#i know how they felt in delphi

[phalangemedes]

CAMPAL LIT ANAL 🔥🔥🔥

To start off with, a personalised character debrief, of sorts, so the nonsense I'm about to spout stems from my known perception of them rather than just inherent batshit:

PALAMEDES SEXTUS: Tall ergo mouse faced man with the jokes and no brain shut off button. Burdened with gifted kid ego AND gifted kid guilt. Disabled even for a necromancer (not genetic turbo cancer for the nuke blast creation of thanergy but allergies, aerospace thick specs, lingering hint of the 'tism (social cues whomst, Mr that evil nun who thinks I'm a murderer is now my BEST FRIEND. Decided he was going to marry a girl because he liked that she was puzzley. His life partner is low emotive and he's never noticed.) (RE:marry Dulci the man is a glutton for a hyperfixation. 12 years and he's like 'we'll be married, Cam's my best man, I love them')). Bred for necromantic psychometry and groomed for Wardenhood (I used "groomed" because he was a literal child when they lauded his intellect as sufficient enough to egregiously test him to see if he was worthy of the title of Master Warden (spoilers, a 13 year old is a tiny baby child, no matter how cute, clever OR smug they are) This neatly slots into the "gifted kid" issues in that his parents ALLOWED this to happen, nay, encouraged it as an accolade. So I wouldn't say he was actively abused, but neither was he "cared" for, which is prime reason as to why he latched onto the only emotionally available peer AND was self sacrificial to a scary fault (re: ka-boom)

CAMILLA HECT: Tall TANK with too much inside to contain without fidget. Burdened with an inferiority complex 20 miles wide and a dunces hat of imposter syndrome. (Some of this is that The Sixth don't really respect swordhands, some of it is that in the capacity they DO respect it, she isn't ranked the most highly (RE: Not an Alexandrite. I assume Epeids? Cause she will class herself as competent and I think the Sixth aren’t stupid enough to put her in the spec ed class once she’s a Cav Prime.) Low EXTERNAL emotion, high energy, Palamedes is patently the words and she's happy with that. (As we go through HtN and NtN it reads more and more like alexithymia, more so when she just finally bursts the fuck into tears). Focuses a little too hard on being "useful", to the point and beyond of harm/self harm. Treats loyalty in a similar manner. A 0% or 100% kinda bitch. Close with her sister, but NOT her fathers, which is an interesting one because we have minimal backstory on that one, but it very much READ as a "forbidden" thing to be with Palamedes not just in the act of lyctorhood ascension but a 'They never understood' way. So her choosing to be Cavalier Primary was her choice AGAINST the wishes of other, societally and inter-familially.

ADDENDUM to Cam: She is a Carer, not in a motherly carer role, a Carer with a capital C. She cares for those with disadvantages in a MANNER I have witnessed IN the caring profession. This is MOST notable in the dynamics with Nona but she does the same with Pal. Where Pyrrha gives Nona fun dad treatment, with no less care, and Palamedes is the voice of gentle reason, consent and options, Cam is loving enforcement and active encouragement. It’s a theme. I’d like it highlit to those of you that have never had one or interacted in what is a COMPLICATED dynamic, a Carer is not a SERVITOR, they are a companion, they see you at your weakest and tackle ills with compassion. Is it a CHOSEN role.

Likewise Cam being raised female and not necromantically inclined (on planet eugenics and Your Eggs Are So Useful To Us BabyGirl) has just had humility beaten into her, but there are various places (Dr Sex coming to mind the most vividly, Pal trusting her with reconstruction of his skeleton, him trusting her opinion on things HE is looking at necromantically) where she is AS bright as him, but is not afforded the same societal perks as him as a necro.

tl;dr

Golden boy brain box who is struggling to live up to it, doing anything to be Good Enough. Held together by Cam's trust in him.

Black sheep who is struggling to perceive herself as worthy, doing anything to be Good Enough. Held together by Pal's faith in her.

Cool, we got it? ONWARD.

GENDER; PERCEPTIONS AND CHANGES:

Pre-Canaan through Canaan:

Palamedes Sextus, Master Warden of The Sixth House is a seeker of knowledge, his pronouns are forgot/to/eat (j/k.) I don't think he perceives himself as much of anything, until he's forced to. He is a man as The Master Warden and for Dulcinea, but I wonder how much of that is the "breeding program" ethos of the Sixth and how much of that is his OWN perception of himself because he's not a TRADITIONAL feeling man, even compared to other men in the canon. When I joke he's a he/him lesbian it's because he FEELS, not female, but feminine. In how he interacts with space and people, with the touchy-feeliness, with the way he expresses himself vociferous and poetically. 'Male' to him seems to be a mantle he wears above the neutrality of who he is and the femininity of his affections.

Camilla Hect, Hand of the Library, is a swordswoman and a cavalier and a hand. Cam is beautifully ungendered, but not in the same way as Palamedes is more of a... I feel like she'd be shocked to be told there's a binary? Just generally. She's practical, but butch, she's just Camilla. A she/her in the same way as a ship or a car. Not like a mother but like a deity -- and THAT is from Palamedes' perception of her. If he's a good boy, she's the Goddess he lays his altar out for. She’s not a ‘woman’ for anyone, not her house, not him. I think that’s important.

New-Rho:

I know there're alotta trans allegories here, but I'm gunna be a party pooper and say this is QUEER but not trans, not because it doesn't follow the path but because I don't think there is a Tomb binary to start with. There's a fluidity and flux IRL doesn't have (because people like their lil ticky boxes). And Pal doesn't feel different IN Cam, he feels the same. More him. He's more outwardly affectionate, he's more fussy and stroppy. He's him but Settled. I think he likes being whatever he is as Camilla. I think because he always liked Cam more.

Cam remains Cam. And I am delighted with this because Palamedes' influence within AND without is the same? I fucking love this woman, she popped out the womb like this and she's just keeping on trucking. Someone thinks she's a sex worker? Unfussed. Someone thinks she's fucking Crown? Mild distaste but that's more on the fact Corona is a biiitch. Dual daddying with Pyrrha? It's a TITLE, Cam seems to like titles. Maybe that's what it is, Camilla's self expression is a list of titles given to her by those who love her. The only one she’s picked for herself is Cavalier.

PAUL:

LEAST they/them they/them in the world. OBSESSED with them, they have the feminine energy that Palamedes carries but in Cam's body?? But the siege weapon threat of Cam?? Obsessed to get to know them more. I sense I shall kiss them on the mouth.

THEM AS CHARACTER ARCHETYPES VS "PEOPLE":

I think in part some of the issue with Palamedes and Camilla is how, on the whole, they seem to have been type cast as Male Boss and Female Minion. Because a tall dude with some authority and a quiet woman are put together and people get weird about that. (Even IRL. ‘Which one of you’s the fork?’ well firstly, she’s the knife, SECONDLY… that’s my tall glass of baby girl that speaks in a countertenor)

And this is a two fold issue:

THE FIRST: The Necromancer and Cavalier dynamic as portrayed by Muir.

It's seen as crass to dick down your cavalier (From Abigail and Magnus, through to Judith and Marta with canonical romantic refusal and LATTERLY Judith's SECONDARY canonical refusal of Coronabeth. Interestingly I don't see much shit about Isaac and Jeannemary but that's another hillock to rot on.).

But that doesn't seem to be the main issue WITHIN FANDOM or (more) people would be coming for Abigail and her lovely ottery meat shield.

Or Griddlehark.

Harrow and Gideon are lauded as the greatest romance of all time and the power dynamic there is TRULY whack. (affectionate)

Heir to the throne and indentured slave?

Necromancer made of a bajillion babies and a Base Level Not-Even-Squaddie.

Abuser and abused.

FORCED cavalier and necro?

Witness and sacrifice.

Even if you view them as a complicated sister dynamic... there are ABUNDANT issues there and a staggering co-dependancy that plays out in a sapphic lobotomy. So we have a base line of what, in the Nine Houses, classifies as a Fuckin' Ride Or Die of a relationship.

(this is without the fact that the NORM is for a baby to be specifically born for a Necromancer. Either RE:The manyfold uncles or like Babs being chosen as a zygote. Which do I have to explain how eugenics and baby-promises are worse than two people choosing each other or NAH?)

THE SECOND: People see a man and a woman and they give them preordained gender roles, which they then do some A/B/O level gymnastics to make them negatively fit into the necro and cav dynamic. It's funny because they're grey librarians who look like librarians. They look similar, they act similar but for some reason the fact Cam has tits gets some WILD hottakes.

(My favourite (said with spite and loathing) was someone asking if Cam fancied Harrow because she let Nona touch her… I.. I just??? She was letting Nona express herself in a safe way, Nona, who is a VULNERABLE ADULT with sensory issues. (yes this was reddit how did you guess))

Which.. is peculiar when you think of how we meet them, in an investigative role where they are immediately, companionably mocking each other? Where, out the gate, Cam lunges to protect Pal and as quickly as that happens he calls her back to protect her?

The Cavalier is there to protect the Necromancer. And yet he is IMMEDIATELY portrayed as a shield.

There's also an inherent, and non-canonically spoken of trust about what Pal EXPECTS of Camilla. It starts off with her with the rapier and how although adept with it, it is not her main skillset. And it's played against the bum rush way Gideon had to give in the two hander, but it's also, OBVIOUSLY, something Camilla has done forever and a day. So their roles are already non-traditional, with the basics of 'your cavalier should be your sword' cause girly pop let his barn door have two because she patently WANTED THEM.

Likewise, when hoorah boot clack salute, stick up her arse, repressed lesbo challenges them for their keys Cam is hot to go, but she waits for him to catch up. And he was erring on denial, he was erring on losing KNOWLEDGE, which is his main gain from any situation, to make sure she didn't get injured. But he puts her in that fight for HER HONOUR first, not his, not the Sixth's, Camilla Hect.

When she's injured, other than a brief moment of being a catty princess to Jody and Marta who lol DESERVED, he CHECKS Cam. He's frightened, he's fretting, he just wants her to not have been stabbed quite a lot, and PATENTLY blames himself. He is a PHYSIOLOGICALLY ADEPT necromancer and he FEARS for her injury, because of the pain not the complications of healing. It's an obvious show of how he perceives her as an extension of himself but NOT a tool.

Likewise, the only thing Pal ever did wrong and honestly, Dulci you aquatic-bint your way out of that river and give him a SLAP, was that he left her when he went to nuke Cytherea. He did it as a kindness, he didn't want her to see, he THOUGHT he did the right thing. And he didn't, and there wasn't a right thing, but oh my god dude.

He acted like a cavalier to guarantee her safety.

And I see a lot of 'oh well he did it cause he was upset about Dulci' like?? Cytherea SPOKE to them about the Avulsion trial. He had to look "Dulcinea" in the eye when she asked him to siphon Cam. Do you not think he wasn't already turbo pissed off? Hurt? Upset? Do you not think he was already mourning her, that he chose Cam over her, because he said “no”?

Which is a good segue into 'Paul is problematic'. First up, buckle up my darling little babies, spiritual cannibalism isn't exactly a fuckin' jolly holly time anyway, cause it was made by a man with the moral compass of a rabid wolverine and tits covered in biscuit crumbs.

At no point does Palamedes not feel dreadful for squatting inside Camilla. He is the (un)embodiment of a nervous friend sitting on a mostly full sofa trying to make himself as small as possible and wincing whenever he accidentally touches someone. He is there ONLY because it's what she wanted. And we know that because they discuss it, PRIVATELY, and it overheard by Nona. He also offers Cam the choice, they keep going as they are, or they do something else. But it is together, whatever they do is together. And she chooses to not suffer alone. And that some a y'all shit on that is a choice.

Harrow TBI's herself to not lose Gideon, but when two people enter into togetherness with consent it's a no?? They had a big ol’ adult chat (or 50 off screen, who knows, babygirl can’t shut up so I imagine it was more) and there’s booing and hissing.

Wah wah they're co-dependent it's not healthy, SURE, but it’s extreme circumstances, it's grimdark space heresy. Cam is a victim of torture, starvation and other such New Rho hells. Palamedes was in the purgatory of river isolation post suicide and his only hope of survival was Cam. They are the reason the other kept going. Paul is them keeping going, Paul is their promise to the other that it'll be okay, because they're there. Yes, they're co-dependent but they are each other's reason for being.

Even in the real world, when everything is subterranean, sewer level shit, you are told to find a reason to keep going. It can be a concert in a few months, or your ageing cat, it can be your mother or your tomato plants. And it's not long term, but THEY don't have long term.

And they BOTH chose. Palamedes had no promise of what would happen once he was booted back out of Babs, did he go back in Cam and risk her soul, or did he try another body? Was he already compromised by Tridentarii taint? But he was willing, if it was for her.

Likewise she was at the precipice of a wound that really needed a necromancers attention (look how BoE left Judith, like jesus colostomy christ the woman is a menace but shoving a carrier bag in her then blood letting her to refuel your stolen tesla is rough guys). It needed HER necromancers attention. And that wasn't happening. And she couldn't take not having him any more.

And they didn't go into it blind, The Sixth as a house patently had more knowledge on the melange of souls than most (via all the secrecy that was shared with BoE etcetc), and Pal had just learnt more, first hand, shoved up inside Naberius feeling their edges bleed together. And they had felt what it was to be Them before. They BOTH experienced that, like, blood-sweat and worried daddy lap aside, they both knew it would hurt her, and I have no doubt it cut Palamedes up, but it ate some of him too. 'Oh it hurt her more' my DUDE the man was already bone dust and fuck all else all that COULD be hurt WAS hurt.

THIRDLY (I realise there was not initially three points but there sure fucking is now LESSGO):

SACRIFICE. I've seen it said, repeatedly, they have an uneven power dynamic because Cam 'sacrifices' herself for him.

WELL. Let's break that down with a direct comparison.

Gideon Nav, a woman who had never been loved, but had sometimes been useful, sacrificed herself for a chance to die with the knowledge of being wanted. She knew and wanted to be eaten, absorbed, nothing more than her sword. This was seen as a rejection by Harrow for reasons even GIDEON was aware of, poor kid.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus, woman who, understandably, thinks she's cursed as all fuck, refused to take the sacrifice of Another Body and in the process made Gideon think she was being rejected. I think she is less aware, but not totally unaware. And it was in desperation. And she is so young, they both are, they were scared and staring at a bone wall or forever death.

But my point is their togetherness, no matter how complete, was born of VIOLENCE and the eradication of one of them, the violence of need, of desperation to belong, to not be torn from the one consistent point in their lives : each other.

Camilla Hect saw the buckshot shrapnel of her life partner embedded in Canaan's masonry (this is an actual sacrifice, he sacrificed himself for her safety) and chose to take the red string of fate and GANK IT until she got Palamedes back. Because they had a (theoretically possible) predetermined get-out-of-jail-free plan for if something took him first. They planned to never be apart, this was one plan of many.

And Palamedes Sextus, for his part, did everything he could to keep them safe, keep her safe, to make sure, even in the end, they would be together in the safest, sanest way possible. He dredged her from death both times they were shot, he sewed her back together from within the cage of her body. He resurrected them. He was a god FOR them, so they could stay them.

Was it actually safe and sane? Compared to gutty stabs and being consumed by a IANTHE, honestly, yeah.

Was it ideal? No, but it was better than death.

They lived, together. Discussed it, chose it.

If Palamedes is Decisive Consent and Camilla is Patient Protection, Paul is a Conversation with a lil line of kisses at the bottom. They're not made from love, they're made from necessity, but they are born BECAUSE of love, gentility. The difference between rabid hunger after suffering food scarcity and spending 14 hours cooking a meal for someone you love. They are both acts of consumption, but the tone is so vastly different.

✨anyway yeah hi I fucking love Cam and Pal and this is the hill I've chosen to climb and repeatedly die on✨

(I'd like to postface this with I love ALL these characters, I slag them off with the love of literary analysis, and none of them ever did anything wrong they are my tiny angel baby war crimes whom i wub them a normal amount.

