin, resurrecting her to her almost former glory...sans foot! As a funny note: it's now granddaddy Withers who is lending his divine favor to Devlin but he refuses to answer any of her questions, so she's functionally an agnostic cleric now. Since she was killed by Bhaal after her foot was already lost, it became a permanent feature even upon Withers’ resurrection. But, with her cleric powers still intact, she has the bright idea to franken-foot a replacement! She scoured the temple of Bhaal to find a comparably sized foot (which did not take long, let’s be real). She painstakingly stitched the dead foot on with a little help from the nimble hands of her embroiderer boyfriend. She sealed the suture with her highest level healing spell and used a little necromancy magic to reanimate it! Thanks for the asks! I just posted that line about franken-foot for the lols but I actually appreciate the genuine curiosity from ya'll. 🖤

[phykios]

If I Were A Blackbird, part 15 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

Maybe she shouldn’t have insisted that her hair and makeup team take the rest of the night off. 

Lacey, angel that she was, had left some of her supply with Annabeth for emergencies before she headed out for a night on the town, taking full advantage of her boss’ kindness. At the time, Annabeth had thought nothing of it. Lacey was a makeup genius who had come straight from Piper’s recommendation, and never left her looking anything but pristine and natural, a massive, massive improvement over Annabeth’s last makeup artist, who had insisted on a highlighter so blinding it could cause a ten car pileup. It was a literal and metaphorical weight, lifted off her shoulders, and she no longer cringed looking at herself in a mirror, unable to recognize the person who stared back. 

Of course, the Athens evening was so hot and humid, she was sure all of Lacey’s hard work was on the brink of melting off her face, running down her neck and staining her nice, new dress. She couldn’t help but check her reflection every minute, squinting at herself in her phone camera, afraid she’d spot a stray streak of eyeliner, and that she’d have to fix it herself. And gods forbid any makeup get on the fabric. She would not be able to fix that herself.

Maybe, too, she shouldn’t have gone with white. 

Well, white and blue. It fit the location. She had been idly (or not-so-idly) browsing some online storefronts for local Greek designers on Piper’s suggestion after she had subjected her dear friend to a multi-hour phone call agonizing over her wardrobe, all while trying not to directly quote Legally Blonde. Because she wasn’t sure if this would be The Date, capital letters implied. A romantic, full-service dinner on the rooftop of the King George Hotel would be a great place for a proposal, yes, but Annabeth didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. 

Elle Woods had it right: Annabeth did want to look special tonight. Bridal, even. But not in a way that indicated she was expecting anything. 

And even if she was–which she wasn’t–she couldn’t accept it. Not yet, not before laying out her whole truth. Which she needed to do. Soon. She glanced over at her mother’s ancient temple, glowing in the pre-sunset light. 

Maybe she could do it tonight. Here and now. 

And then maybe so much bridal inspiration wouldn’t be so out of place. 

The dress honestly wasn’t too obvious. The blue helped to take some of the edge off. And it was a beautiful dress–light and silky, it fell to her ankles, a slight weight to the bottom hem a bulwark against any wrinkles that might mar the beautiful pattern. Floral designs that could have been taken directly from a Minoan fresco curled up and down the fabric in beautiful hues of blue, crisp against the white background. A matching belt lent Annabeth the impression of a waist, and the halter top had been artfully concealed under a light scarf which had been promptly removed as soon as she was seated at the restaurant. 

Annabeth tipped her head back, closing her eyes as a cool breeze ruffled her curls, which hung in a loose ponytail. She gently twisted her head from side to side, feeling the soft caress of her delicate gold hoops against her neck, and twirled the bracelet around her wrist. 

The waiting was always the worst. 

He was late. Not by a lot, but enough for her to be nervous. She had sent a car to pick Percy up, but there was no accounting for city traffic. Flexing her toes in her not-too-high heels against the leg of the table, Annabeth resisted the urge to check the time, focusing instead on the stunning view from the terrace.

Athens stretched out before her. Ringed with mountains, the city rippled with the weight of its history, the ancient structures looming over the urban sprawl. If she were being uncharitable, she might call it a combative kind of architecture. Ancient columns fought for dominance with ‘60s modernism, while domed churches dotted the landscape as though they were surfacing a stormy, concrete sea, gasping for air. Unplanned and slapdash, scrubbed of undesirable elements, Athens could be a bit of a mess, a discordant combination of ancient and modern. 

She could relate. Annabeth, too, often felt like a mess, a discordant combination of ancient and modern. 

In many ways, Athens was her legacy and her birthright, as a daughter of Athena. An ancient promise, handed down over thousands of years. 

If she could find the prize, that is. 

Movement from the corner of her eye brought her attention back to the present–and to a different, much more pleasant kind of prize. 

The waiter was leading Percy over to her table, though it was entirely unnecessary, given that Helen had booked out the entire rooftop for their privacy. It also meant that no one was around to watch as Annabeth gave her boyfriend a significant look up and down. He wore a smart, dark gray suit, a sea green shirt with an open collar and no tie, and that crooked grin that always set her heart racing. “Hey.” 

She stood up to meet him, coming in for a quick, chaste kiss. “Hi.” 

“Am I super late?” 

Annabeth shrugged. “It’s Athens. No one is ever on time.” 

“You’re telling me–I think traffic here might be worse than New York.” 

“I can believe it.” But she didn’t care. She rested her hand on his arm, just basking in his presence. Marveling at the physicality, at the fact that, finally, he was here. That they were together. 

“I missed you,” he said, his smile melting into something softer. 

Reaching up for another kiss, she tucked her face into his neck, breathing in the sea-salt smell of him. “I missed you, too.” 

Siding his arms around her, he held her close to him, and she could hear his heartbeat in her ear. Missed you. Missed you. Love you.

He pulled back, eyes suspiciously misty. “Gods,” he choked out, taking her hands. “You…” 

“Yes?” 

But he could only shake his head, bringing her hands to his mouth. “Gods,” he said again, kissing them. “You are so beautiful.” 

Many people had kissed her hands before. Many people had called her beautiful. Percy had done both, on several occasions. She still felt herself go red, a suspicious blur forming at the corners of her eyes.

Percy cleared his throat. “Shall we?”

They sat, hand in hand over the table, not even breaking apart when the waiter made his way over to them.

It was a set menu for dinner tonight, but they at least had the option of choosing between wines. Greek wine was not exactly something that she would call herself an expert in, so she kept it simple: something white, crisp, light, and on the waiter's recommendation. He would know better than she would, anyway.

“Of course,” the waiter said, ducking his head politely.

“Oh, and also some champagne, if you have it?” Percy cut in. Annabeth's heart leapt in her chest. Champagne, for a special birthday dinner? Perhaps. Or maybe...

When the bottle arrived, Percy poured them out two glasses, and they gently clinked them together. “Happy birthday.”

“You're a day late,” she teased, knowing full well that he was not.

“Well, excuse me for having to work,” he teased right back. “We can't all just be a pretty face and a government-guaranteed salary.”

“You could have taken your laser and sailed right to me, and gotten back to Athens in time for your race.”

“Okay, even my times aren't that good.”

She took another sip. “Pity. Maybe Holmgren would be able to make it in time. Or who's that British sailor I hear so much about? Wilson?”

He rolled his eyes, but there was no real force behind. She knew that he knew very well what she thought of the British sailor. “At least pick someone actually good-looking.”

“Hmm.” She drew it out, smiling. “How’s Jason?”

He shook his head. “Replaced by a blond man? Really? Really?”

“I mean, he can do a backflip,” Annabeth pointed out. 

“I can also do a backflip!” he insisted. “Just not on a table without falling off.” He paused, thoughtful. “And I’ll always be happy about that.”

“About falling off a table?”

“Yeah. Cause whenI looked up from my sprawling heap on the floor, there was my dream girl.” 

She felt herself go red, even though she probably should have been used to such statements. Especially from him. “Well, that’s something.” 

“So just remember that, on the day you abandon me for Henry Wilson.”

From the corner of her eye, Annabeth saw their waiter walking up with their first course. “Well, hopefully that day is still a ways away. And hopefully, this helps put it off even further.”

Their waiter gracefully set down the basket, swiftly followed by a sliced, still piping-hot loaf of bread. “Kalathaki Limnou, as you requested,” he declared, “one of our famous, world heritage cheeses, hailing from the island of Lemnos.”

Percy peered at the item, brow furrowed. Then it clicked, and he smiled. “Cheese in a basket... Pausanias?”

She grinned. It was a passage from Pausanias’ Description of Greece, a text dating back to the second century AD. In one section, he had written extensively on the diet of professional athletes–including the famous, fortifying cheese in a basket.

Was it the same food as the kalathaki from Lemnos? Annabeth had no clue. Her cursory research had been inconclusive, and she wasn’t particularly interested in doing anymore. But of course he'd understood the reference, and that had been the primary goal anyway. “The only diet fit for an Olympic athlete.”

The rest of the dinner was delicious, of course–between the sea bream ceviche with ouzo jelly, the mushroom ragout with potato cream, or the slow roasted baby lamb, there was no way it wouldn't be. But, privately, she thought the kalathaki, paired with Percy's bright, happy laughter, might have been the best thing that she had ever tasted.

She was looking forward to dessert, though. Then again, was she more looking forward to the food, or Percy's reaction?