...And I'm not getting the books out to quote shit so you're gunna have to embrace the Vibes.<3)

(shout out to @grievingbovine this is (partially) their fault *heart hands*)

[hedwig221b]

Hey hey my lovely hedwig! I was wondering if you have any good bodyguard Derek fic recs for me to devour

Your recs are the best btw, top tier🏆

Aw, thank you! I present to you this feast

Where the Shadow Ends by Green

Derek goes undercover to Delphi to figure out what's wrong with the oracle. He doesn't mean to fall in love.

Strike Softly (Away From The Body) by qhuinn (tekla)

Derek is a bodyguard and Stiles his spoiled, resistant client.

Voice of Rage and Ruin by Qayin

Derek is hired as a bodyguard to this kid, Stiles. And the thing is, Stiles seems completely harmless, but everyone keeps telling Derek how he needs to be careful. Stiles is a nogitsune, a human possessed by a powerful deity of chaos and void, and not only does other people want him for his power, but he could potentially hurt others; and then it’s Derek’s job to protect those people — from his client.

Neither Here Nor There by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"Oh!” He turned to Stiles. “Is he your new bodyguard?” Derek saw Stiles stiffen at that, wondering why, but before Stiles could open his mouth to insist that, why yes, Derek was his bodyguard like the brat he was, Derek spoke first. “I’m Mieczyslaw Stilinski’s bodyguard.” The confused look that crossed Scott’s face now was kind of annoying. Scott looked at Stiles, then back at Derek, and then at Stiles again. “I see…?”

just once by stilinskisparkles

"I’m your bodyguard!” “Yeah, I know, and I get that you’re worried I am somehow living under the illusion you are Kevin Costner and I’m Whitney Houston, but Derek?” Stiles grabs his tie before Derek can stop him, pulls him close enough to murmur in his ear, “I can’t sing.”

We Gotta Hide What We're Doin' by CharWright5

As a Bodyguard within the Stilinski Rodzina, Derek's one and only job is to watch over the Omega son—and only child—of the Family's Head, Stiles, a task that is easier said than done some nights. It's just good that the Alpha knows the best way to punish the little troublemaker when his bratty behavior threatens to expose a secret that could get the Bodyguard killed.

reGuardless by raisesomehale

The president had been to the point when he explained to Derek the rules of the job. Stiles was in the room while these rules were recited: Never take your eyes off of him in public. That’s how he liked to dodge his last bodyguards. No more than an arm's length apart. He’s more slippery than you’d think. Escort him to and from appearances. Intervene in any situation that might tarnish the Stilinski image… The list went on and on. As did the games of chicken Stiles initiated to test Derek with these rules.

I Would (And Did) Take A Bullet For You by luvsbitca

Derek Hale is Prince Stiles Stilinksi's bodyguard. Then he gets shot and things change between them.

Complicated Is An Understatement by haletostilinski

Stiles is the 17-year-old son of the POTUS, and Derek is his bodyguard. For the past few months they've been together in private, and only in the last few weeks did they take it all the way. And it isn't just sex between them, they're in love. Which makes their situation a whole lot more complicated.

The Darkness Inside by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The sheriff watched him for a moment, then he sighed and turned slightly. He reached out to open a cabinet door beside him, and pulled out a shelf. It was on a track, so it rolled out of the cabinet fairly easily, and held a small CCTV. Derek frowned and inched his chair to the side a little bit so he could get a better angle. He was looking at a teenager, or someone at least young enough to be the same age as Scott. He was sitting on a bed in what looked to be a larger room, the area he was in surrounded by four glass walls, with his legs crossed and head tilted. He was also staring directly into the camera, as if he knew someone was watching. A creepy smile slowly slid onto the teen’s face, and he held up one hand, wiggling his fingers in a slow, eery wave. Derek felt his mouth run dry. He didn’t know who this kid was, but he didn’t like him. “Who is that?” he asked quietly. “That,” said the sheriff, “is my son.”

A Princely Knight by Dexterous_Sinistrous

He would stand by Stiles’ side, a constant shadow of protection until his death. A life for a life, one worth much more than an orphan turned thief turned royal guard could comprehend. In truth, Derek saw the one person he would gladly give his life for, because Stiles made this world better. ~*~ Or, Stiles is a prince and Derek is his knight.

[masterlist link]

[jazziejax]

𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Adonis Creed x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - What was supposed to be an apology turned into an unexpected spark. One bouquet, a shared look, and now the media has questions neither of them are ready to answer. But behind the headlines, something real might be blooming—if they let it.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Slow burn tension, paparazzi/media intrusion, mutual pining, strong language, mild angst, sexual tension

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - I didn’t think yall were gonna like this very much, but here you go. I’m spewing out so many ideas, I might even go back and touch my Aaron and Kelvin fics.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 6,640+

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 🏸˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚

The video spread like wildfire.

A grainy clip—filmed on someone’s phone and clearly zoomed in from across the gym—captured two women sparring, one of them a powerhouse wrapped in black with quick hands and sharper feet. The footage showed brutal jabs, unrelenting movement, a burst of speed that overwhelmed the reigning champ of Delphi’s female fighters. A takedown. A scream. Small gasps from the gym.

No name was attached. Just the caption—“WHO the hell is she???”

Speculation swarmed online.

Some thought it was a pro fighter from another camp trying to embarrass Sandra. Others guessed a random with nice hands. But no one knew for sure. Chantal had been too fast, too focused, her face barely visible behind headgear and gloves. The comments were a flood of awe, disbelief, and messy guesses.

Chantal didn’t know about any of it that morning.

After leaving Delphi the day before, her fury had fizzled into silence. She wasn’t even sure if she’d locked the door behind her—just collapsed onto the couch, flipping through the same three channels without watching any of them. Her body hummed with leftover adrenaline, but her chest was heavy.

She hadn’t eaten since breakfast—barely touched the oats she made early that morning, but she hadn’t noticed. Her mind was far too full.

She thought of the moment she pushed past Duke and Adonis. The way her gloves hit the floor. The eyes that followed her out. And most of all… she thought about Armando.

This gym was supposed to be theirs. A dream they never quite got to live out. He would’ve walked in beaming. Respected the space. She’d stomped in angry and left worse.

By the time night came, Chantal was curled up beneath her weighted blanket, eyes trained on the ceiling. The guilt didn’t just sit in her—it clawed. And by the time she fell asleep, it was with a clenched jaw and a heart swollen with shame.

The next morning came just as the last.

She rose quietly, repeating the same routine. Brushed her teeth. Did push-ups, abs, squats. Showered. Pulled on a plain black T-shirt and black and yellow, Kobe basketball shorts with Nike Jordan’s the same color. She made the same oats again, this time actually eating them. They were warm but tasted a bit different, but she blamed it on her overwhelmed psyche.

She headed out just after ten.

There were a few things she needed—dish soap, protein bars, tampons. Her headphones stayed on as she moved through the aisles of the neighborhood store, trying to keep her mind off yesterday, but the pressure hadn’t lifted. Not even a little.

She thought time would wear it down. That she’d laugh at how riled up she got. That maybe Duke or Adonis would’ve forgotten by now. But it stuck. The weight. The tightness in her chest. The memory of the room going still, of people yelling, of her own voice ringing out in a place built for discipline.

She didn’t just feel embarrassed. She felt wrong.

She paused at the end of an aisle, eyes catching on the bright display of the floral shop tucked into the corner of the store. Pink, white, and orange petals swayed under the soft buzz of the overhead lights.

Almost on impulse, she walked over.

A middle-aged man with gentle eyes and a button-down shirt looked up from behind the counter.

Chantal gave a soft breath of a laugh, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. “Can you make me a bouquet that says… I’m sorry for embarrassing myself—and you?”

The man blinked once. Then slowly pursed his lips and gave a single, understanding nod. “Sí. I’ve got just the thing.” He said kindly.

And for the first time in two days, Chantal let herself breathe.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

The car idled for a long moment in front of the Delphi Boxing Academy, engine humming low beneath the spring sun. Chantal sat behind the wheel, hands resting on her thighs, thumbs tapping anxiously. She looked different today—though not on purpose. No hood. No scowl. No fight in her shoulders. Her long braids were pulled into two pigtails, and her oversized glasses sat low on the bridge of her nose. A small attempt at appearing… softer. Less threatening.

More apologetic.

She took a breath and finally climbed out, bouquet in hand—bright, fresh flowers wrapped neatly in brown paper. They felt heavier than they should’ve.

Inside, the gym hummed with life. Gloves hitting bags, sneakers squeaking across canvas, the low bass of rap music bleeding from someone’s phone. But no one really looked her way. Maybe that was worse than being stared at.

The guy behind the front desk wasn’t the same fanboy from the day before. He was older, stockier, wearing a fitted T-shirt with the Delphi logo across the chest and a Bluetooth headset in one ear.

He looked up as she stepped forward, awkward in her approach, her fingers tightening slightly around the paper-wrapped bouquet.

“How can I help you?” He asked, polite but not overly warm.

“Uh…” Chantal cleared her throat softly. “Can I speak to Duke, please?”

Their eyes met only briefly, and hers dropped fast. The man gave a nod and turned to disappear down a hallway in search of the head coach. She was left standing there, bouquet still in hand, fidgeting on the balls of her feet. Her eyes flicked around the gym, trying not to linger too long on anyone or anything. The memory of yesterday echoed in every corner. The way Sandra screamed. The sound of her own voice. The sting of adrenaline in her knuckles.

And then—

“Hello.”

The voice wasn’t Duke’s.

Her head snapped toward it. Adonis stopped a few feet away, arms crossed gently, his expression unreadable. A beat passed before she answered. Seeing her look, he explained. “Duke’s not in right now.” He stated, casing Chantal to nod before she blinked.

“Hi.” She said quietly.

They met somewhere in the middle of the lobby, just near the counter, the air between them thick with everything that hadn’t been said yesterday. Chantal shifted her weight, eyes flickering up to meet his before falling again. Her fingers flexed once, then twice, around the bouquet.

“These are for you.” She said, her voice unsure. “Or… Duke.”

Adonis arched a brow as he reached for the flowers. “Oh.”

He accepted them carefully, gaze dropping to the vibrant petals. A small daisy stuck out between the folds of the paper—charming and a little offbeat, just like her. He held them like something sacred.

“I got them because I didn’t really know how to do this.” She admitted, gaze still lowered. “And I wanted to come and apologize for… my behavior. For how everything went down yesterday. I’m sorry I brought that into your gym and messed up whatever rhythm you all had.”

Her voice was laced with awkward vulnerability, but she forced herself to meet his eyes again. He was watching her closely, unreadable, the weight of his stare like heat under her skin.

Adonis blinked once, glancing back down at the bouquet in his hands. “Flowers?” He couldn’t help but vocalize, not with sarcasm, but genuine curiosity.

Chantal raised her brows, lips pressing into a sheepish line. “Everyone likes flowers. And I didn’t wanna show up empty-handed.”

A quiet breath of amusement passed through his nose. He nodded slowly, that unreadable expression softening by a fraction.

“Well.” He said. “Thank you. They’re… pretty.”

Chantal gave a small nod of agreement. “Yeah.” And he found the way her face seemed to stay straight as she did so a bit adorable.

Silence hovered for a beat before Adonis shifted his grip on the bouquet and looked her dead in the eye.

“And I accept your apology. My fighter got out of line yesterday, and I should’ve stepped in before anything popped off.”

She gave another nod, this one slower, more grounded. But then her lips parted, and she said, clear as day—

“Yes. You should have.”

The response caught Adonis off guard. His eyes widened a little, mouth opening just barely like he was going to say something, but nothing came out at first. Instead, a quiet breath left his lips, a wry smile twitching at the corners.

“Fair.” He finally said.

Another silence followed, but this one felt different—less tense. She looked up at him again, a flicker of something behind her glasses. A vulnerability, maybe. Or just a deeper version of her usual fire, hidden beneath the flowers and soft tone.

Adonis tilted his head slightly. “You got a mean jab.” He stated. “Fast footwork, too.”

Chantal’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Thank you.” She said, though she wasn’t really sure on how she should feel about the compliment he just gave her. Her hands then slowly fell to her sides now that the bouquet was no longer her shield. “I don’t wanna cause trouble.” She suddenly spoke up again, as if the words were eating at her and she just needed them out. “I just… came here to train a bit. Honor the place I sort of used to dream about visiting.”

Adonis looked at her for a long moment before giving a single, affirming nod. “Then train. The past is in the past. Whatever happens after that… we’ll figure it out.”

And for the first time since walking in, Chantal allowed herself to smile.

The air still hung a little tense between them after the apology, but something had shifted—tilted just enough to allow for a new direction. Chantal shifted again, her fingers fidgeting at the hem of her shorts as Adonis looked down at the bouquet once more, then back up at her.

“You got time to stick around?” He asked, voice casual, but his eyes steady on hers.

Chantal blinked. “For what?”

Adonis gave her a small, knowing smile. “To box.” He said, as if it was obvious.

She looked down at herself. Tight black t-shirt, basketball shorts that hit her knees, fresh pair of kicks. “I’m not exactly dressed for it.”

He chuckled lightly. “You think half the people who show up here come looking ready the first time?” He nodded toward the back. “We got extra gear. I’m sure there’s a pair of shoes your size lying around. And Duke always keeps fresh wraps in the back.”

Chantal hesitated, eyes flicking toward the ring, then back at him. Her voice was softer now. “You’re serious?”

Adonis took a step back, nodding. “Dead serious. If you’re trying to train for real, I’m not gonna let a pair nice shoes be the reason you don’t.”

Something in her chest gave a small thump. She hadn’t planned on staying. She hadn’t even planned on speaking to him, let alone being offered a spot in his gym like it was nothing. Like she wasn’t walking chaos. Like he wasn’t the Adonis Creed.

She studied him for a long second, lips twitching slightly. “Okay.” She said, and her smile was contagious. She hadn’t expected to be able to be here again, and now that he granted her permission, she couldn’t hide her joy at not being a total disappointment. And that grin was one that pulled Adonis in, copying gesture, making his dimples pop.

Fifteen minutes later, Chantal was seated on the bench near the lockers, watching as Adonis emerged from the back holding a box of shoes and a pair of wraps slung over his shoulder. She was already in her socks now.

He dropped the box next to her with a nod. “Try these.”

She pulled the lid off, eyebrows raising slightly. They were ASICS, used but clean, white with black soles and creased just enough to show they’d been broken in, but not beaten up.

“What size are they?” She asked.

“Seven. You look like a seven.”

Chantal gave him a skeptical look. “You know a woman’s shoe size by sight?”

Adonis shrugged with a grin. “It’s a talent.”

She let out a small breath of a laugh before she slid them on—and they were a perfect fit. “Okay… maybe it is a talent.” She mumbled to herself.

He crouched in front of her, holding the wraps out. “Give me your hands.”

She froze. Just for a second. Something about the way he said it. Quiet, and a bit demanding, but steady. She offered them slowly, palms up. He took one in his calloused hands and began the process—tugging the wrap snugly around her wrists, then knuckles. His fingers were firm but careful, and the intimacy of it wasn’t lost on her.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

“You know who I am, right?” He asked suddenly, not looking up, his fingers moving across her hand like he’d done this a thousand times. At the silence he got, he looked up to see Chantal cutting her eyes at him, very judgmental. “Not like that.” He said, letting out a small laugh. “I just wanted to know before I spoke further.”

She then simply let out a small hum. “Adonis Creed. Heavyweight champion of the world. Son of Apollo. Fine. Yeah, I’ve heard.” She said, her eye focused on the wrapping his was putting around her hand.

That made him glance up, grin teasing the corner of his mouth. “Fine?”

She shrugged innocently. “That’s just what I heard.”

He snorted softly, moving to the other hand. “I know who you are too.” He said, his tone dipping more serious. “Chantal Figueroa. Wimbledon finalist. Nike darling. Media nightmare.” He said with a small wince. And those finals words alone seemed to flip a switch within Chantal. And she was back to reality, one she knew she could never escape. How naive of her to assume that life could offer her a semblance of grace this one time.

She looked away, cheeks tightening. “That last part’s their favorite.” She mumbled.

“I don’t always believe what they say.”

“You should.” She said quietly, a bitter twist to her smile. “I’ve given them enough footage.”

He finished wrapping and sat back on his heels, looking up at her. “Everyone gets angry. The difference is how you work through it.”

Chantal eyes drifted to his, and she couldn’t help but study him—his face, his tone, the strange calm he wore, even as he sat in a storm of loud gym sounds, from yelling to excessive sweat and fists. He didn’t seem to be patronizing her, so she took his words the best way she knew how.

Deflecting.

“So, what are you now, like, a sensei?” She asked.

Adonis looked up at her with a small grin before he looked off in mock thought. “Mmm, in a way.” He shrugged. Chantal exhaled a quiet laugh, then stood, tightening the gloves he handed her. She looked down at her fists. “Does that mean you’re gonna train me or something?” She questioned, her humor dry as she quirked a brow at him. “You know, since that’s what sensei’s do.”

Adonis cocked his head. “You want me to?” He asked, and the lilt of his tone was humorous, but there was an underlying edge to his voice that gave her a different vibe, especially with the way he tilted his head.

Her eyes met his, something sharp and stubborn rising in them, even beneath the softness. She wasn’t sure if he was flirting, or challenging her. Or both, but Chantal didn’t mind, she liked a challenge. And a bit of flirting “Yeah.” She said. “Show me your best.”

Adonis grinned slow, like it was something he’d been waiting for her to say.

“Oh, I’ll show you.” He said, a subtle smile gracing his lips, casing Chantal to quirk a subtle brow before moving around him and over to one of the bags.

The gym was a bit quieter now. Most of the morning and early evening crowd had thinned out, leaving only a few scattered boxers working drills in the far corners. Chantal stood in front of one of the heavy bags, her fists loosely clenched at her sides, a thin sheen of sweat across her brow. Adonis moved to stand behind the bag, hands pressed against the leather to keep it steady. He watched her carefully, as if he could see the battle in her head before a punch was even thrown.

“Let’s start light. Footwork. Movement. No punches yet.”

She nodded, jaw tight, and moved into position.

At first, her movements were sharp but stiff. Measured. Her body knew rhythm—she’d been an athlete nearly her whole life—but boxing was one of a different kind. One she respected more than she’d ever admitted out loud. She didn’t speak as she moved, keeping her eyes locked on the back while Adonis’s were locked on hers. Focused. Unreadable.

He moved with her, circling the bag, mirroring. He was calm and patient. Occasionally offering a tip in a low voice. “Keep your lead foot outside mine.”

“Relax your shoulders, you’re carrying tension.”

“You ever dance?”

That one made her pause for half a beat, her brow furrowing. “What?”

He grinned. “You move sort of like a dancer.” He said. “That…doesn’t quite know the choreography.” He added. Chantal rolled her eyes, the faintest smirk tugging her lips before she could stop it. “Guess that means I’m doing it wrong.” She mumbled.

“Nah.” He said. “It just means you’re just in you head. That you got something to fight. Which is good. But if you want to last, you gotta stop fighting yourself first.”

That settled between them, something personal, hitting somewhere deeper than her fist against the bag. She didn’t respond, just let out a sharp sigh before she just kept moving.

They ran drills for a while longer. He showed her a few basic combos—jab, cross, slip. She picked them up quickly, but kept her distance. Physically and emotionally. Even when she missed a punch and muttered under her breath, she didn’t look to him for comfort or correction. She just adjusted and went again.

After a few more rounds, Adonis called for a break. He tossed her a towel and a bottle of water from the corner which she both caught easily.

“You got hands.” He said, watching her from where he leaned near the wall. “You box before?”

“Not really.” He said, twisting the bottle open. “Messed around a little back home.”

“Where’s home?”

She hesitated, cutting her eyes to him as she raised the bottle to her lips. “New York.” She said before taking a sip.

“Which part?”

Chantal gave a slow shrug, sipping her water. “Does it matter?” She questioned, avoiding his eyes, twisting the cap on her bottle.

Adonis smiled, not taking offense. “Just trying to get to know you.”

She wiped her brow with the towel. “Why?”

“Cause I’m training you.”

She stared at him, hard. “Do you do this with everyone?” She asked, crossing her arms. Her weight was placed on one leg, and her brows were narrowed his way. “Wrap their hands, offer them shoes, ask about their childhood?” She listed. “Cause this is starting to feel a lot like a therapy session.”

He didn’t blink, but there was s shift in his eyes every time she seemed to question him. “No. Just you.” He answered lightly.

The silence that followed that hung a little heavier and Chantal was the first to look away. “Well, I didn’t come here for all that.” She said quietly. “I came to punch something. Not… unpack myself to someone I barely know.”

“I know.” He said. “But you’re still here.”

That made her glance back, brows furrowed, her voice a bit softer. “So?”

“So.” He said, stepping away from the wall and moving over to the bench closer to her. “Maybe you don’t want to be as closed off as you think.” He added.

At that, Chantal’s eyes landed on him, and this time she didn’t answer. He didn’t have anything to say. And she hated how accurate his words felt.

They sat like that for a moment, the gym noise around them muted. Eventually, Chantal set her water down, twisting the cap back on with slow fingers. “I used to go to boxing gyms with someone I knew.” She said finally, almost without meaning to. “A long time ago.” She waved her hand.

Adonis didn’t respond, he just observed her with a subtle nod.

“He said it’d calm my nerves. Make me think clear. Said boxing forces you to face yourself.” She exhaled a short breath. “I hated that part. Still do.” She shrugged, not meeting his gaze as her eyes made their way to her wrapped hands.

He studied her for a second, looking at the way she flipped her hands front to back and picked at the loose pieces of gauze. “But you’re back.” He said, looking at the side of her face.

“Yeah. Guess I’ve got more facing to do.” She replied with a humorless smile.

Adonis looked at her for a few more seconds, his eye trimming her figure before he stood again, nodding toward the bag. “Then let’s get back to it.”

Chantal looked up at him, the smallest flicker of something soft passing over her guarded features. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t say thank you, didn’t offer anything sentimental.

But she stood, tightening her gloves around her wrist with her teeth before moving back to the bag.

And that, for her, was something. It was progress.

And Adonis simply followed what she did, holding the bag. “Jab.” He demanded evenly.

She struck—quick, solid, but restrained.

“Again.”

She did.

“Harder.”

She hesitated for a split second before hitting it again.

“You’re holding back.” He said, voice low but certain.

Chantal narrowed her eyes at him, briefly taking her eyes of the bag. “I’m not.” She huffed.

“Yes, you are.”

Chantal threw another jab—tighter this time, sharper. But Adonis barely moved behind the bag. “You’re angry, I get it. But that ain’t gonna help you if you don’t control it.” He commented. Chantal paused, sucking in a breath as her fingers flexed, blinking harshly.

“Cross.” He asserted, so Chantal followed and threw it.

“Again.”

She did.

He leaned slightly into the bag, pushing it just enough to challenge her balance. “What’s got you tight today?”

“Nothing.” She snapped, short and clipped, throwing a punch before he could even think. He jerked a bit but nodded like he didn’t believe her statement, which only irritated her more.

“Do you ever let yourself lose control?” He asked, casually, almost as if they were having a conversation over coffee.

“Not the way you mean.” She huffed.

“Why not?”

“Because people could get hurt.” She admitted. Her answer was so fast, so raw, it surprised even her. She saw the way his expression shifted—just slightly, just enough to clock it.

“Good.” He said. “Now put that in your punches.”

Chantal sighed, taking a step back from the bag with her jaw clenched. “I don’t need therapy, Creed.” He hissed.

“I’m not giving you therapy. I’m telling you to stop lying to yourself.”

And that’s what did it. She lunged forward, hitting the bag with a clean right hook that made the chains rattle. She did it again and again. She worked her fists fast and hard now, breathing ragged, like each hit was purging something she couldn’t speak.

Behind the bag, Adonis braced himself and kept watching her.

“That’s it.” He said, voice steady. “Keep going.”

But her rhythm was getting messy. Her punches weren’t wild, but they were growing too fueled, too emotional.

“Chantal.” He warned. “Breathe. Keep your form.”

“Don’t tell me to breathe.”

“Then say what’s really eating at you.”

Her hands then paused mid-air, and for a moment, her breath caught. Her chest heaved up and down, her eyes making their way to his with a judgmental glare.

“Don’t do that.” She said quietly, shaking her head

“Do what?”

“Push me like you know me.” She retorted firmly.

Adonis simply tilted his head from behind the bag. “I’m not pretending I know you. I’m reading what you show me.” He responded. Chantals nostrils flared, chest rising and falling. She looked like she wanted to throw something at him, not just the bag anymore.

“I don’t need to be read.” She said, voice lower now, tight and dangerous. “I need to be left alone.”

Adonis studied her, standing straight behind the bag now that she was now longer punching. His tone softened, but he didn’t back down. “Then why’d you come back?” He asked.

And Chantal’s throat worked, but that didn’t seem to help her come up with an answer. He let the silence stretch between them, heavy and loaded.

Finally, he tapped the bag lightly. “You got power. You’ve got something real. But if you keep boxing, and playing tennis, like you’re trying to bury your own damn heart or prove some point, you’re gonna miss what this sport and the other could give you.”

She stared at him, her eyes flicking from the bag to his unwavering gaze as she tried to think clearly through his words—and then something flickered in her eyes.Not agreement, but recognition.

The bag was still swaying, leather creaking softly under the weight of her last blow. Chantal’s breath was jagged, caught somewhere between rage and restraint, the skin at her collarbone gleaming with sweat. Her fists dropped to her sides, wrapped and sore, her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached.

Adonis watched her from behind the bag, his arms braced on either side, chest rising and falling with his own breath. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t anything. Just… observant.

And for some reason, that made it worse. She didn’t speak again just stormed over to the bench without a word.

“Chantal.” He called after her, a little sharp, a little concerned. But she didn’t stop. Her fingers fumbled at the gloves, trying to pull them free, yanking at the velcro frantically.

“Chantal, slow down.” He said, stepping around the bag, cautious now.

She ripped the gloves off like they were burning her skin and tossed them onto the floor with a sharp thud. “I’m done.” She muttered, more to herself than him. She bent down, hastily untying the boxing shoes he’d given her, fingers clumsy, jerky, like she couldn’t get them off fast enough.

Adonis was beside her now, hands half-lifted like he didn’t know if he should touch her or give her space. “Hey. You don’t have to do all that. Just talk to me—”

“I don’t want to fucking talk.” She snapped, still not raising her voice, but the fire behind it was unmistakable. The first shoe hit the metal bench with a slight echo, the second one tossed beside it, her breath coming fast and hot as she stood up and grabbed her bag.

“Please, Chantal.”Adonis tried again, softer now, guilt flickering across his face. “I didn’t mean to push you that far.”

She slung her bag over her shoulder with a snap of her braids and locked eyes with him. “Well, you did and now leave me the hell alone.” And she looked away from his eyes faster than their gaze was held.

And for some reason, the words hit him clean. The sting of truth. She turned and headed for the door without another word.

Adonis stood there for a beat, running a hand over his mouth. Then his eyes caught the flowers—still sitting on the bench where he’d left them to train her, delicate and out of place among sweat and grit.

He quickly grabbed them and jogged after her. “Chantal!” He called, just as she reached her car. The sun outside hit her face, catching the glow of sweat on her skin, the defiance and anger in her stiff stance.

She didn’t turn, just pulled out her keys with clenched hands.

“Chantal, wait—”

He reached her just before she could open the car door, the flowers now a little crushed in his hands. “I’m sorry.” He yelled.

She froze.

The keys that dangled in her fingers were then clenched, still and uncertain.

“I pushed too hard in there.” He said, voice low, thick with something that wasn’t just guilt, but was understanding. “I saw something in you, something I always saw in myself once, and maybe I didn’t respect how personal that was. That’s on me.” He admitted.

Chantal’s back was still to him, her head slightly lowered, her shoulders rigid.

“I wasn’t trying to dig.” He continued. “Just… hoping I could hold space for whatever was coming up for you.” He ten gulped, a thick and long since passing between them. Chantal hands was clenched around the keys, and if it wasn’t for her still wrapped hand, she possibly would’ve been bleeding from how deep the indentations could’ve gotten. There was nothing but the bustle of Los Angeles between them, the wind blowing the loose tends of Chantal’s braids in the wind.

She then turned her head just slightly, not all the way, still stiff. “That wasn’t your place.” She said, and her tone was still clipped as she started at him.

“I know.” Adonis exhaled, stepping closer with the bouquet. “But I’m still glad you came. And I hope you come back.”

She finally looked over her shoulder at him—eyes fierce but glassy, her lips parted like she was holding back something far more tender than anger.

He held out the flowers again, this time without words. Her eyes looked down at them, the wind pushing the smell of the petals her way. She then looked back up at him, and though he wasn’t sure if she was still angry, her face still held a narrowed frown in her brow. And slowly, hesitantly, she took them, her fingers brushing his.

“I am still mad at you.” She murmured, blinking.

“I…think I can live with that for now.” Adonis nodded.

“And I’m not coming back in today.” She deadpanned, running the flowers in her arms, cradling it like a baby.

“I won’t ask you to.”

“But I might… tomorrow.” She said, her eyes finally meeting his, and when Adonis brows piqued at her words, she was quick to add on. “Or sometime this week. Or…next week.” She said dimly.

And Adonis gave a slow, careful smile. “Then I’ll be here.” He said softly.

“And I want you to know.” Chantal said, pausing just before opening her door. “It’s rude that you gave me back the flowers I gave you.”Her gaze was as sharp as her tone, unwavering, but there was a flicker of mischief in the set of her mouth.

Adonis blinked, surprised by her sudden jab, before a small smile curled at the edge of his lips. “Yeah, I know.” He admitted, lifting his shoulders in a slow shrug. “But I had to get your attention—and maybe a little forgiveness—somehow.”

She squinted at him like he was full of it. “Mm. Lousy attempt.” She mumbled, though just loud enough for him to hear as she gripped the handle of her car door again and opened it, on her way into the seat.

Adonis let out a soft, breathy laugh. He looked at her, really looked, as the sunlight softened against her cheekbones and the sweat still clinging to her neck glistened. “Alright, how about this.”He said, catching her attention before he entered the car. “I’ll take you out to dinner this evening.” He suggested.

She froze, her chin lifted slightly. “Dinner?” She repeated, her brow raising in suspicion.

“You said you were new to the area.”He said, voice casual, body leaning slightly against the car like he wasn’t asking for much. “I’m from here. I know the city. I can show you a few places. Introduce you to some people.”

Her eyes flicked to his, cool and unreadable. “It’s not like I plan on staying long.” She said, quirking a brow at him.

“Then take it as an apology.” He replied easily. “Since apparently, I can’t give you flowers.”

Chantal stared at him. Silent, her gloss lips pressed together, almost like she was chewing on the offer.

The wind swept through the lot again, catching the ends of her pigtail braids and pulling wisps of hair across her face. She brushed them away with one hand, tucking them back behind her ear, her long lashes fluttering as she studied him again.

Finally, she shrugged, nonchalant. “Okay.”

Adonis straightened. “Okay?”

“I’m not gonna say it again.” She said flatly.

And the man couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. “Okay.” He nodded, holding back a laugh. “How about today at eight? I’ll come pick you up.”

“I’m not telling you where I live.” She deadpanned.

Adonis reeled slightly, confused. “What?” He scoffed. “It’s not like I’m not dangerous or anything.”

“You’re the heavyweight champion of the world.” She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m a tennis player, not risking it.” She shook her head.

He raised his eyebrows. “Wow, okay.” He said, letting out a small laugh. “I mean, you pack a mean punch.” He quipped it like an afterthought, but her face never broke. Still stoic, still unreadable. Adonis let out a low laugh, running a hand over his beard. “Alright, alright. No address. But can I at least get your number?”

“No.”