The sun had long since dipped behind the hill, casting the rock and the temple in bright hues of orange and pink, while behind the stone, the skies and the mountains melted into each other in a smear of deep, dark purple. Between the two of them, they had polished off the champagne, and were about to reach the bottom of a bottle of white. At some point in the evening, their hands had once again found their way to each other, fingers intertwining. “Gods,” Percy was saying, squeezing her hand. “I don't know if I could eat another bite. Coach is going to murder me.”

“Just tell him you were given a royal command to eat until you couldn’t fit into your wetsuit. What's he going to do, argue with a princess?” Percy laughed at that, and her heart felt as bubbly as the champagne. “Besides, we still have dessert left.”

“Better be good,” he said, taking a drink of water. “I’d hate to think I ruined my diet for a subpar dessert.”

“Oh, I think you'll be impressed.” She nodded to the waiter, who had been hovering unobtrusively nearby all night long. Had they been in America, he would have gotten one hell of a tip. Shit, she might give him a hell of a tip, anyway.

Percy narrowed his eyes at her, immediately suspicious. “What did you do?”

“Me?” she smirked, feeling a distinct sense of deja vu. “Nothing.”

“Don't get cute with me, wise girl.”

“So you think I'm cute?”

“I think you're–”

But she would never know what he thought (though she could guess), because their waiter once again stepped up to their table, bearing their final course. He was saying something, probably describing the flavor and texture or whatever. He could have been reciting his entire family tree, for all she was paying attention, so fixed on Percy's bemused, befuddled, unbelieving face as the waiter laid in front of him a plate of blue baklava, and a bowl of bright blue ice cream.

He stared at her. “How?”

She fought down a very un-princess-like cackle, but ultimately chose to concede with her honor intact. If laughing at her stupefied boyfriend was considered honorable. 

“Seriously, how?”

“By asking nicely, seaweed brain,” she laughed.

“But how did they get the phyllo to be blue? My mom’s tried for years!”

“Now that, I think, is a little above my paygrade,” she said, taking up her spoon. “But it sure looks good.”

He seemed to agree, the pastry already shoved halfway into his mouth. “Do you think if I asked, the chef would tell me how he got the color?”

Annabeth licked off her spoonful of ice cream, not at all unaware of the way Percy’s eyes were tracking her tongue. “I bet it’s a state secret,” she said. “Classified.” 

“I’m great with classified,” he said, a troublemaking grin climbing up his face.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve never told anyone anything about you. Like the noise you make when I stick my finger–” 

She threw a pistachio at him, and he ducked, laughing, not at all like the bright, tinkling champagne of yesterday’s brunch, but deep, full-bodied, as rich and sweet as the wine on their table. 

Gods, she loved this. 

“Well, fine,” he chuckled, dusting imaginary nuts off his suit. “If you’re going to be like that, maybe you won’t get your birthday present.” But his hand was already halfway into his pocket, undercutting the threat, pulling out a small, velvet box. 

Her breath caught in her throat. Was this…? 

But no, it was decidedly not a ring box. It was longer, thinner; probably a necklace. She felt her sigh of relief as deeply as her disappointment. 

The feelings fell away as he presented it to her, and she opened it with slow care. Percy had a knack for finding really beautiful and unique jewelry, and she knew she was in for a nice surprise. 

Predictably, she gasped. “Oh, Percy!” 

Percy had a habit of getting for her jewelry with the most perfect saltwater pearls, treasures that he always found at little markets he frequented all over the world when he traveled. This was not different, except how it was. It was a piece of raw coral, perfectly pink, about the size of her ring finger (or maybe ring fingers were just on the brain), but with little jagged pieces branching off of it. At the bottom was a perfect white pearl, the whole piece hung from a silver chain, as statement-making and beautiful as it was elegant.

“Happy birthday,” he said, soft as the evening breeze. 

“It’s beautiful.” She reached out to touch it, running her finger along the ragged edge of the coral. “Where did it come from?” 

“I picked up the pearl the last time I was in Stockholm.” He grinned, thoroughly pleased with her reaction. “And the coral is actually from Santorini.” 

“Sweden and Greece, huh?” The subtext was unmistakably clear: You and me. 

He flushed lightly. “I thought it fit.” 

“It’s perfect.” And it was. It would look beautiful with her dress, she knew, with the large amount of blue she had taken to wearing over the last four years. She had adopted the color because she knew Percy loved it, and that it showed her off to her advantage. 

“May I?” He asked, and she stood up with him, while he walked up behind her, pulling the necklace on, and leaning down to kiss her neck. It rested perfectly on her chest, just above where her cleavage would be, if she was the kind of woman blessed with cleavage. 

Percy kissed up her clavicle, then her neck to her ear, but then he stopped, resting his chin on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her waist, staring out, like her, she was sure, at the Parthenon. Except the sun had gone down while they ate, so they couldn’t see it up on the hill. Her mother, shrouded from her in darkness. 

From the dark corner of her thoughts, her mother’s words floated up to the surface: Be careful with that one. 

Annabeth frowned. Why would she say that? How could Percy be anything but perfect for her?

Did Percy feel the same foreboding?

“Is everything okay?” Percy, without even looking at her, seemed to pick up on her mood, taking her hands. They fit perfectly, like they were made for each other, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into her skin. “Helen giving you a hard time about taking the night off? Or your stepmother–” 

“Nothing like that.” She could tell he wasn’t very reassured, lips pursing. “Just… a lot on my mind.” 

He squeezed her hands. “Tell me?” 

Annabeth turned her head to look into his eyes, as green as the waters of Piraeus in the sunlight, and she had what she could only call a moment of delusion. 

What if she did tell him? What if she told him everything? Her mother, her quest, her worlds, all nine of them, which were somehow more dangerous than ancient crowns and social media combined. She could tell him right now. The Athenian night safely wrapped them in a blanket of silence, shielding them from PAs and reporters and races and parents. It was a moment all their own, one which they had both been craving for so long. 

She could do it. Right here. She could unburden herself, and share her deepest secret. 

“Percy,” she began. “I…”

Then, from the corner of her eyes, she saw light. 

“Oh!” Percy gasped. “Look!” 

The Acropolis, which had been dark, was suddenly lit up, golden against the night sky. 

And Annabeth, too, had a moment of clarity. 

She couldn’t tell him. There was no way he’d believe her. Not yet, at least. 

She needed to go to the heart of her mother’s magic. There, she could show him. And that meant they had to go to the Parthenon. 

That’s where she would tell him. 

***

That night, his girlfriend in his arms while they stood on a romantic hotel rooftop, gazing at one of the most iconic, ancient monuments in the world, Percy did something he never thought he’d ever do. Not in a million years. 

He thanked Athena for ruining his moment. 

He had been so damn close, looking out over the Acropolis, to saying something stupid. About gods and goddesses, Athena and Poseidon, the ancient and the modern and the monsters that plagued them. About how they lived on far past their expiration dates, and how Percy was one of them. 

“It’s beautiful,” he sighed, grateful for the cool breeze which covered his shudder. 

And, unexpected bonus, the cold made it so she snuggled into him further. 

His heart hammered against his chest, strong enough that he knew she could feel it. But that wasn’t so unusual. His heart was always racing when he was close to her. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, turning her face up to his. “Your heart is going crazy.” 

Or maybe it was unusual. “Yeah,” he assured. “It’s just…”

She turned in his arms, looping hers around his neck. “Just what?” The frizzy ends of her golden curls fluttered in the breeze, her storm-gray eyes searching his for the source of all his problems, like she alone could solve them. 

And she would try, he knew, to solve them. She had innumerable resources at her disposal–money, networks, influence–and she was willing to waste them all on him. All for his sake. “…You just make me so happy.” His sight blurred for a moment, throat suddenly thick. “So damn happy.” 

Her eyes shone, her lips trembling as she kissed him, and Percy had a revelation. 

He should have brought the ring with him tonight! 

“I love you,” he murmured, following her mouth as she pulled away. “Gods, Annabeth, I love you so much.” 

“I love you, too.” Her voice shook, fingers tapping warm patterns on his skin. 

“Annabeth…” 

“Yes?” She gazed up at him, and he could count every freckle on her sun-kissed skin, glowing in the low light of the rooftop and the moon which hung above them. 

Why had he waited so long? Why hadn’t he given her the ring earlier?  

He glanced back at the Parthenon. 

That was why. 

Because it wasn’t fair to ask her to tie herself to him without giving her all the facts. Without sharing all of who he was, and all of what that meant, with her. That, and that alone, had prevented him from proposing for the last year. 

But there was no reason he couldn’t tell her tonight, and then ask her to marry him. 

Fuck it. He could give her the damn ring later. 

He leaned in and kissed her again, basking in the perfect feeling of her soft lips against his, running his hand down her back of her silk dress. They had a lot of privacy here, but there were things you just couldn’t do with a princess in public. 

But it didn’t have to be public. He wasn’t heading back to the Village tonight, after all. The plan had been for him to stay the night. With her. “We should go downstairs,” he said, and she grinned in response, her face full of trouble. 

“Sounds good to me.”

Was he excited to spend the night in a five star hotel? Of course. It probably had some sort of amazingly fancy soaking tub. Maybe they could cuddle up there together, and he’d show her just what a son of Poseidon was made of. At the very least, it was probably an upgrade from the Village. 

Maybe he could even find a moment to text Luke, and get him to bring the ring over. If there was one thing Luke could always do, it was get in and out of locked and restricted areas with no one the wiser.

But… on the other hand, maybe not. Percy would be the wiser, and knowing that Luke was there while he and Annabeth were having sex was maybe a step too far. Even if Luke was the one who had introduced them. 

Percy laced their fingers, a practiced motion that nonetheless still made his heart skip a few beats, and he pulled her close to him, keeping her as flush to his body as he could while they walked out of the restaurant, nodding his head at their waiter in thanks, who dipped his head in return, clearly fighting off a knowing grin. 

There was a camera inside the elevator, which, again, limited what things they could and could not do. But he felt no shame in pulling her close and kissing her. If another elevator video got leaked, well, they were about to be engaged, so what did it matter?

Annabeth’s suite was the only one on her floor, and you needed the keycard to get in, so he had expected them to make it to her room without running into anyone. But instead of the grand, empty hallway, the elevator door opened on Hans Gunderson, perpetual frown on his face, looking expectant and… possibly a little worried. 

“Your highness. Mr. Jackson,” he nodded at Percy. 

“Hans,” she said. “What is it?” 

With a sideways look at Percy, Hans leaned in. “We have a situation that requires your attention,” he said to Annabeth, in a low voice.

She huffed. “What is it?”

“Berserkir.” 

Her eyes went wide. “Here? Now?”

“Yes, your highness.” 

Percy frowned. He was pretty sure he’d heard that word before. But he wasn’t sure what that code meant. Hans and the other members of the security team had a million and one code words: Annabeth was Septentrion, paparazzi was mygga. Even Percy got a codename. He was officially designated Sjöman–sailor. 

He’d heard berserkir before. He knew it was a Viking thing. But he’d never been told its meaning, not as one of Hans’ code words. 

“I’m so sorry, babe,” Annabeth said, turning to him.

“It's fine,” he said, because it was, she had to go into emergency meetings all the time. He was used to it. “I can be super quiet while you talk to Helen.” 

Annabeth’s shoulder’s fell, and she bit her lip, stopping herself from saying something. “No,” she said, after a moment, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be here for this.” 

He blinked at her, taken aback. He’d been cut out of important meetings before, early on. Been banished to the bedroom or whatever. But at least for more than the last year he’d been around, even if his exact presence hadn’t been explicitly acknowledged. And in the last few months he’s explicitly been asked to join.

“I can hide in the bedroom…” Her face told him that wasn’t far enough away. “Or the bar or lounge?” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said. “I'm not sure how long this will take.”

“...Oh.” That was… fine. That probably just meant it was really important. And like he had said, all those years ago, she was entitled to her secrets, just as he was to his. Even if they had been together for four years, and even if he had nearly told her his secret not five minutes ago.  

“I’m so sorry,” Annabeth said, with an apologetic kiss. She cupped his face, her thumb stroking over his cheekbone. He fought the urge to pull away. “Your name is with the concierge’s desk,” Hans informed him, sympathetically. “They can get you a car to take you back to the Village.” 

“It’s okay,” he waved him off. “I’ll get a taxi.” If they didn’t want him to be part of this… well, he could take care of himself.

“Please don’t,” Annabeth said, “you know you can use my car whenever you need.” 

He took a deep breath. He was being dumb. He knew he was being dumb. He was being whiny. It was fine. He was just pouting. It was okay. They were okay. They were in love. 

Soon, he would be a real part of the royal family. And soon he would be able to cuddle in bed with Annabeth every single night.

Besides Annabeth was so cute when she was worried. She got this little scrunch between her eyebrows, and he could practically see her thoughts turning in her head, her brain working overtime. He squeezed her hand in reassurance, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “It’s still early, I want to walk around for a bit.” 

She still looked skeptical. “Call the car service when you’re done.” But she let him go without much more of a fuss. “And let me know when you get back to the Village.” 

“I will. Good luck with your uh… situation.” 

With a grimace that was doing its absolute best to be a smile, she turned and entered her suite, her hands quickly taking out her ponytail, before throwing it back up into a tight bun. Percy tried not to stare too obviously as she rounded the corner. Hans lingered in the doorway, hand on the doorknob. “Are you sure you don’t need transportation?” 

Aw. He didn’t realize Hans cared so much. “It’s fine,” he shook his head. “I need some air anyway.” 

He nodded, his stony countenance never breaking once, then shut the door behind him. 

The hotel opened up right into the middle of Syntagma Square. Like the New Yorker he was deep inside, Percy jaywalked across to the square, dodging an embassy vehicle, weaving his way through a pack of drunk English coeds, their high-heeled steps wobbly and their overly shiny golden laurel crowns askew. 

The square was packed, with tourists and locals of all stripes milling up and down the marble walkways. People poured from the entrance to the metro like a fountain, flooding the streets, mingling with the opposite current as it surged upwards from Ermou Street, Athens’ own modern day agora. 

It was strange to be reminded of the subway. Percy’s conception of old was American old: the old building on Yale’s campus or remnant remains of colonial structures during a weekend trip to Salem. And New York was all sharp and modern and subways, the colonial structures scrubbed clean. But Athens had its train system weaving in and out of ancient monuments and Byzantine churches. People had walked in and out of this place for millennia. Athens had been a great city for nearly his father’s lifetime. Even the other great cities–Paris, Istanbul, Rome–Athens was already ancient when they had been just a collection of mud huts.  

Percy picked a direction, shoved his hands in his pockets, and began to walk. 

He passed the changing of the guard in front of the Parliament building, only sparing a glance to the strange, exaggerated walk of the evzones as they solemnly circled around each other. He walked by a statue of some guy on a horse–not Alexander, as that statue was in a different part of the city, but a man he didn’t recognize in a plumed helmet and more modern armor. Past the former National Library, resplendent in all its neoclassical glory even at night, he took a right, and then a left, and then a right, until he was well and truly lost. 

Sort of. He could still feel the Acropolis at his back, a magical compass which pointed him to his father’s temple. 

It made him itch. 

The sounds of English had long since faded away, a chorus of Greek (heh) mingling in the air with clouds of cigarette smoke and the ever-present scent of coffee. He slowed to a stop at a triangular park, lingering on the sidewalk with a small crowd that couldn’t fit into the even smaller coffeehouse. Inside, he could see an older man on a raised dais, his hair gray and eyes drooping, cigarette in his mouth and strumming at a small, guitar-like instrument, while his partner, a much younger woman with space buns and evil eye tattoos running up and down her arms, sang something in Greek, her eyes shut tight and her hands shaking with nerves. 

Modern Greek was not his strong suit, not by a long shot, but some words were familiar, even if it sounded different. He could pick out words of love, joy, and sorrow. 

The song ended, and the people in the coffeehouse cheered. Hands reached up in applause, beer bottles were passed around, and the girl hopped off the platform, falling into the arms of her girlfriend, a wispy, waifish thing who kissed her, full on the mouth. 

Percy smiled, and moved on. 

The rest of the neighborhood was just as lively as Syntagma, but where the square had been white and gray, the streets here were colorful. Balconies overflowed with hanging gardens and climbing vines, the sidewalks broken up by orange trees, and every single building was covered in some of the most gorgeous graffiti art he had ever seen. Every. Single. One. 

Syntagma had plenty of graffiti, too. Every inch of Athens was covered in spray paint, save for the archeological sites and churches. But this neighborhood was something else. 

He passed a lush jungle, rendered so realistically on a concrete wall, an elephant’s trunk curling around a white door. Up above a balcony, he spotted a bust of Herodotus, the harsh, artificial shadow cutting his face in two. Percy walked by photorealist portraits, a man in a techno-futurist pair of glasses, two Picasso-style women in a passionate embrace, and more anarchist, antifascist graffiti than he could shake a stick at. 

The New Yorker deep down inside of him was proud. 

And then he came across the owl. 

Percy stopped in the middle of the street, so suddenly that a drunk guy bumped into him, mumbling an apology in Greek as he stumbled past with his friends. 

Like a lot of the street art here, it was a very realistic-looking owl. Enormous, it stretched across the corner of two walls, almost like a 3D image. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he might have thought that the owl was flying straight towards him, the way it looked like it was about to leap off the very wall it was drawn on, bursting free from its stone prison. The artist had spared no expense–each feather was given its own definition, the curve of the beak coming down to a nasty-looking point, and its large, menacing eyes had been painted with the reflection of the city, the entirety of Athens held in its all-knowing gaze. 

Percy shivered. 

Athens, owls, Athena–he tried not to think about it too hard. 

Though it wasn’t like he could avoid her. 

He had never met the goddess before, and hopefully he would keep it that way. The feud between her and his father ran deep, he knew, and when he had been younger, Poseidon had warned him, in no uncertain terms, to stay away from any of Athena’s children. 

Which was weird. Athena was a virgin goddess. Why would she have any children? How would she have any children? 

Anyway. 

In lieu of avoiding her children, Percy dutifully did his best to stay away from any trace of her. No trips to Nashville and the Parthenon. No souvlaki from that place in Astoria with her statue outside, even though that souvlaki was really freaking good. Of course, in Athens, Greece, it was a little more difficult. Her presence was imbued in every stone of the city that bore her name, from the temple on the hill to the watchful eyes on the walls. He couldn’t not avoid her here. 

And he especially couldn’t avoid her when he finally emerged onto a main thoroughfare, and was greeted by a statue of her, rising above the park across the street. 