He blinked. “No?”

She smiled then. Not a wide one. Just the faint curl of lip gloss and challenge, her head tilting to the side. “I’m not repeating myself.” She said, same as earlier as she looked at him.

“Why not?” Adonis asked, and he couldn’t help but smile at her as well, absentmindedly tilting his head with her. “Because I don’t want to.” Chantal grinned.

Adonis mirrored her posture, amused and just slightly exasperated. “Then what do you want, Chantal?”

“To meet here. At seven.”Her voice was steady. Very fine and decided, like the terms were hers and hers alone. Adonis nodded once, sealing it like a deal between competitors. “Alright. Then we’ll meet here at seven.”

She didn’t respond immediately. She looked at him, really looked at him, as if trying to figure out what his angle was. But there was nothing calculated in his gaze—just patience. Warmth. And a kind of gentle steadiness that made something tight in her chest loosen just a little.

With nothing left to say, she climbed into her car, the door shutting with a soft thump. The bouquet she’d taken back from him sat cradled in her lap for a moment before she reached over and gently placed it in the passenger seat. Adonis watched through the windshield, his hands still in his pockets, every line of his body relaxed and buzzing all at once.

And then—and he nearly chuckled aloud—as she buckled the flowers into the seatbelt.

He shook his head, a full smile breaking across his face as she started the engine. She didn’t glance back, didn’t wave. But she didn’t need to.

Because as she pulled out of the lot and drove away, she left him standing there in the quiet heat, heart thudding just a little faster than it had all day. The only thing settling it was a brief breeze that would occur every now and then.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

Back in their separate spaces, the evening sun had just begun to bleed into twilight.

Adonis stood shirtless in front of his dresser, slipping on his chain. The gold glinted against his skin, catching the light. He ran a hand over his freshly lined beard, checking the mirror, smoothing the collar of his black shirt he hadn’t buttoned yet. There was a buzz under his skin—not from nerves, not really—but anticipation. She said yes. And even though the Chantal Figueroa was all edge and no-nonsense, there was something about her that pulled him in like gravity. Sharp, mysterious. A little weird.

Meanwhile, in her apartment, Chantal stood under the stream of warm water, letting it run over her shoulders and back, rinsing away the tension of the day. The sound of the gym still echoed in her head—his voice behind the bag, the way he pushed her, the way her anger bubbled to the surface, sharp and cutting. And then… the way he’d followed her. The way his voice had softened. The way she’d noticed the damn flowers buckled in beside her on the passenger seat the whole ride home. She couldn’t quite name what she was feeling. Not yet.

And then—

Ping.

Adonis’s phone chimed.

So did hers.

He froze with his hand still adjusting the chain around his neck, turning toward the sound on his nightstand. The screen lit up with a preview of a message: “YO. You seeing this???” Followed by a link. An image. An all-too-familiar silhouette.

Chantal heard the alert through the steam, her head poking out of the shower curtain just in time to see the screen of her phone light up again on the sink. She squinted at it, then reached out with a wet hand to the counter to unlock it, not bothering to dry off first.

At the exact same moment, they both opened the message. And headline screamed back at them:

“ADONIS CREED’S GIRLFRIEND IDENTIFIED: MEET CHANTAL FIGUEROA! BOXING MEETS TENNIS? CREED CAUGHT HANDING FLOWERS TO STAR TENNIS ATHLETE OUTSIDE L.A. GYM”

Photos: [SEE THE IMAGES HERE]

And there they were—captured in sharp, intrusive frames.

The first shot was candid but clear—Adonis mid-step, one hand holding out a full bouquet, a mixture of yellow and pink garden flowers, the other tucked in his jacket pocket. His expression was earnest. A little amused. Like he was trying not to smile too much.

The second image was even more damning. Chantal stood in front of her car, her hand on the door handle, mid-turn while her other one was reaching out to the bouquet. She was angled toward him, head slightly tilted, her expression unreadable. Her hair, still in those pigtail braids, whipped gently in the wind. She looked composed, unbothered—but the camera caught the flicker in her eye, the way she was listening with a small smile.

And then the third was a zoomed-in moment taken through her windshield. Adonis stood on the sidewalk with his hands buried in his pockets, watching her. His smile, it was small but deeply genuine and trained on her like there was no one else on the street. Inside the car, the flowers now sat in the passenger seat. The seatbelt strapped neatly across the bouquet, just like a passenger.

Underneath, bold captions followed.

“No official confirmation yet—but sources say Figueroa recently relocated to L.A.”

“A match made in sports heaven? Or just a passing moment?”

“Tennis star Chantal Figueroa spotted leaving the same gym Creed owns. Coincidence?”

And critically—no one had yet put together that she was also the woman in the viral video from the day before. No comparisons had been made between the fierce fighter in the ring and the composed woman accepting flowers, though her wrapped hands were on. Not yet. But it was coming.

Adonis’s chain slipped from his fingers as he stared, jaw tight. “Shit.”

Across town, Chantal’s heart dropped straight to her stomach as she stood dripping and naked in the middle of her bathroom, blinking hard at the screen. “Shit.”

She scrolled and comments poured in beneath the post.

“Wait, that’s the tennis girl from Spain right?”

“Why is he looking at her like that omg.”

“I’m obsessed with this combo???”

“Tennis and boxing is an unexpected combo, but I kinda ship it.”

“Who is this nigga and why is he all up on my wife?”

“They look like they just kissed or are about to.”

“She’s pretty but he can do better.”

“Who the hell is she?”

“Tennis? Please. He’s out of her league.”

And all either of them could say was the same thing, again.

“Shit.”

@j0ysyndr0m3 @vile-harlot @inkdrippeddreams @imsohappyilovekbop @bbymuthaaa @healthenature @susanhill @lucidaquarian @sassymemoryelixir @turbulentvoids @xoxshayy @simonethefinest @kneelarmhstrung @kksmush @iheartamora @vaintya1 @yornayyy @thesolenicole @pytssamworld @babygirl-4986 @librexa @favoritten @alyssaficdir @greeneggsanpam @hairhattedhooligan @wildcardmelaninfreak @theunsweetenedtruth @thabiddie23 @michifilmz @lillijay @corvusmorte @inkdrippeddreams @planetk111

[my-name-is-apollo]

Did Euripides "hated" Apollo? I've been reading a book about ancient greek literature and when it talk about Euripides it said thay he had an adversion for the god Apollo, for how he is portrayed in his plays, but as far as i know, only in Ion he is portrayed in a negative light... He wasn't that bad in Alcestis for example...

I mean, I don't think that the way Euripides portrayed Apollo necessarily reflects how he actually felt about the god. We have to remember that the gods were not just characters to the Greeks, they were forces of nature. Just because playwrights used the gods as fictional plot devices in their plays to propagate their message/agenda, doesn't negate the fact that they also worshipped these gods. Euripides even served in Apollo's temple, apparently.

Besides, we have to remember that Apollo is actually praised at the end of play Ion. Athena talks about how Apollo had planned everything to make Ion the king of Athens, and even Creusa praises him despite being violated by him. So can one not make an argument that Euripides was asking the audience to trust in the gods, and actually praising Apollo? Euripides also had a habit of making his characters berate Apollo's prophetic abilities. Is it not possible that he was making a jab at the historic oracular practices in the Oracle of Delphi? I think it's a matter of perspective and interpretation. There's no way we can be sure of what Euripides truly thought of Apollo the god.

[ladylaviniya]

Devotion Under Duress Part 2

Part 1/Part 3

Story Synopsis: Ever since Apollo made you his bride, you have been at odds with the jealous Hyacinthus. Apollo decides that his lover and his wife need to make amends. He commands you both to have sex with each other while he watches and guides.

Word Count: 4k+

Pairings: Reader X Apollo X Hyacinthus

Story Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Vaginal sex, Oral sex (both m and f receiving and giving) Humiliation, Enemies to Lovers Cunnilingus, Ancient Greek God Mythology., threesome, hate-fucking.

Author Note: If you practice Hellenism, please know this writing may not be your cup of tea and you may feel a misrepresentation of the gods you might follow/show reverence for. I am writing this from the perspective of *Blood of Zeus Characters.*

Hyacinthus reached up, slowly, his hands flexing slightly as he unpicked the golden broach that held the fabric at his shoulder. The toga loosened, slipping from his hips to his feet. He removed his shoes. The only thing that he refused to remove was the emerald-jewelled necklace that hung around his neck and chest...it was a gift from Apollo. As far as you had been told and taught in the delphi temple, once Hyacinthus was a spartan prince who had suffered an accident in discus. Apollo saved Hyacinthus, healed him and fell in love, he offered the emerald necklace as a gift of proposal to join him in Olympus and live in immortality.

How ironic that Hyacinthus prince of Spartans looked down upon you for once being a pythia of Apollo in Delphi. 

You sat up slowly and cocked your head to the side.

It was then you realised you had never seen Hyacinthus so nude before in such clear light. When they made love besides you, often you rolled over, not interested to watch; that would’ve added salt to the wound of insult.

Hyacinthus’s member stood proud and erect, flushed a deep rose colour that darkened to a rich purple at the swollen tip. It curved slightly upward, thicker while shorter than Apollo's, you unconsciously noted.

His balls hung lower and heavier than the sun god's. You had expected something smaller if you were being honest. What struck you, though? He was entirely hairless to you.

Pre-cum beaded at the slit of Hyacinthus’s cockhead, a pearlescent drop that clung stubbornly to the tip.

He was hard...oh...he had enjoyed eating your pussy.

Hyacinthus’s breath stuttered, but it wasn’t awe that trembled through him.

His body stood bare before you, smiling tightly, his pride hadn’t been stripped so easily. Not yet. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles pale with the effort not to lash out with words, to retreat behind his flowery thorns.

You studied him. You saw him...

Not as a lover.

Not quite yet.

But a beast, craving the battle. Like a lion in the gladiators ring just awaiting for the doors to open. He wanted to tear you apart- again- it was not awe that made him tremble as he stood naked in front of you nor humilation...oh no, no, it was rage restrained. You knew it, you sensed it; he wanted to hate-fuck the ever-loving life out of you. Apollo was your only protector.

It shook your core as you stared at those hardened violet eyes.

Apollo cleared his throat, “Pythia,” he said, his golden eyes were hot for the stench of sex, “touch him.”

You didn’t move. You glared. Apollo’s face turned to you. You weren’t typically disobedient…

Hyacinthus scoffed, his lip curling as he turned slightly from you. “She won’t. She’s too afraid. Or too proud.”

“No,” you snapped, rolling your eyes. “I just don’t touch things that resemble a feral fucking animal.”

You felt Apollo’s sharp inhale. That made Hyacinthus look at you, really look, with eye contact. Those violet eyes, like the lion of your thoughts, were still filled with baited violence beckoning to you.

“Then maybe,” Hyacinthus said, stepping forward until the heat of his bare skin radiated against yours, “you should learn how to tame me, or maybe go back home if I scare you so, little Pythia.”

You raised your chin, hand lifting deliberately to press against his chest, palm flat, fingers splayed, not in affection, but in challenge. His heart was pounding. So was yours. 

“I don’t need to tame you,” you whispered. “Just outlast you. I wouldn't dream of running away.”

His breath caught. he bit his bottom lip, his eyes fluttered as he chuckled a groan, "Is that right? And why is that do you think?"

Apollo watched, silent now; this was no longer his scene. It was yours and Hyacinthus’s. A reckoning written not in blood, but in the friction of breath and need and begrudging recognition.

Your hand moved lower, slower now, sliding down the length of Hyacinthus’s chest. He didn’t stop you. Didn’t flinch. But his jaw was tight, every muscle beneath your touch taut with restraint. When you reached his cock, he gasped, just once, as if the sound had slipped through his pride. You grabbed him, rubbing up and down.

"Because I am not a fucking coward, I just know when to bide my time, when to be patient."

You didn’t smirk. You didn’t tease.

You met his eyes. 

“I should hate you,” you said, your voice shook as you swallowed, “I still might.”

He was so intimidating as he stood above you.

“Good,” he said, his voice rough, desperate, “because I still hate you too.”

But then he leant in.

And kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was punishing, teeth and breath and war. A kiss from someone who didn’t know whether they wanted to conquer you or fall. His hands cupped your neck and jaw, it was like he was begging, or was he just trying to overpower? you'd never truly know...

You kissed him back anyway.

Not because he deserved it.

But because you needed it.

Because whatever was between you had always been more than rage. It was a building fire and fury, yes, but fire could warm as easily as it burned. You were the match, and Hyacinthus had been spreading the dry leaves for weeks before Apollo could light it all up.

Hyacinthus broke the kiss, breathing hard. Your hand was still on him, picking up the pace and squeezing him tighter.

And neither of you had moved away.

And maybe, just maybe, something had begun.

Not love.

Not yet.

But the battle was changing.

And gods have always loved their chaos wrapped in passion.

Your breaths mingled, heavy with the weight of words unsaid. His eyes burned like twin pyres, and yours matched in kind. Not yielding. Never that.

But curious.

And willing to play with the hungry lion.

Apollo’s voice wove through the space between you, velvet and unyielding. “Now,” he said, from where he lounged like the sun itself incarnate. “Pythia. On your knees.”

Your breath hitched, not from fear, from the sharp click of your pride being tested.

Hyacinthus chuckled, “Of course. Make her kneel like a servant and call it divine love.”

Apollo’s eyes flicked to him, not angry, but cool. “Still so loud, my flower. She kneels not for you. But for me,” he said to you. “But make no mistake, Pythia. I do want you to suck his cock.”

You met Apollo’s gaze for a long, brimming moment. You sighed defiantly as you sunk to your knees.

You heard Hyacinthus’s breath falter again.

He hadn’t expected you to obey.

You tilted your chin up, looking at him from beneath your lashes. “This doesn’t mean I don't hate you,” you muttered, your fingers curling around the base of his shaft, "I am just not a coward."

He swallowed hard, a shiver running through him as your touch tightened. “I’d be disappointed if it did. I like putting you in your place.”

Your tongue flicked out, just barely tasting him, and gods, he was sweet. Clean, divine, like something grown in perfect sunlight. His cock jumped in your grasp, and for the first time, his pride seemed to waver. You licked again, this time slower. From the base, dragging all the way to the flushed tip where pre-cum gleamed like salted nectar. When you swirled your tongue over it, his thighs tensed. His breath was ragged and shallow.

Apollo hummed behind you, a sound of pleased indulgence. “You see, Hyacinthus?” he murmured, his voice like a kiss of sunlight. “See how she worships and loves me as she sucks cock. She learns. She submits. Not to you, but to me, through you. How does she feel in her worship?”

Hyacinthus groaned, head tipping back. “Fuck… she’s… she’s good.”

You smirked around him, lips wrapping tighter as you eased his cock into your mouth. Inch by inch, you took him deeper. It wasn’t about pleasing him; it was about commanding the moment. About showing him that even on your knees, you had power.

Hyacinthus' hand slipped into your hair, tentative and soft. You grunted and slapped it away.

“I didn’t say you could touch me, filth,” you said, pulling off with a wet pop.

Hyacinthus blinked down at you, flushed and disarmed. “You’re insufferable.”

You smiled sweetly. “You’re welcome.”

Apollo chuckled low in his throat. “Now, now,” he said, “be generous, Pythia. Finish what you started.”

You met Hyacinthus’s eyes again, both of you locked in that tension, that threadbare truce born of lust and lingering venom, and then you took him back into your mouth with slow, exacting purpose.

Hyacinthus moaned.

Not in triumph, oh but in surrender.

And it sounded a hell of a lot like defeat finally starting to taste like desire.

Hyacinthus’s breath stuttered in his chest, uneven and sharp, as you took him deeper into your mouth once more.

Your lips parted with practiced control, stretching wide around the thick heat of him. You felt everything: the twitch of his cock against your tongue, the faint tremble that travelled through his thighs as they tensed, and the quick, shuddering way his abs tightened every time you hollowed your cheeks and drew back with maddening patience.

You were merciless.

Not cruel. Not rushed.

Just deliberate, in the way he had been between your thighs. Hyacinthus looked down at you, his face caught between disbelief and desperatation. Gods, that was satisfying.

And then, Apollo moved. You hadn’t heard him. There was no sound. No shift of cloth, no footfall. Just presence. Apollo’s hand slid up to grab at your hair. You did not smack him away like you did to Hyacinthus.

he was not forceful, never that. It was commanding. He wrapped his fingers around the base of your skull, to dominate, to anchor you, as if to say, ‘Remember who watches, remember who commands this.’

He guided you, not with brute strength, but with an unbearable gentleness. Just a shift of pressure, just enough for you to take Hyacinthus deeper, until your throat clenched around him and he let out a broken, half-swallowed moan that felt like triumph.

You gagged only once.

“Good,” Apollo murmured above you, his voice thick as honey poured over fire. “Very good, my Pythia.”

His other hand followed, trailing over your back. Down the length of your spine, over the curve of your hip and thigh, until he found what he sought. Your warm and weeping little cunt. His fingers slipped between your thighs like they belonged there, like he already knew the shape of your want, like he’d memorised every shiver you had given him as his sweet pythia. You whimpered around Hyacinthus’s cock, and the vibration pulled another gasp from his lips.

You heard him curse under his breath, Fuck, and his hips twitched forward despite himself.

Apollo chuckled, fingers circling your clit with deliberate patterns.

“Shhhhhhh,” he whispered, pressing his mouth to your temple as his fingers dipped to tease your entrance. “You’re doing beautifully. But I want you to feel it, too.”

You moaned around Hyacinthus, your body trembling with the dual burn of giving and receiving. Of being used by a god and still choosing to make your enemy fall apart in your hands and mouth.

Hyacinthus’s fingers twitched at his sides.

Then, hesitant, he reached out. When his hand brushed your cheek, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t swot him away again this time. And that felt like victory to the flower god.

Apollo’s breath ghosted over your ear. “Look at you,” he purred. “So pretty when you stop pretending you don’t want to just fuck each other. You wear hate like armour, both of you. I have been watching you for weeks, just begging each other to fuck without realising it.”

Your brows narrowed, taking him down your throat. What did Apollo just say? Hyacinthus wanted you too?! But he had been so cruel, so jealous… You had been so timid and envious…

Hyacinthus whimpered. “She still hates me.”

You whined, your eyes watered. Hyacinthus was just as raw. Like he didn’t know whether he wanted it to still be true or not.

“She might,” Apollo said with a lazy smile in his voice. “But she’s sucking your cock while I finger her. That’s not hate, my flower. That’s devotion under duress.”

your mind thought about it for a moment, he had still made your life a miserable hell...Nope. You couldn’t admit it. No. You were too stubborn. After everything Hyacinthus put you through, you couldn’t just forgive him. You pulled back with a wet gasp, spit connecting from your lips to Hyacinthus’s cock in glistening strands.

Your nose flared, your voice came ragged, and your body felt impossibly hot, “I still fucking hate him. Fuck you, you flower prick...”

You turned your head slightly towards Apollo, meeting his gaze, those golden eyes that burned like judgement and summer. You gulped and leant back into him. He smiled again, slow and pleased, fingers slipping deeper into you with an elegant curl that made your hips jerk.

“Good,” Apollo purred, licking and sucking on your neck, below your ear, “Hatred makes the surrender all the sweeter.”

He didn’t chase your climax. He built it. Stroked it like a fire that should never burn too fast, like a prophecy that needed time to bloom. He was master of both things. 

Hyacinthus moaned, and this time, this time, his hand stayed on your hateful face. Not to guide. Not to claim. Just to feel. He didn’t fish his cock back into your mouth; he just let it hang, hard. It twitched. He wanted to rest, except Apollo hadn’t granted him the release.

And you, helpless in the hands of gods, let yourself moan into the curve of his thigh as your body trembled.

Between the three of you, this was no longer punishment.

Only transformation.

And none of you, none of you, would leave it unchanged.

Apollo, ever the conductor of chaos, was not finished.

“Enough,” he said softly, but the word cracked like a whip in the air. Fingers slipped free from your heat, and you whimpered at the loss, thighs twitching as slickness dripped down your legs. “You don’t get to release yet.”

“Lie back, my flower,” he said, no louder than before, but suddenly impossible to ignore. His hand slipped from between your thighs. He brought it to Hyacinthus’s chest, pressed it there, and pushed.

Hyacinthus stumbled back a step, frowning, confused. “What?”

“On your back,” Apollo said again, firmer now. “Now.”

And to your surprise, Hyacinthus obeyed. Not immediately, not without a scowl, but he lowered himself to the ground, propped on his elbows, legs spread, cock hard and aching against his stomach. His eyes found you again, dark and unreadable. Still defiant. Still proud. But waiting.

Apollo turned to you next.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his hand curled in your hair again, firmer this time, a silent command that made your spine straighten instinctively. “Get on top of him, little oracle. Face him.”

Your pulse stuttered.

You hesitated. Just a beat. Enough for your pride to whisper no, but not enough for you to listen. Because something in Apollo’s tone made resistance feel foolish and utterly futile.

And besides… part of you wanted this, now.

Not to submit. Not to yield.

But to confront. You obeyed.

You moved forward, straddling Hyacinthus’s hips, your knees on either side of his thighs.

Apollo crawled closer, not to touch, but to loom, to remind you both who ruled this altar of surrender. His heat radiated down on you like a second sun. You glanced up, expecting Apollo to claim you from behind, but he didn’t move forward. Instead, his gaze shifted, lazy, golden, and imperious, to Hyacinthus.

Apollo clarified, unbothered. “You’re going to ride him, and you are going to fuck up into her while you look at each other.”

Hyacinthus’s exhaled sharply, you did too.

“I want to see what hatred looks like,” murmured the sun god, tilting his head, “when it’s forced to watch itself unravel.”

Hyacinthus hesitated, pride, fury, and confusion all warring on his face. His cock was still hard, still glistening from your mouth, and yet… he looked like a man being dragged to the edge of something he couldn’t name.

You arched an eyebrow down at him. “What’s the matter?” you asked, voice raw, sweetly cruel. “Afraid to face me now? Is it you who should be branded a coward?”

That did it.

His eyes locked onto yours. That storm was still there: spite, shame, desire, and need. So much need it made your breath catch.

“Don’t think this means any fucking thing,” he said.

You reached up, fingers curling into the hair at the back of his neck, he groaned and bit his lip as you brushed your lips over his. he tried to kiss you but you pulled back with a smirk. Got him.

You hissed, "Then don’t look at me like it does.”

His cock brushed against your inner thigh, hot and needy, and you both hissed at the contact. You reached between you, lined him up, and sank down slowly, inch by inch, breath by breath, never breaking eye contact.

Hyacinthus’s head fell back with a choked sound.

You didn’t close your eyes. You watched him as he slipped inside you, watched the sharp inhale, the faltering exhale, the way his lashes fluttered, and his hands clenched into fists in the sheets trying not to just grab your hips and slam up into you like you knew he probably wanted to.

You hissed and moaned while he groaned beneath you, his head falling back against the pillows, eyes squeezed tightly, his breath sharp and uneven. But Apollo wasn’t having that.

“No,” the god said, fingers curling in Hyacinthus’s hair, yanking his head back just enough to make him see. “Eyes on her.”

Hyacinthus obeyed.

And you? You met his gaze without flinching.

Because, gods, it was intimate.

He lifted his hips, fucking you deep, up to the sky. You gasped. Not from pain, not even from pleasure. From vulnerability. From the terrifying realisation that this wasn’t a power play or a battle anymore, really.

This was exposure. a scheme by Apollo at his finest. 

Every time Hyacinthus moved inside you, your bodies shuddered in tandem. Every sound you made, he swallowed with his eyes. And every twitch of his hips only drew you closer to some brink neither of you could deny.

“That’s it,” Apollo whispered. “Look at her while you break.”

Your hands rose to Hyacinthus’s shoulders, nails digging in, not to hurt, but to just hold on steady. His rhythm faltered, his hips stuttering just as you both felt like the commanded eye contact was too much. Too real.

You licked your lips, panting. “St-still think I hate you?”

Hyacinthus’s expression cracked, just for a moment. “I hope you do,” he whispered back. “Because if this is love, I won’t survive it.”

You almost smiled.

Almost.

"Good, c-cause I do!"

He grunted and slammed up again, “Doesn't matter, because this doesn’t mean anything,” he growled. “You’re just a Pythian slut; I am a master of you and a humble servant to Apollo.”

You tried not to laugh.

You leant forward, bracing your hands on his chest, his emerald necklace threaded between your fingers, “Keep telling yourself that,” you whispered and winced, “Maybe you’ll believe it.” 

You were growing tired; you couldn't keep riding. You took a deep breath.

Apollo’s hands ghosted along your spine again. One settled on the nape of your neck, the other at your hip, steadying you, guiding you. He balanced you when your thighs grew weak before continuing.

“Good,” he murmured. “Just like that. Eyes open. Keep them on each other.”

And you did. A small pause helped you gain a second of energy.

You rolled your hips, slow and deliberate. Hyacinthus’s breath caught in his throat, and his hands finally, finally, grasped your waist, unsure if he was grounding you or himself. You moved in slow, grinding circles, drawing moans from both your mouths.

Apollo sat behind you, the ever-watchful god, radiating control without lifting his voice. He didn’t need to touch you now. He owned the moment with presence alone.

“Look at her,” he said to Hyacinthus. “See what a good little bride I have, and you want me to send her away? Don’t you feel that pussy of hers, Hyacinthus? Don’t you love it?”

Hyacinthus’s eyes locked with yours. He didn’t look away. Couldn’t. Not when your breath stuttered, not when your lips parted in pleasure, not when your body clenched around him. There was no mask left on either of your faces now. Just breathe and sweat and be honest.

“I…I am not supposed to feel like this,” he said, voice broken. “Not with you.”

You smiled then, small, pained, and victorious. “What? You don't hate me anymore? pity.... we might be even.”

Apollo’s hand slid into your neck hair again, curling there like a necklace of light.

“Now,” he groaned, “show him what it looks like when you worship me… Remember our nights in the temple?”

Your body surged into motion, no longer slow, no longer shy. You rode him with purpose now, hips snapping, thighs quaking, moans falling from your lips without shame. Hyacinthus held on, eyes wide, mouth open, cursing and gasping beneath you as his composure shattered.

This was no longer an argument.

It was a surrender you both swore unspokenly that you’d never give.

And Apollo watched, like a god surveying an altar drenched in sweat and sacrifice.

Because this was worship.

Messy, furious, inevitable.

And soon, one of you would break first.

The rhythm built, tight, punishing, all-consuming. Every thrust made Hyacinthus shudder beneath you, and every grind sent sparks shooting through your core. Sweat slicked your bodies, moans tangled in your throats, and still you kept eye contact like it was a duel.

“Ha! Pathetic!” Hyacinthus gritted his teeth, hands locked around your hips like he couldn’t decide whether to pull you down harder or push you away. “You’re going to release on my cock first,” he rasped, his voice fraying. “I can feel it; you’re already close.”

You arched your back, meeting each movement with sharp, deliberate force. “In your dreams,” you bit out, breath catching. “You’re twitching inside me like you’re about to lose it.”

“You wish,” he growled, but his voice cracked halfway through the sentence. “You’re clenching around me like you’re begging for it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’d never beg an animal like you.”

“Good,” he snapped. “Because I’d never give it to you, even if you did.”

“Please,” you sneered, grinding down harder, lips parting in a moan you tried to bite back. “You’d give anything to watch me fall apart; your pride is so obsessed with my downfall.”

“Well, yes, maybe I would give it to you," he chuckled, licking his bottom lip, "but only if I got to break you first.”

“You couldn’t.”

“I will. I was close at dinner; I was pretty fucking close when I ate out your pretty wet cunt, I think.”

You gasped as your clit dragged against his pelvis, your thighs trembling. He cursed under his breath, eyes locked on your face, jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack.

“Enough.”

You both froze.

Apollo stepped forward, his gaze cool and commanding as his fingers slid into your hair, tugging your head gently back so you had to look up at him.

“Neither of you,” he said, voice rich with quiet power, “gets to release until I say so.”

Hyacinthus’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Apollo raised a brow, as though mildly bored with your foolishness. “You heard me. You’re so desperate to win, to be the last one standing, yet neither of you has done the one thing that matters.”

His hand slid from your hair to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a warm, firm promise.

“You haven’t begged me, impressed me, or devoted this act to me- not truly.”

You and Hyacinthus went still beneath the weight of that command. Breathing hard. Muscles locked. Caught between fury and need.

“No,” you said, through clenched teeth. “I’m not going to beg to release, not until he has first.”

Hyacinthus echoed you immediately. “Fuck you. I’m not begging for anything!”

Apollo sighed, exasperated, almost fond. “Stubborn little things,” he said, tracing your collarbone with his thumb. “So willing to tear each other apart just to prove who lasts longer. But neither of you will get what you want without me.”

He leant close, his voice brushing the shell of your ear. “You serve me with your bodies. You bare your pride and your venom, like offerings on an altar. But until you submit, until one of you asks permission of me, there will be no release.”

You felt Hyacinthus twitch inside you, involuntarily. He groaned, head falling back, dragging in a breath like it hurt. You clenched around him in defiance, but the ache was unbearable. Your orgasm coiled, demanding, right there on the edge, but Apollo’s words had chained it.

And neither of you would say it.

Not yet.

Not him.

Not you.

You stared down at each other, sweaty, slick, furious, undone. Neither moving. Neither blinking. Still fighting with every breath.

Apollo just smiled, settling down behind you again, utterly calm. “Very well, then I suppose we wait.”

And you stayed there, locked together, trembling, denied, while the god between you wielded silence like a leash, and the only thing more unbearable than the pleasure was your shared refusal to break first.

The silence between you stretched thin as spun glass, trembling on the verge of breaking. Every breath was a battle. Every second, a war of restraint. You could feel the sweat dripping down your back and could hear the ragged breath Hyacinthus dragged in through clenched teeth beneath you. His chest stuttered against yours, skin hot and heaving, his cock still buried inside you like a taunt neither of you could take back.

And yet, you didn’t move. Not forward. Not back. Not even to ease the unbearable tension in your shaking thighs.

Apollo sat just above, carved from shadow and gold, lounging like the most wicked of kings. A god without mercy, without time to waste on mortal pride, but endlessly entertained by it.

“So much noise a moment ago,” he mused, his voice low and sweet like venom, fingertips grazing your spine. “Now look at you. Silent. Trembling.”

You gritted your teeth and lifted your chin, but it did little to mask the tremor in your limbs. You were still clenching around Hyacinthus, around your pride, around every humiliating ounce of need Apollo had conjured and refused to let you resolve.

Hyacinthus’s breath ghosted against your collarbone. You could feel the tension in his jaw, the fury in his stillness. You refused to look down at him. He refused to acknowledge how close he was, too. But you felt it, every twitch, every involuntary pulse. He was just as wrecked. And still, he hadn’t begged. Neither had you.

“Still so defiant,” Apollo murmured, pleased, drawing closer, his lips brushing the shell of Hyacinthus’s ear like a secret. “You’ll break first, beautiful boy. Look at her,” he said, eyes sliding to you. “She’d rather die than let you win. That’s not pride. That’s worship.”

He turned to you then, eyes sharp and amused. “But you? You’re already cracking. You’re shaking.”

“I’m not,” The denial sputtered out before it could take shape, your voice thin and unconvincing.

Apollo clicked his tongue, a sound like the closing of a cage.

“You are,” he purred, his hand ghosting up your ribs. “And I like that. I like watching pride unravel.”

Your glare turned downward. Right into Hyacinthus’s furious, flushed face. His hands gripped your hips like he was holding himself back from tearing you open or tearing himself free. You hated him in that moment. Hated the way his lips were parted, the way his gaze burned, not with lust, not only with rage, but with something dangerously close to reverence.