Maybe it was time to contact Annabeth’s car service, and get back to the Village. It was getting late, and he was getting tired, and he had practice tomorrow. What he definitely shouldn’t do was cross the street, go into the park, and go up to the statue. 

Wishful thinking. He trotted across the street, safely this time, and made a beeline directly for the statue.

The stone Athena stood on a tall, tall pedestal, spear and shield in hand, lording over all it could see–which was presumably a lot. At the base was a lioness, mid roar, perched on a set of marble steps, and lit from beneath by a ring of small floodlights. Athena was too far up for him to see her face, but he could imagine it, her stony, vaguely disapproving frown, like every single one of his math teachers every time he failed a test. 

That was when, for the second time that week, he spotted some odd carvings. 

Like the delta on the cistern, they were barely more than scratches, carved a very long time ago. In the dim light of the pedestal, he could barely see them, and he doubted that sunlight would have made it easier. It was a fair bit more elaborate than the delta, though, a collection of overlapping triangles of different sizes which came together in the shape of… something. Maybe the central triangle was a body of some kind. The thinner shapes which bracketed it could be arms, or wings. 

Wings. 

It was a bird. 

More than that, it was the bird from the bronze disk he had found. 

Percy gasped, taking a step back. 

And more than that, it wasn’t just any bird. 

The carving on the bronze disk had been an owl. 

Somehow, Percy had stumbled across an artifact that belonged to the goddess herself. 

His mind was swirling with questions, but one thing was abundantly clear: Athena had wanted him to have the disk. She had led him straight to it.

And he could not, for the life of him, imagine a reason why.

[drippingheart]

Firm fortitude. Malleable mind. Nothing was truly set in stone, for even the stone itself eroded and became weathered over time. What's done is done — the attitude of a child, of a toddler, who knew neither tears nor wishes could bring back the dead and create happy days out of nothing. If wishes came true, the world would truly be a wonderful place; children would be with their parents, and children would be with their siblings. Wake up, wake up, wake up. No, Fushiguro Megumi was not wishing for such a thing was futile, wasted breath — he was merely talking to his sister.

Fushiguro Tsumiki was the strongest person he knew, genuinely. Stronger than even the revered six eyes and limitless user for her smiles and hers alone were brimming with unflinching compassion and positivity even after all that happened to her, to them. Megumi was nothing without Tsumiki. The last thread of familial bond was wound so tightly upon his digit yet became thin and strained with time. Red thread connecting people's lives, sharing the crimson qualities of blood. Blood. Already bruised from the conclusion of another school fight, the tender flesh gave way with ease under the ministrations of a curse.

He knew well of the origin of curses having been taught thoroughly by none other than Gojō Satoru, yet it seemed the thunderous clouds hanging above the teenager's head attracted the the very same creatures who were birthed from foul feelings. It was good. Megumi needed it. The two curses which found him were nothing which warranted a call to his benefactor @thehonoredwon, and they were rather simple to exorcise despite the abrasions to his flesh and the uncomfortable trickle of blood. Drip, drip. It followed the curve of philtrum, over his cupid's bow, and dripped down to stain the tips of digits scarlet.

The red thread connecting people. As if transfixed, malachite eyes did not move away from the sight of the droplets marring his flesh and dripping further to mark the concrete ground with macabre breadcrumbs. People, rightfully, ignored the sight of what appeared to be a mere student delinquent. No one wanted to help him, and Megumi certainly did not want any of their help . . including that of the strange sorcerer with fox-like eyes. Though if Megumi really thought about it, the sorcerer had not outright offered any help save for obscure words. Getō Suguru had lost two curses.

Two curses which he had plucked away from the heads of two frightened children who had appeared at his temple, along with their guardians, much in a way a physician would clinically remove a wart. Quick and painless. The children were certainly overjoyed, and what did the parents give him? Nothing but a few thousand yen as offering. Pathetic. The little cockroaches had served their purpose, and the weak curses had served theirs as well. Everything serves a grand purpose such as the words with rolled from tongue and lips with great care.

── ❛ What a familiar face you have. Most sorcerers do come from prominent lineages of families. ❜

The casual air of voice matched that of appearance. Suguru purposefully forwent with the typical flair of his gojo-gesa and geta, instead he donned plain civilian clothes matching more of the style of his teenager years than a man in his prime. It seemed fitting at the moment. All Megumi knew was it was a strange encounter from someone who what? wished to be friends with another sorcerer despite their age differences? Forming connections with people was certainly not Megumi's forte, but he was not entirely dense nor thought himself alien compared to humans and sorcerers. He simply . . did not care for it. The man's words continued to echo about inside the teenager's mind though.

── ❛ Fushiguro Toji! Ah, that's right. It's all clicking in my head. I knew him once, yes. Gojō Satoru was acquainted with him as well . . ❜

It couldn't have been. He never heard of him. Didn't know that name; didn't remember what his father looked like outside of the old sketches he used to produce as a toddler . . just dark scribbles of a man with onyx hair walking away. Megumi knew boredom, frustration, anger, and peace ( with his shikigami ), but heart-lurching surprise caught him by surprise. With blood beginning to drip down from his nose, a million thoughts ran through the child's mind while Suguru watched, quite pleased with himself. Megumi knew those devious eyes were hiding something.

No person approached another with such nonchalance for nothing. Despite the calm expression and even calmer posture of the stranger, Megumi felt he was being trapped. Trapped for what? Ensnared and injured. Satoru built him up to his one of his strongest allies what with the ten shadows technique, but at that moment, with heart hammering in his heart, he genuinely felt his age. And Suguru left him like that, feigning important business to tend to as a means to leave, but not leaving without a —

── ❛ Sorcerers should stick together. Maybe we'll cross paths and chat more in the future~ ❜

Megumi's belly was coiled snaked. Acid bubbling up. The snare was wound around his ankle and perhaps that too was crimson coloured. Threads upon threads. With frustration, the teenager elevated the sleeve of his uniform to scrub against his nose. It didn't matter; his uniform was already a mess from fighting, and he was bound to get suspended anyway. He snapped his eyes away from the sight of the blood and continued the lonely march home to an apartment barren of life. Once inside, shoes were kicked off and not placed neatly on the shoe rack.

His sling bag was discarded, too, without much a care by the door. Alone, he stripped himself of his soiled uniform and dumped the fabric into the washing machine. In the shower he scrubbed himself red and raw until the scrapes of his flesh screamed as if he could erase the strange encounter with the unknown man. He could not. The words and those eyes stayed with him throughout the night as he spent the afternoon and night in the tiny apartment he shared with Tsumiki, completely drowned in darkness. They stayed with him the next day, and the day after, until Megumi finally bothered to retrieve his mobile device and shot an SMS message to his benefactor: 'can we talk about Tsumiki?'.

[jesncin]

Sons of Mars refs and nods pt2

Compilation of research, references, and nods Sons of Mars pulled from the comics!

This younger design of Ma'al takes reference from Ma'alefa'ak's original outfit design with the single shoulder pad, gold chains, and boots. I mostly took from the JLA: Classified (issue 43) design (written by Justin Gray, art by Rick Leonardi and Sean Philips).

The Burning Martian is from JLA 1997 (issue 84-89): Trial by Fire (written by Joe Kelly, drawn by Doug Mahnke). In that story, J'onn overcomes his fear of fire, but it turns him into an ancient raging evil fire creature that pre-dates the green and white martians. For our story, we took that concept and applied it to Ma'al.

The comics establish Ma'al as the only martian immune to fire, but the concept isn't really taken advantage of, and we wanted to push it further by linking him to the Burning Martians.

Ma'al being crafty with chemicals and inventing while working in a lab all day is a lil nod to his origin story too :)

H'ronmeer's curse! A staple to most of J'onn's origin's stories- it's a fire virus that wipes out all the martians, usually (but not always) invented by Ma'alefa'ak. In our version, H'ronmeer's curse is more like a really intense hysteria-storm instead of a killer virus.

D'kay D'razz is from Brightest Day: All This Useless Beauty (written by Geoff Johns and Peter J Tomasi, art by Patrick Gleason, Scott Clark, Ivan Reis, Jo Prado). She's a scientist who was imprisoned for proposing an inhumane method for tracking down and purging non-telepath Martians (or at least martians who "could only read minds but not be read by other martians").

J'onn menacingly meeting D'kay is a homage to how he meets her in Brightest Day.

D'kay's motivation to basically eugenically "fix" disabled Martians is pulled straight from Brightest Day! We wanted to echo how D'kay violates other martians for truth and transparency in our story too.

Considering the themes of disability and eugenics being a part of both Ma'alefa'ak and D'kay's stories, I'm surprised these two characters haven't been in some way paired in a narrative to bounce off of each other before.

Little nod to In my Life (pt 3) in the caption box :)

Some of the architecture and flora near the Temple of the Great Mind is inspired off of the martian flashbacks in Dark Knights of Steel (written by Tom Taylor, art by Yasmine Putri).

That's all I can fit into this post! One more post coming up covering the final scenes :>

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3

[lovemyavatar]

hiii i was just wondering if u could write a fic with inexperienced tsireya who doesn’t know what a blowjob is but then hears about it somewhere and approaches lo’ak and ends up giving him one? and maybe he’s never brought it up cause he didn’t wanna pressure her haha but she ends up doing it and he sort of guides her through it but it’s super soft and fluffy??

Like That

Pairing: Lo'ak x Tsireya

Warnings: (aged up) nsfw, oral (male receiving), inexperienced Tsireya

Use Your Words (part 2)

“You did…what?”

Tsireya's eyes blow wide, completely shocked by the words her friend has just proudly exclaimed.

“Oh, come on, Reya!" The girl rolls her eyes with a confident chuckle. “They love it, trust me.”

She leans forward, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. Tsireya's cheeks bloom with heat, an embarrassed giggle bubbling in her chest. She covers her mouth with dainty fingers, looking away.

“Seriously, it makes them lose their mind! I bet Lo’ak would fall in love with you.” Another girl chimes in, grinning from ear to ear.

“I…I wouldn’t even know where to start.” Tsireya admits, the idea of putting her mouth there, completely foreign.

“That’s the fun part! Just don’t use your teeth and you’ll be fine!” The circle of girls erupt into another fit of giggles.

Tsireya’s blush only deepens as they continue talking about their mates and the things they’ve experimented with. After a few minutes, she politely excuses herself from the conversation, already too scandalized by the simple mention of a blowjob to hear the rest.

Though she goes about her daily chores as normal, she can't help the way her mind drifts back to her friend's words. She's distracted, making simple mistakes, but the longer she mulls over their advice, the more it sounds kind of...fun?

The girls seemed so excited to share how they'd pleasured their mates, raving about how much they loved it. Tsireya wants to do that for Lo'ak. They've been together for awhile now, and still haven't moved past kissing. Worry knots her stomach as she wonders if he isn't satisfied, if he wants more.

She's unsure, bottom lip swollen from how many times it's been pinched between sharp teeth. That's how she finds Lo'ak, waiting for her in the usual spot they meet when the hot sun morphs into glittering twilight.

He instantly notices that something's wrong, but still sends her a warm smile anyway. She plops down beside his tall frame, perched on a large rock by the ocean.

“Hey, babe.” He wraps an arm around her shoulders and plants a soft kiss along her temple.

The gentle contact makes her skin blaze, cheeks warming as she remembers her earlier conversation. She feels dirty, like she's learned about some secret that only true grown women know about.

She can't help but stiffen, embarrassment rushing through her as she slowly pulls away. Lo'ak frowns, looking at her with pinched brows. Tsireya almost always has a smile on her face, so the clear unease marring her features is troubling.

“What is it?” His chest tightens with anxiety as his mind races through all of the possibilities. Was someone bothering her? Did something happen with her family? Or his?

“It's...nothing. It's stupid.” She shakes her head, blush deepening, and looks away.

“Hey,” He coos gently. A lock of hair falls in front of her eyes, and Lo'ak is quick to tuck it behind her ear. He bends to catch her gaze, but she avoids his eyes. “You can tell me anything, yawnetu (love).”

“Well…earlier—the girls were talking about something…something that boys like.” Her voice is small, timid as she forces the words out.

His brow drops, a wave of protectiveness wafting over him. “Yeah?”

He knows how the other girls can be. He's seen them flirt endlessly with Neteyam. They're relentless, way more forward than any girls back in the forest. His Reya is so innocent, he hates the idea of them convincing her to do something she doesn't feel comfortable with, just to fit in.

“They said you might like it if I…” She trails off, face impossibly hot. But now, it's not purely embarrassment that colors her cheeks.

The more she thinks about pleasuring Lo'ak, making him feel as good as her friends said their mates feel, the more it excites her. He's done so much for her, helped her break free of the shell she'd been living in her whole life. She wants to pay him back in some way, and the idea of hearing his sweet moans has made her core slick with anticipation.

“Reya, you’re making me nervous.” He can't help but chuckle at her flustered state.

“Can I just show you?” She sighs impatiently, finding the words too difficult to get out.

Lo'ak searches her eyes for a long moment, looking for any lingering uncertainty. When he finds none, he nods tentatively, still feeling a little lost. Tsireya's lips pull into a small smile, bottom lip tucking between her teeth again.

She holds his gaze, turquois eyes rounding as she slowly kneels before him. His eyes pop wide as her hands move to rest on his knees. His breath hitches when she lightly trails them upward, smoothing over the tops of his thighs.

He's fidgeting already, hips threatening to jut toward her. He settles for adjusting his position on the rock, a nervous clearing of his throat following the movement. He forces down a hoarse swallow when the tips of her fingers brush against the front of his loincloth.

“Can I...take it off?” Her voice is so small, so innocent, it takes all of his willpower not to let out a low groan at the sound.

He nods enthusiastically, heat rushing to his cheeks. He's a bit embarrassed that he's so painfully hard already. Just the sight of her, on her knees for him, has his cock standing at attention.

Slowly, she unwinds the knots holding the garment on. It slips away, Lo'ak's thick cock bouncing free. Tsireya's eyes blow wide, a tiny gasp falling from her full lips. It's the first time she's seen anything like this.

Her gaze sweeps up and down his pulsing cock, studying the faint blue lines and swollen veins. Lo'ak's chest heaves above her, watching her study him like he's the most fascinating thing she's ever seen.

Without warning, she leans forward, tongue jutting out to swipe a tiny kitten lick up his length. His hips jerk at the burst of pleasure, fingers gripping the edge of the rock he's sitting on.

“Fuck, Reya.” He breathes, heart slamming between his ribs.

She pulls back, brows pinching with concern. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He chuckles breathlessly. “No, it felt really good.”

Honestly, he can't believe this is really happening right now. He's been itching to progress their relationship, the long make-out sessions that have become a part of their routine a delicious form of torture. It makes him ache to be inside her, to show her all the ways he could make her feel good.

But he's hyperaware that she hasn't done any of this before. Hell, he had to show her how to kiss in the first place. It's all brand new, and probably a little scary. He doesn't want to push her, make her do anything before she's ready, so he's hesitated to bring it up.

His back bows, face tilting toward the sky when she glides her tongue along his length again. A quiet moan falls from his parted lips. Tsireya is simply experimenting, using the tip of of her tongue to prod at different areas of his cock.

Her eyes flick up toward him, watching how he reacts. Once she's licked every inch of him, she tentatively rises a bit on her knees. Her hands smooth up his thighs, rounding toward his throbbing cock. It's gotten even harder, she notices, which she figures must be a good thing.

One of her hands wraps around him, dainty fingers not even touching, and his entire body jerks. His hand leaves the rock to clamp around her wrist, stopping her before she can do anything else.

“Wait—ah! Wait a second, Reya.” His toned stomach trembles with the effort of keeping still. He doesn't want to go too fast for her, but the urge to take control is overwhelming.

She blinks up at him, unsure. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no baby girl. It's great, I'm uh...I'm trying not to finish too fast.” An embarrassed chuckle rumbles his chest, but it's all too much. Watching his innocent girl on her knees, practicing on his cock, it's such an erotic sight. It's enough to make him cum untouched.

“Finish?” Her brows furrow with confusion. She's never heard that phrasing before.

Oh, Eywa save me, he pleads internally just as Tsireya starts moving her hand. Slowly, she tests out the feeling of his cock in her palm. Lo'ak groans, chest heaving with ragged breaths. His heavy-lidded gaze bores into hers as she pairs the movement with tiny licks around his swollen tip.

“Yeah, it's—fuck!” He rocks into her gentle hold, fingers tightening around her wrist. “When a guy, you know...when he cums.”

He's breathless, panting above her, and she hasn't even gotten him in her mouth yet. Her eyes round adorably, hand pausing for a moment as she mulls over his words. The tension in his back relaxes slightly, grateful for the break.

“Like...an orgasm?” The word feels foreign on her tongue. She's heard it before, from her friends, but hasn't really considered what it might look like for a guy.

“Yes, baby, like an orgasm.” He can't help but laugh lightly. She's just so damn cute.

She hums in thought, and without warning, starting pumping her hand again. Lo'ak closes his eyes, jaw clenching as he desperately tries to calm down. He wants to enjoy this, savor the pleasure, for as long as possible. After only a few seconds, they pop wide at a new sensation along his cock.

She's taken him into her mouth, full lips parting to accommodate his tip. He releases her wrist, hand instead tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. He cradles the side of her head, helping to stabilize her movements. When she forces more of him into her tiny mouth, his head falls back, a long moan ripping through his chest.

“Shit, Reya.” He gasps, hips moving on their own accord. He ruts into her, pushing his cock even deeper. Her eyes widen against the unfamiliar feeling, but she makes no move to pull back.

“Just like that, baby girl.” He maintains a gentle pace, rocking in an out of her waiting mouth. “Can you—fuck. Can you use your tongue for me?”

She hums against him in agreement, and he nearly cums on the spot. He jerks to a stop, muscles tightening with the effort of holding off his impending orgasm. Her tongue flattens against the underside of his cock, before swaying side to side, unsure.

“Move it—uh, move it around my, around the tip.” Lo'ak's entire lower body is trembling now, and he knows he won't be able to last much longer.

Tsireya instantly obeys, moving back until he's almost out of her mouth before pushing back down. Her tongue swirls around his cockhead expertly, wrenching him closer to the edge. The friction makes his cock swell, pleasure warming his skin.

“Reya, I'm gonna—” He tries moving her off him, pulling her back with the hand still resting against her neck.

She bats him away with her free hand, moving her tongue even faster as she continues slipping her mouth along his length. Saliva dribbles from her lips, coating the base of his cock. Obscene noises echo around the empty expanse of beach, and he knows he's a goner.