The pressure between your thighs pulsed, your nerves sparking with every heartbeat. You were right there, teetering on a blade’s edge, and the only thing holding you back was your fucking stubbornness. One word. That was all it would take.

One ‘please.’

But he didn’t deserve to hear it. And neither did Apollo.

A sigh echoed above you, exaggerated, theatrical, dripping with divine disappointment.

“Well,” Apollo said flatly, rising to his feet like a storm cloud about to break. “Clearly, we’re going to be here all night.”

Your stomach twisted. You glanced up.

“How utterly boring,” he added, his smile curling with cruelty.

Hyacinthus stilled beneath you. His voice was a growl. “Excuse me?”

“Oh,” Apollo said, feigning surprise. “Now you care.”

“New rule,” he declared, cool and bright as a blade. “If you won’t beg, then you’ll serve me another way.” 

His hand slipped under your jaw, fingers tilting your chin upward until your eyes locked with his. Apollo grinned at you.

“Compliment him.”

[decepti-thots]

Character ask for Ratchet?

one aspect about them i love: I really enjoy the fact IDW Ratchet is genuinely quite... maybe outright calling him 'arrogant' is overstating it a little, but you know what I mean? He's presented as having that very particular kind of 'if I can't and don't do this, nobody can and nobody will' which is both a kind of generosity (he'll go above and beyond if he thinks it's the right thing to do, without questioning whether he has to) and also very much cocky and even self-centered at times. (See: him never quiiiite getting around to handing off being CMO to First Aid, despite swearing he will, no, really...) He's so up his own ass at times, but also in that way where you can see how it stems from a very specific desire to be able to fix something. Excellent combination of traits. In a very weird and indirect way, he has just slightly more in common with Rodimus than I think he'd like to admit, in this regard, TBH. one aspect i wish more people understood about them:

Ratchet's kind of a judgey asshole with huge blindspots. Like. It's a pretty core character trait IMO! Once he forms an opinion his confidence in his own rightness makes it hard to shake him from it, and he's prone to taking his own faulty premises for granted enough that this can amplify his worst tendencies. You see it in everything from the way his self-directed insecurity over his failing hands is also representative of the fact he casually assumes his own inherent superiority as a forged medic, to the way in the Shadowplay flashback we see him be very casually dismissive of the seriousness of Drift's situation (he's very encouraging; but also very naive). And I think eradicating that tendency to see things from his own perspective (and for that perspective to be one that comes from a very specific background and experiences) from his character is really just sanding off the most fun parts of his personality. one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character:

He has a minor habit of being very precise and slightly obsessive about his fuel intake, because part of being a medic during the war was a combination of having to ration it out (dying patients need it, after all, and there's not much to spare) and needing to nonetheless be strict about not under fuelling to the point it impacted his ability to work. He hasn't really managed to shake the now-unnecessary balancing act post-war (because god forbid Ratchet admit he might have a problem with something).

one character i love seeing them interact with: I really do love all the times we see Ratchet and Rodimus interacting. They're like- juuuust missing each other constantly, I feel, in terms of what they want from the other and expect of them. Moments like how clearly Rodimus puts a lot of stock in whether or not Ratchet voted to remove him as captain, and how despite voting 'no' there's almost a level of respect in saying as much when given the opportunity, rather than simply walking away. Or when Ratchet tries to guess what will motivate Rodimus in that one scene towards the end of the Mederi arc and he's just not… quite right in his assessment of Rodimus and what he's like. There's a surprising level of tension there but not necessarily an antagonistic one, per se, and the degree to which Rodimus especially really wants Ratchet's respect and values it is very interesting to me. one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more: I know there's realistically not really anywhere it could be bar possibly like. The Functionist Universe's second arc or something (which I'm not fond of on the whole admittedly) but gosh, I wish we'd had just a little more of an idea of what Ratchet and Pharma's dynamic was like pre-Delphi breakdown. We get hints- Pharma clearly put a lot of stock in their friendship that he felt Ratchet didn't return (the flashback in Our Steps Will Always Rhyme showing he sought Ratchet's input on his reassignment and Ratchet ghosted him, and it's clearly something that bothers him), and there's stuff like the background cameo they do indeed get in an FU scene showing them socializing outside of work. But ugggh I want more details on what their dynamic was actually like, because they're both these very big personalities with a strong arrogant streak and it makes a lot of sense to me this would be what Ratchet liked about him and vice versa, and it would be so fun to see what that dynamic looked like in better times!

Unfortunately finding fan content about those two that isn't extremely uhhh fanonized is. Also hard. Sighs sadly.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character:

Ratchet was the one who finally broached to Drift that they should do the rites, because he correctly intuited that Drift had convinced himself that if he asked he would be turned down and it was better to simply avoid the topic forever, and so despite Ratchet really not wanting to have to be the one to get all sappy, needs must and all that.

[helpallthenamesaretaken]

You know how much you like the idea of a fic about Percy and Grover's time at Yancy together?

Nows your chance to write a little bit of it! That's my request! ^^

YEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSS 👹👹👹👹👹 *becomes the monster* (I had so much fun writing this tysm) also disclaimer this is LONG

Tagging people who agreed with me in my post where I asked for yancy academy recs (I became the rec): @modawg @merryberry56 @halloweenisbetterthanchristmas7 @faithandalaptop @halothenthehorns @river-childoftheocean

***********************************************

"You have to IM me every chance you get, okay?" Annabeth said, handing me all of my books. "And remember my training."

I fidgeted in my seat, almost exploding out of stress. "Training?" I yelped. "You mean the Mean Girls movie you made me watch? Annabeth, it's a high school movie. I'm not going to high school."

"I don't know!" Annabeth cried out, as the Delphi strawberry van pulled in front of Yancy Academy. "Look, I've not been to school in years. All I remember is that it's a social warzone. It's a survival of the fittest type of situation." she said, in her usual steely voice. She handed me my crutches. "The fate of that demigod in there depends on it. Your career depends on it. Good luck, soldier." That didn't help my stress.

After getting off the van and bidding a heartfelt goodbye to Annabeth, I searched for the entrance for ten minutes only to realise it was a big door right in front of me.

I shuffled inside with my crutches to see a bustling hallway. There were so many kids running around. I felt my anxiety turn on. How could I find the demigod here? Deep breaths, Grover, deep breaths.

"Hey, it's the new kid." I almost jumped out of my skin. I slowly turned around. A girl who looked like she was in my grade with fiery red hair and freckles all over her face was staring me up and down. Beside her was, what did they call it? Her clique. Immediately the demigod stench hit me. That was easy.

"Oh! I didn't know they accepted people like...you here." she said, with a mean smile. "Like...what do they call them? Disabled people?" She started to giggle with her friends, and I felt tears welling up in my eyes already. With anxiety pounding on my head and the overwhelming demigod smell that was burning off my smell receptors, I let out a sob. This was not easy.

"Oh great, now he's crying. The scrawny little disabled boy's a wimp. Who could've guessed? Hey, you should meet--"

Suddenly, a growling voice from behind me rang through the air.

"Seriously, Nancy?"

I turned around and saw him. He was a short kid who looked the same age as Nancy. He seemed to have been in the background, monitoring the situation the whole time. He had a messy mop of shoulder-length black hair, an oversized hoodie that definitely went against the dress code, and green eyes that screamed danger.

"I don't know why they accepted people like you here." His eyes narrowed. "Like...what do they call them? Morons? Yeah, definitely."

Nancy let out an offended squeak, but the dude didn't stop. "You know what? Maybe you should know how it feels. Why don't I help YOU get some crutches? It's easy, all I have to do is break your--" Nancy shrieked and ran away, calling out the names of every teacher she knew. The boy started to walk away quickly.

I felt my heart beat relax, but the strong demigod smell still lingered from Nancy. I looked to the boy and started running towards him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I cried out. "I'm Grover Underwood, and it's my first day here, and--"

The boy turned around and said casually, "It's cool. Don't mention it." He kept on walking. I tapped his arm. He glanced back at me, and met with my signature big sad brown eyes.

"Will you please show me where my classes are?" I pleaded. "You're the only one who looks nice enough to help me."

The boy looked thrown off, and glanced down at himself as if checking to see whether he was still him. He shifted awkwardly. The big brown eyes seemed to have worked. "Uh, of course. Yeah."

Good. My plan was set. I'd follow this guy for a few days, just to get used to school. Then I'd ditch him and focus on getting Nancy to camp. I have a year. I could do it. I think.

"What's your name?" I asked.

He held out his hand. "I'm Percy," He looked guarded again. "But most people know me as the local candy dealer. If you need some of the good stuff, come to my dorm right before curfew. Don't tell anyone though."

He sounded completely serious.

The last time I had to deal with this kind of a gremlin was when I first met Annabeth. For a second, I wondered how they would get along if they met, but then I remembered that they would never meet at all.

"You coming, Grover?" I silently prayed to every Olympian. "Yeah!" I weakly exclaimed, before following him.

********(time skip of a month)*******************

I was never going to get used to school life. It was a nightmare. Apparently, you have to do work even after school? What level had humanity sunk to? I missed camp, eating soda cans, and sleeping on the green grass of the forests. Why weren't mortals like that too?

I mostly stuck to Percy's side the whole month. He was mostly indifferent to me, but I guessed he was still in the process of warming. That didn't stop us from having lunch together silently, watching the television in our dorm room silently and sitting together in class silently.

Every once in a while, Percy would just be staring at me as if trying to figure me out, and sometimes he would make conversation shyly. Nancy, well, she wasn't bothering me when I was with him. But seeing the way that she glared at us, I could tell she was going to start again any day now.

One day, we were sitting together at our usual lunch table. Nancy was sitting across the room, and I could still feel her demigod smell radiating strongly. I'd made a bunch of theories and I had reached the conclusion that she was probably a super powerful Ares kid or something. But Ares kid never had that powerful of a scent....

After finishing our lunches, Percy took out a notebook and furiously started to scribble something with his legs shaking. "What's wrong?" I asked.

He looked up at me, and his usual narrowed eyes were widened with genuine fear. He started rambling. "Well, I have this English homework that I have to finish for Mr. John's class and I procrastinated and now the next class is English and I can't figure out what this says, and I--" He stopped.

"Wait..." I said. "You can't read that?"

Percy averted his eyes. A blush spread on his face. "I...I can't read and write. It's this thing called dyslexia. I can't sit still either. ADHD. I guess I forgot to mention. Or maybe not. I just didn't want to be judged or something? I don't know." My heart rate went up. ADHD? Dyslexia?

I looked at him surprisedly, trying to ignore the sirens going off in my brain. "I'm really happy you felt comfortable enough to tell me. And... I would never judge."

Percy suddenly looked at me, his eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Of course! I could help you with reading things out for you or keeping you on track with your schedules if you'd like." Just then, Percy smiled for the very first time. It was a pure, brilliant smile and it was a side of him I'd never seen in the one month of me knowing him.

Suddenly, I heard Nancy's voice from behind me. "Hey, 'special' kids!" Suddenly, I felt the demigod aura overwhelming my senses. I looked back at Percy, and his eyes were narrowing. The smell grew stronger and stronger as Percy's face morphed into a glare.

"Nancy, I'm warning you right now."

"The mental kid," drawled Nancy. Percy didn't respond. "And the crippled kid. How cute!" Then Percy snapped and flew at Nancy. A bunch of kids gathered around to see the fight, while I looked on in fear, realising that the smell was coming from Percy. It was genuinely hurting me every time he threw a punch. This wasn't normal

The situation escalation when I heard a pipe burst somewhere and the violent sound of water gushing out. Oh. my. gods. "PERCY JACKSON!" I heard the principal's voice over the intercom. "TO THE PRINCIPAL'S ROOM. NOW."

Everyone started laughing as Percy kept himself together and stormed out of the room. He glanced at me, and for a second they were broken, guilty and maybe even scared that I wouldn't like him the same way anymore.

I went back to my dorm after school and I found myself pacing the room anxiously. The ADHD and dyslexia. The strong smell whenever Percy was conveniently in the same place as Nancy. The bursting pipe. Percy Jackson wasn't your average weirdo candy dealer. He wasn't a normal demigod either. I needed to tell Chiron and Annabeth immediately.

Then, it hit me. Percy was in the principal's room now. If he got expelled, it would mean that I failed. And though I was obviously scared to fail at my job, a part of me didn't want Percy to be expelled out of pure concern. I had gotten attached to Percy. We weren't just satyr and demigod. We were friends.

I tried to keep myself calm. Then, I heard Percy's footsteps walking up to the dorm. I whipped around to see the kid weakly smile up at me. "Hey, I didn't get expelled. Can you belie--" I was so relieved, I tackled him in a hug before he finished his sentence. "Good. I don't want you to pack your bags and go away, Percy. I want you to stay." I mumbled in his shoulder.

I pulled away quickly. Percy's eyes were shining and he had a wide grin on his face. "Seriously?" he giggled.

"Yes." I clutched his arm tightly. "You, sir, are not getting away with stuff like that again. Not on my watch." Not when my license depends on it, I thought.

Not when the fate of your life depends on it.

******************************************

thanks for reading <3 !! and as always, constructive criticism is always accepted!

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hey! i’m not sure whether you’ve read the percy jackson books or not, but i was wondering — in which cabin would you place harry? like, which god would he be descended from?

i’m only asking because, well, first of all i’m genuinely curious, and second of all it’s become somewhat of a trend on tiktok — this thing with placing characters from different fandoms into each cabin. and many many people associate harry with zeus, i assume because of the lighting which supposedly ties in with his scar?

i mean, yes, i could see that working for harry, what with him being quite a good leader when he needs to be, the fame tied to his name, etcetera.

buuuuut i would strongly consider him as being a descendant of hades. just to list off some of their core powers: necromancy, sensitivity to death, they can sense/see someone’s life aura and there’s also a skull ring which makes the nearest dead restless upon twisting it. like come onnnnnnn

I have read Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus series (though, I consider the second of these and all subsequent series non-canon, and it's why I didn't watch the new show. I just think Rick Riordan doesn't actually know his own characters. When I read HoO, Percy was just, not Percy, and it annoyed me so much I dropped the series after Mark of Athena, but I digress). I used to love the PJO books in, like, 7th grade. I was a PJO girl before I was an HP girl.

(I also reread the first 3 PJO books 4 years ago, so I remember some stuff from it. Not as much as I remember for HP, but when I was 12 I could just, recite the entire first PJO book. I can't do so anymore)

Honestly, the lighting shape of Harry's scar has more to do with Hades than with Zeus. In HP, lighting is repeatedly used as a symbol of death:

Harry's scar, left behind by the Killing Curse is shaped like lightning.

When Dumbledore is killed by the same curse, the Astronomy Tower is referred to in the chapter title as "The Lightning-Struk Tower".

When Harry describes the killing curse, it's described as "lightning-like":

“Avada Kedavra!” The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glare like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut. . . .

(DH, 296)

Harry's scar is lightning shaped because it symbolizes death.

Not to mention the Deathly Hallows and him being the Master of Death and an actual descendant of the Peverells who made them. Like you said, there's a lot to support that he's a descendant of Hades based on it.

Not to mention he really does feel death, or, at least the Killing Curse as I mentioned in this post:

Moody raised his wand, and Harry felt a sudden thrill of foreboding. “Avada Kedavra!” Moody roared. There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air — instantaneously the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead. Several of the students stifled cries; Ron had thrown himself backward and almost toppled off his seat as the spider skidded toward him. [...] So that was how his parents had died . . . exactly like that spider. Had they been unblemished and unmarked too? Had they simply seen the flash of green light and heard the rush of speeding death, before life was wiped from their bodies?

(GoF, 216)

But, I also want to bring up the fact that Harry speaks Parseltongue into consideration.

This brings up the caduceus, Hermes' staff, which has two intertwined snakes or the Rode of Asclepius, which is a staff with one snake coiling around it — both staffs are connected to medicine and the god Apollo (Apollo gifted Hermes his staff and is the father of Asclepius). And Apollo is associated with snakes in his stories in general, so, you could make an argument for the Apollo cabin as well.