“Reya.” His voice hardens slightly as he tries pulling her off again. “I'm about to—fuck, I'm gonna cum, and I don—”

She lets out a little sound of protest, lightly hitting his arm again. The vibrations her noises make send him over the edge, an intense orgasm ripping through him. His back aches, eyes screwing shut as his head is thrown back. Loud moans and grunts fall from his lips as he spills into her mouth, all restraint gone.

Tsireya stays completely still, waiting until he stops moving above her. He hazily lifts his head, chest heaving, body completely limp from the waves of euphoria still washing over him.

"Shit, I'm sorry, baby.” He slowly pulls out of her mouth, guilt tightening his chest. He should've warned her before they started, that he'd need to pull out of her mouth before cumming.

“What do you mean? You didn't like it?” Her brows pinch with confusion as she leans back on her heels, using the back of her hand to wipe away lingering moisture.

“I'll clean you up, just hold on a sec—” He stops suddenly, having just processed her words. Or, rather, the fact that she's able to talk at all, which must mean she doesn't have anything in her mouth.

His eyes pop wide with surprise, cock springing to life between his legs. “Did you...?”

Her confusion only deepens, having no idea what he's going on about. In an instant he wraps his arms around her waist, hauling her up onto the rock with him. He's in awe, pride swelling in his chest at how well she took him. How she swallowed his load without hesitation.

“I'll show you how much I liked it, baby girl.” A huge grin splits his face, just before he claims her lips in a searing kiss.

part two coming with some soft dom Lo'ak returning the favor

[bullet-prooflove]

Ophelia!Series - Part One: Casino Royale - Charlie 1 x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @withakindheartx

It’s at an illegal casino in the Presidential Suite of the Hilton that Charlie runs into you again. He recognises you almost immediately as he sits at a poker table trying to work out if the guy across from him has a flush.

You’re wearing a midnight blue dress that clings to the contours of your body with a neckline low enough to attract attention but demure enough to leave a man wanting. It’s a seduction technique, one that appears to be working on his target Salvador Hernandez; Charlie can tell because of the way the other man’s gaze dips to your cleavage as he talks to you.

The issue is, you're both after the same thing. It’s in a safe in the bedroom and you are currently in a much better suited position to retrieve it. He watches you whisper into Sal’s ear, your hand coming to rest on the breast pocket of his tuxedo, toying with the collar. The other man’s palm is splayed over your lower back, it shifts lower as you throw back your head and laugh.

You’ve gotten better, he thinks, he barely sees you put the droplets of GHB into the Sal’s champagne. The moment it starts to affect the other man, you sling his arm around your shoulders before drawing him into the bedroom like an enthusiastic lover. He plays another couple of hands of poker while he waits. It doesn’t take you long to get into the safe and remove the flash drive.

When you step out of the bedroom Charlie’s right there, his arm slipping around your waist and drawing you close. You fit perfectly against him, the way you always have. If you’re surprised to see him, you don’t show it. Instead, you lean in close, your cheek coming to rest against his chest as your palm covers the place where his heart resides underneath the fabric of his shirt.

It’s intimate, too intimate. It reminds him of the last time the two of you were together, in a hotel room in Tokyo. You’d been tangled up in one another, his fingers combing through your hair as your fingertips traced over the scars that marred his skin. He’d been happy, he remembered. In love.

You’d fucked him that night, leaving him handcuffed to the bed, naked, with no passport and no clothes. You’d taken the ten million dollars the two of you had just stolen with you.

“Ophelia.” He tuts, his lips brushing over your temple. “You’re being a bad girl again.”

“I see you’ve not forgiven me for what I did in Japan.” You remark as you tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

Fuck, he forgot how alluring you were, how enticing. Those eyes alone could bring a man to his knees, they had once upon a time. He’d looked into them and believed you when you talked about building a future with him, a little ranch in Montana where the two of you would live out the rest of your days, retired from the life. He’d talked about building a porch swing while you rode horses on the land.

“Honey, there are some things you just can’t forgive.” He informs you, jerking his gaze away from yours. “Leaving me handcuffed to a bed for a maid to find is one of them.”

“Did you ever think that maybe there was a good reason for what I did?” You say softly.

It’s a trap, he knows it, a way of fucking with his head but man, that thought has kept him up for so many nights. He doesn’t want to give you the satisfaction, he refuses to.

“Ten million dollars seems like a pretty good one.” He tells you. “So, are you going to give me the flash drive or am I going to have to take it from you?”

“You could try.” You say quietly and he feels something sharp press into his side.

He looks down and sees the tip of a black ceramic knife pressing into the space beneath his ribs. The irony isn’t lost on him because that knife…

He’d given it to you after a mission had gone south in Singapore.

He’s surprised that you still have it, he’s even more surprised when you stab him with it. He feels the air rush out of his lungs as the blade penetrates his skin. You pull away taking the knife with you, the sudden eruption of pain stuns him for a moment, he clasps his hand to the wound as blood begins to blossom across his shirt.

When he looks up again, you’ve vanished. His knees feel weak, his head a little dizzy. In the distance he sees the exit door click shut and he knows both you and that flash drive are long gone.

Love Charlie 1 ? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[sanjuwrites]

wip wednesday

thank you to @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @heartstringsduet, @sznofthesticks, and @bonheur-cafe for the tags!

enjoy this cute little snippet of my girldad first prince fic that won't leave me alone

“Baby, I’m home!” Alex comes flying through the garage door, holding a briefcase and a bag of Indian takeout, “And I brought dinner.” 

Alex’s smile grows wider on his face when he hears the pitter-patter of little feet running up the kitchen, and he sets his bags down on the counter, crouching down as his daughter collides into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“Hola, mija,” he says into her hair, picking her up as he stands, swinging her around. “Papa missed you!”

Alex places her on his hip as he pulls his tie loose, “Where’s Daddy?” 

“Right here, love,” Henry turns into the kitchen, laughing. “Your daughter seems to have me beat in speed, though.” Henry leans in and presses a kiss to Alex’s lips, “Hi.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Alex says, putting Elena down as she wriggles in his hold, “Alright, alright, I’ll set you down. Are you hungry?”

She ignores him, running back into the living room, where David is curled up on the couch. 

Henry wraps his arm around Alex’s waist, and Alex presses a kiss onto Henry’s temple, “Baby, is there a reason our daughter is running around the house in a bear onesie?”

Henry sighs, resting his forehead on Alex’s shoulder, “Your sister and her wife showed up with the onesie, and Elena decided that she needed to try it on immediately. Didn’t even make it to the bathroom to put it on.” 

Alex laughs softly, wrapping his arms around Henry’s waist, “Well, at least she’s cute. I have fried rice and raitha for Elena, and then vindaloo with garlic naan.”

“And here I was thinking we needed to dip into our frozen meals,” Henry pulls back, leaning his head back for a kiss. Alex gives it to him willingly, biting at his earlobe. 

“Go away, you cretin,” Henry laughs, “We need to feed your child before she throws a fit.” Henry steps away, pulling takeout containers out of the bag. “I can’t wait until Elena eats something that isn’t rice.”

Alex stands behind Henry, wrapping his arms around his waist, “So, she’s my kid when she’s a troublemaker, huh? Mom says that I didn’t eat anything but rice until I was eight, so I wouldn’t get too excited.”

Henry groans, resting his head back against Alex’s shoulder, “So I have four more years of this to look forward to?”

open tag + @theghostofashton, @chaotictarlos, @carlos-in-glasses, @reyesstrand, @birdclowns, @paperstorm, @orchidscript, @liminalmemories21, @fallout-mars, and @alrightbuckaroo!

[drakiandh]

Shifting Jewels - Chapter One, Corrupted Clash

YOOOOOO!!! @cosmicrain-draws @otherxagnela, I did it! Here's the first chapter of my Steven Universe/Fusion AU. Hope it fits the cash lol. It's on AO3 under the same name btw.

The unrelenting rain pounded relentlessly, transforming the ground beneath him into a clinging mud that sought to impede his every step. Refusing to yield, he pressed forward, maintaining a determined pace in pursuit of the corrupted gem weaving through the rain-soaked forest. The falling water blurred his vision, but the swish of the gem’s tail remained discernible. As he ventured deeper, marked trees hinted at the proximity of the impending trap. A subtle grin played on his lips, excitement building with each step toward the climax of the hunt.

With a purposeful thrust, he extended his spear, just enough to graze the gem’s leg. It responded with a primal roar, a visceral testament to its degraded state. Despite his inherent superiority, he failed to suppress the brief and shameful hiss that escaped him.

Skidding to a stop in the muddy terrain, satisfaction etched across his face as the meticulously set trap snapped shut with a resounding crack. The gem convulsed within the bear trap, its protests merging with the drumming rain. Its final display of resistance ended with the corrupted gem bursting into mist, leaving the gem to clatter to the rain-soaked ground. Navigating the backup traps, he carefully approached the fallen gem.

In the feeble light, the gem lay before him—a once-proud warrior now marred by animalistic corruption, its once-vibrant azure hue now tainted with ugly shades of green. Hopefully, the Diamonds would be able to reverse the corruption once he found a way to get back to Homeworld. The uncertainty struck a chord in his chest as he picked up the gem and encapsulated it within a crimson bubble. He pushed on its top lightly, sending the bubble away to his temple.