The snake specifically references Apollo's victory over Python and the establishment of the Oracle of Delphi. So the snake, as a symbol of Apollo, represents prophecy (and that's just as relevant to Harry’s life as death. Apollo as the god of medicine and plague is also associated with death, albeit from a different angle). Not to mention, Crows/Ravens as messengers of prophecy are also symbols of Apollo. Harry's talent as a flyer and his love of gold things fits with Apollo better than with Hades (in PJO, Apollo is the driver of the sun chariot, not Helios. Giving us flight and gold).

(And Harry spends so much time in the hospital wing, yk...)

Also, Harry's polyjuice potion turns gold. Gold is a color usually associated with the sun in alchemy, so it also lends itself to Apollo (and godly ichor in PJO, in general, but the series aren't working with the same rules of magic).

So, I can see an argument for either Hades or Apollo, really. (These are the two I thought of at least when I saw your ask).

Personally, I think a more distant Hades descendant on his father’s side (Peverell) and then Lily as a daughter of Apollo could be really fun for Harry. Becouse he'd be placed in the Apollo cabin but have the aura of a Hades kid (and have more Hades powers than Apollo ones. Like, he'd speak to snakes (Apollo) with no healing or musical ability whatsoever, but could sense death and have the fear aura, but not constantly (Hades)), and he'll just confuse everyone, and I think that'll be funny.

(I just want him to have both James and Lily as parents! I can't give up on either of them and make him a full demigod! Maybe they had a threesome with Apollo/Hades instead of the above, and godly genetics made it work, so Harry has three parents in this AU? Then he'd be like Gilgamesh)

[luriwoo]

true love ㅡ sungho

ೃ ⠀ㅡ part 1⠀◞♡⠀⠀part 2 (coming soon!)

୧ ⋅ pairing. eros!sungho x psyche!f!reader

୧ ⋅ genre. fluff, slight angst, greek mithology!au

୧ ⋅ summary. have you ever wondered if the god of love can fall in love?

୧ ⋅ warnings. greek gods, sungho as "eros"(cupid) and son of aphrodite, y/n as "psyche", mention of sacrifices and monsters, envy, probably jst slight angst, slight use of swearing/cursing, ooc, reader has a slight exact description, i tried to make more sense of this so i added a few things but the story is not altered ´ ᵕ ` probably grammatical errors, if i missed something please let me know!!

୧ ⋅ wc. 1.4k

net. @onedoornet

Once upon a time, a king and queen had three beautiful daughters, so beautiful that even people traveled from all over the cities to get a glimpse of them. That's what your two older sisters tried to believe.

The people who were so eager to visit the three, actually only did so to admire the beautiful youngest princess, you. You were so beautiful that people even believed your beauty could compare with the goddess Aphrodite, or even better, maybe you were her in person. Your eyes that stood out on your beautiful face, your reddish lips and pretty nose, with shiny and wavy hair, denoting between your soft hands your nails dyed f/c.

Even neighbor cities believed in their judgment so much that they stopped making sacrifices to praise the true goddess because, what would be the need to do it when she was among them?

Since your childhood, you were always the object of admiration and envy for your great beauty and people celebrated for it. And you, terrified that the gods would take revenge against them, your kindness tried to dissuade the divinities, although without any success, of course.

When the goddess Aphrodite found out that her followers stopped praising her, she became enraged, felling completely humiliated; You were such a simple mortal much more inferior to her. It was then that she called one of her sons, Sungho (like the god of love, passion and fertility) with the great objective in mind of just wanting to make you suffer.

"Make this young woman fall madly in love with the last of men, with a cursed fortune in his social position, heritage and personal integrity of which there can be no other wretch comparable to him" Aphrodite snapped at her son.

And with no other option but to accept, he carried out his mother's command. Conducting a light but arduous search, he found said man, who was left in front of your large balcony, with no one else around him so he would be completely at your first sight.

Sungho, hiding under said balcony and ready to shoot a beautiful arrow of pure gold in your direction, got completely amazed the moment you came out through your large window and looked out over your balcony, with the moonlight beautifully detailing your face along with your pretty white silk dress. It was then that from between his long fingers, the golden arrow slowly slipped, accidentally pricking himself with it.

Sungho, the god of love, had fallen in love with you.

On the other hand, your dear father thought about how tired he was of you, don't misunderstand him, it's not that he hated you but unlike your older sisters, you were the only one who hadn't married yet, they even lived with their husbands but you...

As you matured and your beauty increased more and more with the passage of time, you felt like your life slowly became more and more miserable.

You were so beautiful that friends, people of your age and men ran away from you, they believed that you had to be seen and flattered and all de good in the world. Even men didn't ask for your hand because they were scared and couldn't be worthy of your love since you could only feed their hopes, they thought.

So, in a moment of stress, your father already tired of the situation, came to the conclusion that he needed some help, so he decided to embark on a journey to be able to consult the oracle of Delphi in person and ask about your future and dispel all his doubts.

Once your father was on the great Mount Parnassus, he entered to the place and walked until he noticed how in front of him there was a large temple surrounded by springs and fountains, noticing a figure prostrate on a large chair in the center of it, surrounded by a small group of people. And your father, approaching slowly but with a sure step, stood in front of Pythia, the person in charge of the sanctuary "Oh, oracle, will my youngest daughter, y/n, be able to find a husband?"

And the oracle, with a cup in his hand, firmly answers: "On a high mountain rock set up a funeral chamber and in it your daughter dressed in rich finery. Do not expect a son-in-law of mortal lineage, but a cruel monster with the ferocity of a viper, that has wings and flies through the ether, that sows seasoning everywhere, that methodically destroys everything with blood and fire. Before whom Zeus himself trembles, the divinities cower in fear, and the infernal rivers and the darkness of the styx retreat in horror."

Upon hearing those words, your father instantly regretted having visited the oracle in the most profound way, thinking with fear, what kind of creature makes Zeus himself tremble? The most powerful greek god of all?

When the rest of your family and the village found out, they all cried a lot, as if you were destined to die the worst.

And your older sisters, who envied you to death, jumped for joy at your departure behind everyone's backs.

Finally, after a short jog, with a little help they placed you on top of a rock, with a large cliff behind you, and before they even had the chance to say goodbye to you, a great gust of wind came, disappearing you instantly in the blink of an eye. It was Sefiro, the one in charge of taking you to a large forest, leaving you in the middle of nowhere among leafy trees around, who after completing his task, suddenly disappeared.

While you were looking for a way out, a huge palace appeared before your eyes, made of rubies, sapphires and gold. Thinking it was the monster's house, you distrustfully walked to the entrance and when you tried to knock the door it opened automatically. It was then that you decided to enter slowly, noticing the large gold columns, with long silver walls and floors of inlaid stones with various animal sculptures adorning the surroundings, among other things.

Suddenly you heard a voice beside you murmuring "Why don't you rest ma'am? This is your new house and you will have all the time in the world to admire it."

You looked around trying to find the origin of said voice, and although you thought you had hallucinated, you asked to the air "Who spoke?" with great curiosity.

"Me, my lady. You can't see us because we're invisible. We're your maids, and your husband will come at night." When you heard those words, you felt a knot growing in your stomach suddenly. Then you noticed how a nice nightgown was approaching you, hearing a different voice say "this is your nightwear, i hope you like it, if you need anything you just have to talk, even if you don't see us we are everywhere and at your service, please, follow us." And amazed by this fact, you followed the instructions that the voices were telling you, guiding you to your new shared room.

A few moments later when night came and after finishing getting ready for bed, you laid down on the bed exhausted, thinking about everything that had happened in less than a day, nervous about the fact that you would soon meet your so-called husband. Feeling completely horrified when the lights went out and someone lying behind you, suddenly you heard a male voice spoke.

"Hello, I am your husband. I know it's quite strange, but you can't see my face, the darkness is an extra precaution. What I ask of you is that you'll never try to see me, looking at me would destroy everything. And I know this is the first time we've spoken, but I love you and I know that our relationship will last. Please, y/n, I wish that you love me just as much as I love you; we can live together in this palace forever."

When you heard those words, you felt completely enchanted and amazed, his words sounded so warm and soft that you felt like you couldn't possibly deny his requests.

"I don't love you just for your beauty, I mean, I know you're really beautiful, but I love you for how you dealt with everything. I love you because you're kind and you never stopped honoring the gods, no matter how horrible your situation was. I love you because you're perfect, perfect for a man like me." Sungho murmured affectionately behind you, gently taking a lock of your hair in his hands, looking at you completely lost in thought.

That was it, for the first time in all your years of life you really felt it; the true love.

"Are you a monster? Are you an evil creature?" you asked curiously, watching the big wall in front of you.

"No, of course not."

"Then, kiss me please."

[eu-nicola]

Beyond Friendship - Percy Jackson x Reader

summary: In a journey of years, you and Percy discover that your connection goes beyond friendship.

warnings: without ( maybe clarify that I don't like what I wrote )

thanks to @lady-ashfade for the amazing divider

You and Percy were in front of the mysterious Oracle of Delphi. With determination in their eyes, they decided to accept this journey so that no one else would have to go through any danger. You didn't imagine that such a mission would ever be given to you, but you were still willing to do your best to emerge victorious.

Not even a week had passed that you and Percy had already set out on the path for this task, you certainly still had a long way to go but with Percy by your side things became easier for you.

“Do you think we're ready for this?” Percy asked you.

“Yes, I believe it, we are children of our Gods and that makes us stronger and more intelligent, that's what my mother always tells me.” You answered him while you settled on a couch in a hotel that your mother had arranged for you to get to.

“Have you always been close to your mother?”

“As far back as I can remember, she claims me from the first minute i arrived at the camp. I felt honored to be her daughter.”

“I'm glad that at least one is close to a God.” While Percy was saying all this you could tell how he really wanted to be close to his father.

“The gods act in strange ways, don't worry, I'm sure your father wants the same thing, it's just difficult.”

"I guess so".

"Percy, you know we should start planning what we're going to do." You asked him.

“Yes, well, I haven't thought about it much. Do you have any idea?".

“Maybe we should go to the temple of Athena, there is a hidden library there.” Said.

“That sounds good but now I want to sleep, rest.” After that you and Percy fell asleep as fast as you could.

As the days went by and you investigated the clues, you and Percy without realizing it became closer and every time you spent time together you got along better. Percy's bravery and cunning complemented perfectly with your beauty and insight.

In every dangerous situation both found themselves in, supported each other, trusting in yours abilities and the special connection they had discovered. Together, they overcame obstacles, faced mythological creatures, and challenged powerful enemies trying to stop them.

With each step they took, the enigma slowly unraveled. You and Percy discovered that the Oracle of Delphi held dark secrets that threatened the fate of the demigods and the balance of the world.

Armed with their bravery and determination, they faced the powerful enemies that protected the Oracle. They no longer seemed like just two children but rather young people willing to do whatever was necessary to protect their loved ones.

This journey had lasted for years where you had made new friends and new people had joined you in the same situation, in that time you and Percy realized how much you had learned from each other. Their connection had grown into something more than friendship.

Together, they continued to face challenges and celebrate each achievement. Their connection grew even stronger, becoming an inseparable team. At the end of your journey, you and Percy had completed everything and solved the riddle, which had taken you down difficult but never impossible paths.

When they finally returned to Camp Half-Blood, their names were already echoing throughout the camp and even Olympus, for now everything was at peace and they hoped it would stay that way.

[hedwig221b]

omg qween goddess supreme hedwig221b can you please, pretty please rec me some regency and/or historical sterek 🥹

hoping you have a good day/night (idk your timezone lol)

Hi, love! You know me so well... historical aus, my beloved 💜

When All the Pieces Fit by NARKOTIKA

"Does he even realize? With the cooking and cleaning andandand—now this fucking baby?" Isaac fumes. Said baby waves its fist in the air, and Stiles bends to haul him onto a hip. The baby babbles something and Stiles nods his head with complete seriousness, as if everything out of its mouth is perfectly sensible and coherent. Then the kid starts mouthing at Stiles' nipple through his dress and everyone goes dead silent. "I'm going to wife him so hard," Ethan announces, and they all break out into argument over who has the best chance at mating the boy in the river.

Elskende by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Stiles is an omega concubine, kept sequestered away in the city of Beacon Hills, waiting for his lord Gerard Argent when the Wulver take the city and the alpha takes the omega.

Pride and Place by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Derek Hale, Earl of Osterbrook, has inherited, following the death of Lord Montfort, a run down house in Yorkshire he neither needs nor wants, convinced his staff are robbing him, and with the mystery of a missing ward, he manages to get himself talked into a ridiculous bet, that he cannot pass as a steward until Midwinter, nearly two months away. So can he maintain the charade? Find the missing child? and manage to turn the shambles of a house around, or will he give up and let Peter take the thousand pounds he bet.

A Princely Knight by Dexterous_Sinistrous

He would stand by Stiles’ side, a constant shadow of protection until his death. A life for a life, one worth much more than an orphan turned thief turned royal guard could comprehend. In truth, Derek saw the one person he would gladly give his life for, because Stiles made this world better. ~*~ Or, Stiles is a prince and Derek is his knight.

Meant to be One by sunhazeheart

His nerves felt like a live wire was running hot beneath his skin, hands fidgeting with the silken material of his robe. If he had the concentration to spare, he might had worried about tearing it. It was all he could do to sit there at the vanity, eyes squeezed shut, and try to give in the constricting pressure around his chest that said that he was about to fall into a panic attack. Breath in. Breath out. His own heartbeat rushed in his ears. Being mated to the reclusive king with a frightening reputation to his name, bundled away from his home and father, and then surrounded by underwhelmingly distant faces hiding secrets was not how Stiles Stilinski imagine spending his life soon after turning eighteen. He can only remind himself that it is for the good of his people, both old and newly acquired. But, perhaps first assumptions are made too hastily and a fated match can be made, even surrounded by threats of war, revenge and death’s waiting embrace.

The Wolf Lord by mikkimouse

"You never know," Lydia said. "Perhaps the Wolf Lord will ask you to dance tonight." Stiles scoffed. "Oh, yes, of course he will. And then he'll transform into a giant black wolf and whisk me away to his estate to live happily ever after." He rolled his eyes at the thought. "Actually, I rather hope he does ask me to dance. I can tell him how ridiculous these masquerades are."

To Whom The Wolf King Bows by MadcapRomantic

Stiles Stilinski meets The Wolf King, the very boogeyman he'd spent his younger years terrified of; yet the man is little, if anything, like the tales he's heard. But, Stiles has spent the last ten years of his life as a slave, under the harsh whip of the cruel King Gerard Argent, and trusting Derek - trusting anyone - is beyond difficult.

Where the Shadow Ends by Green

Derek goes undercover to Delphi to figure out what's wrong with the oracle. He doesn't mean to fall in love.

The Hills Call

Five years ago, Prince Derek of the Hale Empire had fallen for the son of a Baron, Genim of Stilinski. His mother had not approved, and after some time imprisoned Genim escaped to the Dukedom of the Shore, where he was taken in by Duke Christopher and Lady Allison. Now, Prince Derek is on his deathbed from a poisoning and it is up to Genim, now called Stiles, to nurse him back to health. Wary of the Hale Empire, Stiles returns with their young son to see if he can heal Derek of his illness and escape the threats he still feels from the Empress herself.

The Light in the Woods by DiscontentedWinter

To honour a treaty with the people of a strange land, Derek Hale, prince of the kingdom of Triskelion, has to marry Stiles.

I encourage you heavily to go through the works of Dexterous_Sinistrous and DarkAthena (seraphim_grace), these two are my crushes and I am in awe of their work, it's so good. I could genuinely sit here and list dozens of their fics - I already did list some of my most beloved fics of theirs...

[masterlist link]

[shrimpalbuspotter]

What's the thing that stands out to you the most about albus and by extension his relationship with scorpius?

I'm gonna give 2 answers for this but they technically intermingle: One thing that stands out to me about Albus as a character, and one thing that stands out to me about his relationship with Scorpius.