A heavy sigh escaped him, his eyes slipping shut as he stood amidst the relentless downpour. The gentle sensation of the droplets that slid over him momentarily shielded him from the weight of his thoughts. After allowing a few stolen moments to catch a breath he didn’t truly need, he reopened his eyes and took a deliberate step forward. A sharp pang reverberated through him at the motion, causing him to double over as his form glitched and shivered. Fleeting yet intense, the pain subsided, leaving a lingering discomfort.

A soft curse slipped from his lips as his hand instinctively sought for the gem on his back. A wince accompanied the touch, yet he persisted, gently tracing the extensive cracks marbling the red rock. Time weighed on him; he had to hurry, for if the looming threat of the corruption didn’t get to him first, then the impending risk of his shattering will.

A soft chirp escaped him, a dissonant sound that marred the quiet symphony of the rain. A deep frown grew on his face, he despised those seemingly inconsequential noises. Such utterances belonged to creatures of the wild, to insects, not to him—not for a gem designed to command in the crucible of war. He staunchly affirmed his identity, declaring that he wasn’t bound by the constant specter of death, that his body should not bleed, and he shouldn’t be susceptible to pain. However, a quick glance at his arms and legs shattered the illusion.

In some grotesque sense, he admitted, he bore the semblances of an animal. The corruption’s insidious touch reached him, even in the depths where he sought refuge within the planet’s crust. The result? It had morphed him into a grotesque hybrid creature, bestowing upon him a natural armor, unbidden and unbroken by the need for constant concentration. His once-graceful hands morphed into sharp claws, while spikes adorned his arms and legs. He might have welcomed it, had it not been marred by sporadic bouts of animalistic hazes that incapacitated him for days and turned him into something less than the calculated warrior he was meant to be.

A surge of pain jolted through him, an unwelcome intrusion that fractured his thoughts, compelling a pained hiss to escape through clenched teeth. As the wave of discomfort receded, he redirected his gaze upward, fixing a glare upon the sky, more precisely, at the rain that aggravated his gem. The persistent irritation urged him to hasten his steps; he needed to escape before the pain resurfaced. His movements, though quick and precise, bore the subtle aftermath of the recent hunt—a measured trot, simple yet effective, propelling him toward his destination.

The warp pad beyond the forest materialized before him, a sight that prompted a weary sigh to escape him. Stepping onto the platform, he initiated the activation sequence, his form engulfed by the enveloping white beam as he embarked on the tranquil journey through the warp. The low hum of the warp enveloped him, a soothing melody that accompanied him on his brief interdimensional travels. Shaking off the lingering droplets that clung to him like persistent memories, he materialized at his temple within moments.

Stepping off the warp pad, he navigated through the cavernous expanse that served as his dwelling. It was a far cry from what one might envision as a temple—a vast network of interconnected caves, carved naturally by the Earth’s ancient forces. Discovered during his early solitary years, he had claimed it as his own, designating the largest and deepest chamber as a holding room for the corrupted gems he collected. Fortune favored him when he stumbled upon the remnants of an old gem warp pad within the cavern, an artifact from a time when others might have considered the space for storage or as a base. Now, it belonged to him.

The chamber embraced him with warmth, a comforting cloak that gently eased the persistent ache in his back as he stepped inside. A small, appreciative smile tugged at his lips, a fleeting expression of solace before his gaze fell upon the captivating sight that unfolded before him—a sea of well over a thousand bubbled gems.

Among them lay soldiers he had once commanded, their forms encapsulated in the protective bubbles. A few were gems he had personally trained, their potential honed under his meticulous guidance. Others belonged to the rebellion, the audaciously named Crystal Gems—misguided rebels whom he intended to return to service on Homeworld, whether through voluntary submission or the unforgiving embrace of a Rejuvenator.

Yet, amidst the multitude of captured gems, one conspicuous absence resonated. A special sapphire, elusive and untamed, continued to roam the earth unchecked. This particular gem held a unique significance, a presence he desired to see once more, even amidst the looming threat that the encounter might result in his own shattering. Curiosity gripped him as he pondered the potential manifestation of the sapphire’s corrupted form. Would it mirror the colossal and monstrous demeanor of the sapphire’s combat prowess, a formidable force both beside him and against him? Or, perhaps, would it bear a softer, diminutive semblance, a reflection of the gem’s original personality before the taint of corruption took hold?

He found himself immersed in contemplation, a forbidden luxury for a gem of his rank. The act of wondering was a privilege reserved for the Diamonds, the omnipotent rulers unbound by the constraints of laws. It was a privilege bestowed upon the architects who conceived the intricate designs of gems, envisioning the vast potential inherent in the amalgamation of dirt and minerals to give rise to life. It was a privilege granted to those who forged the indelible legacy of Homeworld, allowing them to dream of towering spires and establish bases on desolate moons.

He, on the other hand, was a humble soldier—a commander, yes, but a soldier nonetheless. In the hierarchy of gem society, he existed to execute orders, not to indulge in idle contemplation. Wondering was not his domain, a realm he shouldn’t even be able to access. Yet, as one of his claws gently traced the surface of a bubble, he found himself succumbing to the forbidden allure of curiosity, allowing his mind to venture into the forbidden territory of speculative thoughts.

Those thoughts, once crisp and defined, now morphed into indistinct muddles, a hazy fog settling over his consciousness. The widening of his eyes marked the realization of an impending descent into the tumult of corruption, a curse escaping his lips as the disorienting wave washed over him. Swiftly, he pivoted on his heels, abandoning the room in a frantic retreat.

His hurried footsteps reverberated through the labyrinthine halls, their rhythm growing increasingly erratic as the encroaching corruption tightened its grip. Panic, a disconcerting sensation that had once been foreign to him, now clung to him like an old companion, urging him to greater speeds. His mad dash led him to the warp room, a sanctuary where the promise of escape beckoned.

Time dwindled rapidly, and the urgency mounted. Barely managing to step onto the warp pad, he initiated the sequence, opting for a random destination in a desperate bid for salvation. However, the corruption’s relentless advance proved insurmountable. In the final throes of consciousness, he succumbed to the encroaching darkness, his vision fading into an abyss of black.

He stirred into consciousness after what he knew was a long time, the dull throb of a headache persisting within his thoughts. A low groan escaped his lips, his eyes clamped shut against the pulsating ache in his skull. Nestled in the shadows, he remained motionless, seeking to replenish some of the energy devoured by the encroaching corruption. As the minutes ticked by and the headache receded into a more manageable ache, he cautiously focused on his surroundings.

Without unveiling his eyes, he initiated a deliberate ascent, settling onto his knees. Flinching at the sparks of pain, a deep breath offered a modicum of relief to his frazzled nerves. The air, tinged with an unexpected saltiness, felt damp and cool, a welcome antidote to the lingering burn of exhaustion. Gradually, he tuned into the subtle sounds—the wind weaving through the trees, the distant lapping of waves, and the earthy texture beneath his hands as they pressed into the soil. Wait…

Opening his eyes, he glanced downward, confirming that his hands were indeed embedded in the ground. The notion that the ground possessed an audible quality struck him as intriguing. Lifting his eyes to the night sky, he surveyed the tranquil surroundings. It was a peaceful night, with the moon gracefully descending toward the horizon, heralding the imminent arrival of dawn.

The world unfolded around him with an unsettling clarity, a starkness that surpassed his comfort. His brow furrowed into a frown as he raised a hand to rub at his face. Something felt amiss. Was he facing the throes of mortality? Could he even succumb to such a fate? Sighing, he ran his hand roughly through his hair. A near-painful sensation bit at his head, forcing his hand back. A soft hiss escaped him as he inspected his hand, finding the limb unharmed. Whatever had bitten him seemed to reside on his head. Could it be a small animal? No, the sensation didn’t seem disconnected from him.

Slowly, he lifted his hand again, delicately sifting through his hair in search of…

There. He gently curled a finger around an odd stem protruding from his head, a subtle unease coiling in his chest. The reason for his discomfort eluded him as he touched the peculiar stick-like growth. A swift survey of his surroundings confirmed his suspicions. Sticks, remnants of his corrupted haze, had entangled themselves in his hair. Another sigh escaped him before he wrapped his hand around the intruding stick and tugged.

A guttural scream tore through the air as a surge of pain seared through his head. He recoiled, burying his forehead into the cool earth, his hands scrambling to dig through his hair and cradle his aching skull. Shivers wracked his frame, the lingering pain refused to dissipate as swiftly as the sharp, immediate agony accompanying his initial crack. This was different—reminiscent of the persistent torment he endured during the onset of his crack or the insidious grip of corruption’s first embrace.

Gradually, the pain began to ebb, a slow retreat from its initial ferocity. After agonizing minutes, he tentatively attempted to sit up once more. One hand remained entwined in his hair, anchoring him in the present, while the other planted firmly into the soil for stability. A twinge of discomfort coursed through the thing on his head as he moved, prompting a soft hiss. Extricating his hand from his hair, he inadvertently caught another appendage. A cursory search revealed only two entangled in his hair before he rested his hands in his lap, glowering at the empty space before him. Another gift corruption-induced addition, a bothersome intrusion into his being.

One of the appendages twitched in response to his annoyance, catching his attention. Its length was such that it intruded into his peripheral vision.

A low growl, a shameful animalistic sound, escaped him as he rose to his feet. Gingerly, he touched the newly acquired appendages, relieved when the one he had tugged didn’t trigger a surge of pain. Now, the challenge lay in figuring out if he could exert control over these strange extensions. Concealing them would be ideal—perhaps tucked away in his hair if they reached far enough back.

With careful precision, he brushed the appendages backward, experiencing relief as they obediently nestled into his hair. Experimenting with different movements, he searched for a specific new nerve that would grant him control. After several minutes of focused practice, he succeeded in maneuvering them to some extent, allowing him to keep them discreetly concealed within his hair. Though still present, they became barely noticeable, at least from the front. A quick touch confirmed their length, indicating they were long enough to protrude from his hair in the back—a less-than-ideal outcome. Nevertheless, they were now out of his line of sight, and should he encounter a human and find himself too fatigued to dispel the creature, he mused that he could pass it off as an intentional aesthetic choice. After all, humans in this era were consumed by their appearances.

He embarked on the journey to retrace his steps, guided by the rising sun illuminating his path. Proficient in the art of tracking, be it trailing corrupted gems or retracing his own corrupted footsteps, he navigated the terrain with practiced ease. Hours passed before he encountered something familiar, the sun nearing its zenith. His clawed hand gently traced ancient carvings, grappling with the embarrassment of taking an unusually long time to recall the language in which the words were etched.

“Star was here,” he mumbled to himself, his voice low and rough from disuse. Peeling back some moss, he revealed cartoonish depictions of what appeared to be Pink Diamond and several other gems. Similar carvings adorned the planet, ranging from simple declarations like ‘Star was here!’ to intricate sculptures of gems and the Diamonds. Over the years, he had found solace in discovering these marks, a reminder that he hadn’t always been alone.

This particular carving, one he had encountered many times, served as a natural marker signaling his proximity to his temple. A few miles north, he would be able to retreat to the comforting warmth of the lowest chamber, earning a well-deserved break. A hiss escaped him as his hand started glitching, swiftly reforming into a foot. Frowning, he shook the limb until it reverted to its original state.

Rumors circulated about the Crystal Gem’s leader possessing the ability to heal any gem—an ability that enraged Homeworld, as healing powers were reserved for the elite, namely the Diamonds. How the rebellion’s leader acquired such powers remained a mystery, but he had made it his mission to uncover the secret of the healing fountain the rebels so proudly boasted about. The sooner he found that fountain, the sooner he could mend his crack and devise a method to stave off the encroaching corruption.

His antennae (a term he adopted after observing their uncanny resemblance to a local beetle’s) involuntarily perked up, alerting him to the distant murmur of voices. Though too far away to discern the words, one of the voices struck an oddly familiar chord. His eyes narrowed in thought. Could it be one of the humans he had conversed with in the past? Unlikely, as too much time had passed for any human to remember him. When was the last time he had engaged in conversation with one? Their lifespans were short, and he reckoned it had been well over 50 years since his last encounter. The voices drew nearer, sparking a curious itch born from some corrupted instinct within him. Deciding to dismiss it, he turned and resumed his journey to the temple.

“Aw, come on!” The voice echoed with a familiarity that tugged at the edges of his memories. Against his better judgment, he pivoted on his heel and hastened toward the source. Surprisingly, his antennae proved more sensitive than he initially realized, taking nearly ten minutes to pinpoint the location. As he slowed and crouched down, he could hear the humans’ laughter.

“Yeah, I recognize this spot.” The voice, the one that triggered a peculiar urge within him, stirred an unspoken desire for conflict. Creeping closer, he observed the two figures in a small clearing. In its center, a seemingly ordinary rock assumed a significant role—a base pillar, its original purpose obscured by time, now a favored spot for humans to lean on.

The human leaning against the pillar appeared peculiar yet strangely familiar. Their skin bore a rich brown hue with subtle blue undertones, their hair so dark blue it verged on black in the absence of direct sunlight. Dressed in vibrant colors of pink and yellow, they crossed their arms over their chest, grinning at the other human.

“Why do you want to come here anyway?” The other, a plainly dressed villager in comparison, inquired. The colorful individual patted the pillar beside them.

“I’m hunting,” declared the colorful human. “I’ve been here before, and I heard rumors that there’s some massive beast nearby.” Unbeknownst to the human, the beast they sought was likely the corrupted gem he had recently subdued.

“Well, that beast hasn’t been seen for a while. Some folks back in town mentioned hearing it scream before a loud bang echoed out. Sorry, but I think someone else got to it first.” The plain human responded nonchalantly. The colorful one leaned forward, their once casual expression replaced by a more serious demeanor.

“What did the bang sound like? Did it have an odd echo?” They inquired, keenly attentive. The plain human, oblivious to the shift in mood, hummed and shrugged.

“It didn’t sound like a gunshot, that’s for sure. Can’t recall much; it happened on the other side of the city.”

“That’s alright,” the colorful human said, relaxing against the rock. Despite their seemingly nonchalant posture, an experienced observer might discern an undercurrent of tension, as if they anticipated a confrontation. “You’ve given me enough, don’t worry. I’ll make sure that bigger beast doesn’t come close.”

“Wait—there’s a bigger one?” The plain human’s expression shifted to one of fear. A breathy chuckle escaped his hidden form at the sight. They shrugged.

“Yeah, reckon it’s still close-” Their words were abruptly cut off as the human hastily fled, running down the path they had arrived on, leaving the colorful human alone. Sighing, they closed their eyes, appearing relaxed despite the lurking danger just beyond the bushes. The silence lingered, causing some of his corrupted instincts to subside. This human wasn’t the one he knew—

“I know you’re there,” the human’s unexpected declaration caught him off guard. One of their eyes slipped open. “You’re one smart corrupted, I must admit.” A threatening hiss escaped him at the title that belonged to him. The human stepped forward off the pillar and removed their jacket, revealing a beautiful blue gem on their chest. A gem! A gem that wasn’t corrupted! His joy at encountering another gem was tainted when he recognized the familiar face.

“Star,” he spat the name with a hiss, rage coursing through him. The gem, the Star Sapphire, flinched back.

“Oh shit, you’re not corrupted—? Wait—Painite?!” The Sapphire exclaimed in shock. Was that his name? His name was Painite. How could he have forgotten?

Emerging from the shadows, Painite, yes, that sounded right, revealed his full form, causing the Sapphire to inhale sharply in shock. “You are corrupted…” the Sapphire remarked, a sad expression overtaking his face.

“Do not pity me, Sapphire,” Painite hissed, flexing his claws, a burning desire to tear through something coursing through him. “I am corrupted, so what?”

“Wait, hang on, Pie-”

“Do NOT call me that!” Painite snapped, reaching a hand back to his gem. Summoning his weapon caused him pain, but he was determined to finish what he had started all those years ago. The Sapphire cringed at the sight, briefly eliciting a sense of joy within Painite. Yet, it was swiftly crushed by the resurgence of the familiar feelings of rage and betrayal.

“Wait, wait, wait! We’re not in the war anymore!” The Sapphire protested hastily, raising his arms as if to shield himself from Painite’s imminent attack. Painite, however, knew better than anyone that the Sapphire held tricks up his sleeves, and he must have only honed his skills over the years. “We don’t have to fight!”

But rage clouded Painite’s judgment, fueled by the corruption. “TRAITOR!” he screeched, lunging forward to swing his spear. The Sapphire yelped and agilely leaped backward, narrowly evading the attack. Painite swung again, prompting the other gem to raise his hands in defense. The spear’s tip effortlessly sliced through the body of light, eliciting a scream of pain from the Sapphire.

“Oh! Fine! If you want a fight, I’ll give it to you!” the Sapphire declared, tapping the blue gem in his chest. His hands transformed back into their original rich blue hue. Despite the haze of corruption, Painite managed a grin. Finally, they were on equal ground. When Painite swung again, Star caught the weapon with one hand and shattered its tip with the other.

This time, it was Star who initiated the attack. He thrust his hand in Painite’s direction, a seemingly futile gesture to anyone else. However, Painite had trained Star, honing his attacks and shaping him into the warrior he had become. Now, it was time to see if the skills he imparted on Star had endured the years on Earth. Painite leaped back, narrowly avoiding the spikes of hands that shot up from the ground. They wriggled in the air momentarily before retreating to the ground, reemerging beneath Painite’s feet.

Dancing around the hands, long-forgotten muscle memory asserted its place in Painite’s chest and legs. With ease and precision, he maneuvered around the hands, slashing at any that approached too closely with his newly reformed axe. Closing the distance to Star, Painite swung his axe with a flourish, aiming for the Sapphire’s defeat.

The weapon was caught by Star’s hands, catching Painite off guard just long enough for the Sapphire to freeze his hands around him. Painite thrashed as he was restrained, kicking at the hands holding him as he was lifted into the air.

“C-Calm down, Pain,” Star panted, and Painite could only hiss in response, baring his sharp teeth in a threat. The corruption’s haze clouded his mind, causing him to act on a mix of pure hatred and corrupted instinct. “Painite! Calm down! Damn it!” Star yelled, panic etching his features.

Painite hissed again, mixing a few clicks of his teeth snapping together. Star’s grip tightened, prompting a low whine to escape his throat. “Painite, if you don’t calm down, I’ll have to poof you,” Star said, a pained expression crossing his face. The tightening grip momentarily jolted Painite from his haze, and a strained laugh escaped him at the Sapphire’s words.

“It would be better to-” His words were cut off by a wince as the grip tightened to dangerous levels. He felt his form begin to ripple, his cracked gem taking too much strain. He chuckled and stared down Star. “To shatter me.”

And the world went white as he poofed.