Albus is a character who wears his emotions on his sleeve, even if he doesn't want to. This means we know alot about the motives behind his actions that run deeper than just "I want to save Cedric Diggory because my dad sucks." He's surly, self isolating, grumpy, and often seems rather anxious.

I think the thing that stands out the most to me is actually his relationships with others.

Albus has one friend, Scorpius. You can clearly see that Albus felt comfortable the moment he talked to him on the train, all awkward smiles and giggles. Then, when his cousin (who he grew up with), deemed he wasn't a good fit to be a friend and told Albus they were leaving, he outright denied her.

Cut to a while later, and Albus becomes a shut in. Its never explicitly shown but I take that when McGonagall called Albus "Isolated and surly" she was referencing to him refusing to make other friends. I don't doubt there were people who did try and befriend Albus despite him having a reputation, I just think Albus refused to give them the time of day. He had been laughed at and ridiculed by other students tons of times before, he learned to rely on gut feelings. If Albus doesn't immediately feel like he can trust you, he won't trust you, and it'll take a hell of a long time to change that due to his relentless stubborn. Plus his general opinion of the student body is already more terrible because he knows how everyone in Hogwarts feels about his bestfriend, who he deems more important than anyone else.

Cut yet again! Rose attempts to talk to Albus on the train to Hogwarts as they enter fourth year. Rose seems like she wants to make amends, trying to get Albus to talk to her and apologise, but Albus is still not having it. He sees through her, he knows his cousin. She'd never apologise herself, even if she knows she's wrong. Albus doesn't want to be pitied, and he also knows how rude Rose can be to Scorpius. So once again she's shut down.

Then we move on to him meeting Delphi, and there's something different. He seems slightly confused at first, but he relaxes as she talks. Albus sees this dorky, quirky lady, who talks about how people would make fun of her as a kid, and he automatically trusts her. It was definetly an odd feeling to have, because the only other person he'd felt that from was Scorpius, but Albus has an issue where he sets people he cares about on a pedestal and finds it almost impossible to imagine them doing any wrong, or expects them to always act a specific way. Delphi was in Albus' circle now, and he wanst planning to lose that.

But... then we notice something. Albus becomes slightly distant towards Scorpius whenever Delphi is around. He thinks he really likes her, and he knows she's practically a stranger but he swears there's this magnetic pull that just makes him want to be around her all the time. Scorpius is sort of jealous, but he's happy Albus has made a friend.

It's been pointed out before that majority of Delphis personality was took from Scorpius because she knew that would make Albus like her more. And it worked. She knows Albus find it difficult connecting with people he cant relate to, so she talked about her issues with expectations and not asking to be born into the family you were. (OK this is getting off topic let's go back on track).

In summary, how Albus finds it so incredibly difficult to connect with people then, when does, holds them so close to his heart, is what stands out most to me. Its crucial! Albus is not a person who trusts easily, but he takes great pride in those he can call his friend, even if it's few (cough ONE cough).

On that note... Answer 2. What stands out to me most about Scorpius and Albus's relationship? (Let's go the romantic route)

For me, its the way they are so different from every other ship. I don't think you can compare them to anything, because it won't be the same.

I see alot of people say its a parallel to Wolfstar but... it isn't. Alteast not how they'd be in canon. Because the Dynamics are completely different, and so are the characters personalities.

I think how unique their relationship is is what makes it so special. They were both misunderstood kids who realistically should've despised eachother just like their parents, but they didn't. They took comfort in eachothers presence and didn't care that everyone bullied them, because atleast they were together. Albus would end the world for Scorpius, and Scorpius would save the world for Albus. And it isn't even a Gryffindor/Slytherin relationship either! Which the fandom seems to like alot!

They are two bestfriends, from the same house, who would rather be with eachother than anyone else in the world. The closest thing to soulmates you're gonna get.

Anywhoooo that's my answerrr thank you for the ask anon I was in my feels beforehand and then I got to rant it all out on my favs

[decepti-thots]

one of the overlooked things about Pharma in the Delphi arc is how cold he is. the more manic and emotionally volatile energy he brings post-Delphi gets grafted backwards as some inherent part of his personality all along but while we see the cracks showing here that led him to do all this in the first place, the vibe is very different. he's not flinching as he cold-bloodedly frames his completely innocent peer by deliberately, knowingly playing on the likely prejudices (or assumed prejudices) of those around him. this is a pre-mediated thing that only works if he's acting very stoic and reasonable about it all, planned in advance. conversely, it's also why the 'Pharma isn't even actually the bad guy, he was just stuck in an impossible situation until that dick Ratchet overreacted and ruined him!' take is wrong. that might have been true to an extent if all Pharma had done was kill patients that he felt would otherwise be murdered en-masse by the DJD anyway to protect some of them, and his coworkers. but now, he's progressed to killing everyone anyway and framing Ambulon not for any hope it will spare more people in the end than he kills, but because he's terrified of being found out as the person who did it; and that's not actually a thing he has to do at all! if everyone else is going to die anyway by this point, he could come clean when help arrives... but he knows he might face consequences for doing so. that's what turns Pharma's actions on Delphi from tragic but largely outside his control into something far less easily absolved.

the animosity ratchet has towards him later is also grafted backwards and not only not present here, but literally the only reason any of this works is that Ratchet thinks highly enough of Pharma he even floats the idea of making him CMO once all this is over, so he's not immediately suspicious. which suggests that this crack in Pharma's principles is brought on by the stress of his situation on Delphi, because I can't imagine Ratchet would trust him at all if this was behaviour anyone would expect of him on the regular.

so Pharma's not always been the enormously volatile, emotionally impulsive bad guy he becomes after this, and he also wasn't some sort of pure victim of circumstance who it's unreasonable Ratchet etc treat as a threat that needs taking out and treat harshly. and the main thing that gets overlooked in both cases in how people remember his character here, i think, is this moment: the calculated, pre-mediated framing of Ambulon, specifically chosen because he is vulnerable to what Pharma's trying to pull. (both because of being a Con, and Pharma's knowledge of his alt-mode hangup.)

or, in his own words:

"too many questions."

[nyxdreamweaver]

Meeting the Cabin of Eternal Nap Time

Jason's POV

Word count: 4,906

Warning: Spoilers to TLH, grammar issues, the HOO canon has derailed and crashed into the Grand Canyon!!

Likes ❤️, reblogs 🔁 and comments 💬 are much appreciated :3 Lmk if you want to be tagged for the next updates

Ao3 link

<<Previous Next>>

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Jason and the redhead, who introduced herself as Rachel, and Annabeth put Piper on the couch while Silena rushed down the hall to get a med kit. Piper was still breathing, but she wouldn’t wake up. She seemed to be stuck in some kind of coma.

“We’ve got to heal her,” Jason insisted. “There’s a way, right?” Seeing her so pale, barely breathing, Jason felt a surge of protectiveness. Maybe he didn’t really know her. Maybe she wasn’t his girlfriend. But she tried to help him even when he thought she was a stranger and they’d survived the Grand Canyon together. They’d come all this way. He’d left her side for a little while, and this had happened.

Mara put their hand on Piper’s forehead and grimaced. “Her mind is in a fragile state. Rachel, what happened?”

“I wish I knew,” she said. “As soon as I got to camp, I had a premonition about Hera’s cabin. I went inside. Annabeth and Piper came in while I was there. We talked, and then—I just blanked out. Annabeth said I spoke in a different voice.”

“Was it a prophecy?” Chiron asked, walking closer.

“No. The spirit of Delphi comes from within. I know how that feels. This was like a long distance, a power trying to speak through me.”

Silena ran in with a leather pouch and she knelt next to Chiron, who was checking on Piper.

Annabeth continued for Rachel. “Chiron, what happened back there—I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve heard it in Rachel’s prophecy voice. But this was different. She sounded like an older woman. She grabbed Piper’s shoulders and told her—”

“To free her from a prison?” Jason guessed. Annabeth stared at him. “How did you know that?” Chiron made a three-fingered gesture over his heart, like a ward against evil.

“Jason, tell them. Silena, the yellow vial, please.” Chiron trickled drops from a medicine vial into Piper’s mouth while Jason explained what had happened when the room froze—the dark misty woman who had claimed to be Jason’s patron.

When he was done, no one spoke, which made him more anxious.

“So does this happen often?” he asked. “Supernatural phone calls from convicts demanding you bust them out of jail?”

“Your patron,” Annabeth said. “Not your godly parent?”

“No, she said patron. She also said my dad had given her my life.”

Mara frowned. “I’ve never heard anything like that before. You said the storm spirit on the skywalk—he claimed to be working for some mistress who was giving him orders, right? Could it be this woman you saw, messing with your mind?”

“I don’t think so,” Jason said. “If she were my enemy, why would she be asking for my help? She’s imprisoned. She’s worried about some enemy getting more powerful. Something about someone dangerous rising from the earth on the solstice—”

Annabeth turned to Chiron, panicked. “Not Kronos. Please tell me it’s not that.”

The centaur looked miserable. He held Piper’s wrist, checking her pulse. At last he said, “It is not Kronos. That threat ended long ago. But …”

“But what?” Silena asked.

Chiron closed the medicine bag. “Piper needs some rest. We should discuss this later.”

“Or right now,” Jason said. “Sir, Mr. Chiron, you told me the greatest threat was coming. The last chapter. You can’t possibly mean something worse than an army of Titans, right?”

“Oh,” Rachel said in a small voice. “Oh, dear. The woman was probably Hera. Of course. Her cabin, her voice. She must have shown herself to Jason at the same moment.”

“Hera?” Annabeth’s snarl was even fiercer than Seymour’s. “She possessed you? She did this to Piper?”

“Rachel’s sorta right,” Jason said. “The woman did seem like a goddess. But she wore this—this goatskin cloak. It's the symbol of Juno, isn’t it?”

“It is?” Annabeth scowled. “I’ve never heard that.”

“Me either,” Mara said, speaking up. “We usually don't have Roman goddesss hijacking our oracles or coming out of magic stuffed leopard heads.”

Chiron nodded reluctantly. “Of course. Juno, Hera’s Roman parallel, in her most warlike state. The goatskin cloak was a symbol of the Roman soldier.”

“There’s something else I haven’t told anyone yet.” Jason said, everyone in the room was quiet. “Before I woke up on the bus, I had this dream and someone spoke to me. There was this giant goddess with a lotus crown asking me to free her as well, that must be Hera. Maybe it’s all connected.”

Silena’s face looked a bit surprised as she connected the dots. “That must be the reason why Olympus has shut down, and why Mr. D and Miss Hestia left: Hera went missing and got captured by someone so they recalled all gods to protect themselves.”

“So Hera has been imprisoned?” Rachel asked. “Who could do that to the queen of the gods?”

Annabeth crossed her arms. “Well, whoever they are, maybe we should thank them. If they can shut up Hera—”

“Annabeth,” Chiron warned, “she is still one of the Olympians. In many ways, she is the glue that holds the gods’ family together. If she truly has been imprisoned and is in danger of destruction, this could shake the foundations of the world. It could unravel the stability of Olympus, which is never great even in the best of times. And if both Juno and Hera has asked Jason for help—”

“Fine,” Annabeth grumbled. “Well, we know the Titans can capture a god, right? Atlas captured Artemis a few years ago. And in the old stories, the gods captured each other in traps all the time. But something worse than a Titan … ?”

Jason looked at the leopard’s head. Seymour was smacking his lips like the goddess had tasted much better than a Snausage. “Juno said she’d been trying to break through Hera’s prison bonds for a month but she couldn’t do it.”

“Which is how long Olympus has been closed,” Mara said. “So both Greek and Roman gods must know something bad is going on.”

“But why use her energy to send me here?” Jason asked. “She wiped my memory, plopped me into the Wilderness School where Leo and Piper are, and sent you a dream vision to come pick me up. Why am I so important? Why not just send up an emergency flare to the other Greek gods—let them know where Hera is so they bust her out? Why is even Juno involved in the first place if she’s a Roman goddess?”

“The gods need heroes to do their will down here on earth,” Silena said. “That’s always been that way. Their fates are always intertwined with us demigods.”

“That’s true,” Mara said, “but Jason’s got a point. Why him? Why take his memory? And why would Juno try to help Hera?”

“And Piper’s also involved somehow,” Rachel said. “Juno sent her the same message—Free me. And, Annabeth, this must have something to do with Percy and Emir disappearing.”

Annabeth fixed her eyes on Chiron. “Why are you so quiet, Chiron? What is it we’re facing?”

The old centaur’s face looked like it had aged ten years in a matter of minutes. The lines around his eyes were deeply etched. “My dear, in this, I cannot help you. I am so sorry.”

Annabeth blinked. “You’ve never … you’ve never kept information from me. Even the last great prophecy—”

“I will be in my office.” His voice was heavy. “I need some time to think before dinner. Rachel and Silena, will you watch the girl? Call Argus to bring her to the infirmary, if you’d like. And Annabeth and Mara, you should speak with Jason. Tell him about—about the Greek and Roman gods.”

“But…”

The centaur turned his wheelchair and rolled off down the hallway. Annabeth’s eyes turned stormy. She muttered something in Greek, and Jason got the feeling it wasn’t complimentary toward centaurs.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said. “I think of myself being here—I don’t know. I’ve messed things up coming to the camp, somehow. Chiron said he’d sworn an oath and couldn’t talk about it.”

“What oath?” Annabeth demanded. “I’ve never seen him act this way. And why would he tell me to talk to you about the gods...” Her voice trailed off.

Apparently she’d just noticed Jason’s sword sitting on the coffee table. She touched the blade gingerly, like it might be hot enough to burn her skin.

“What is it?” Mara asked, glancing at the gold sword as well. “Oh! This is the sword you were talking about earlier.” Jason nodded, watching the two inspect it.

“Is this gold?” Annabeth said. “Do you remember where you got it?”

“No,” Jason said. “Like I said, I don’t remember anything.”

Annabeth nodded like she’d just come up with a rather desperate plan. “If Chiron won’t help, we’ll need to figure things out ourselves. Which means… Cabin Fifteen. Rachel and Silena, you’ll keep an eye on Piper?”

“Sure,” Rachel promised. “Good luck, you three.”

Silena and Rachel waved goodbye to the three demigods as they exited the Big House.

“Hold on,” Jason said. “What’s in Cabin Fifteen?”

Annabeth walked into a different direction than Jason and Mara came from. “Maybe a way to get your memory back.”

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

They headed toward a newer wing of cabins in the southwest corner of the green. Some of them were fancy, with glowing walls or blazing torches, but Cabin Fifteen was very different.

It looked like an old-fashioned prairie style house with light blue walls that match the blue window shutters and a cream white thatched roof. It may not be fancy or cool looking like the others but Jason thought it was pretty homey. On the blue door hung a wreath of crimson flowers—red poppies, Jason thought, though he wasn’t sure how he knew. Nor does he know why he knew six different ways he could eat the poppies if found stuck in the woods. One part of him wanted to question his strangle knowledge but deep down Jason knew he wouldn’t get any answers.

“You think this is my parent’s cabin?” he asked.

“No,” Annabeth said. “This is the cabin for Hypnos, the god of sleep.”

“He’s also the twin of Thanatos, the god of Death and the cabin of my half brother.” Mara mentioned casually, making Jason confused. Both on what Mara just said and why they’re here.

“Then why—”

“You said you forgot everything when you woke up,” she said. “If there’s any god who can help us figure out memory loss, it’s Hypnos.”

Inside, even though it was almost dinnertime, there were many kids who were sound asleep under piles of covers. Soft violin music played from somewhere. A warm fire crackled in the hearth. Above the mantel hung a tree branch, each twig dripping a white liquid into a collection of tin bowls. Jason was tempted to catch a drop on his finger just to see what it was, but Mara held his hand back.

“Don’t touch the branches,” She warned. “Those are leaves that produce a special liquid just like the Lethe river. You could have your memory fully wiped clean if you drank it, only children of the Underworld could drink without any consequences.”

Jason nodded, really glad that he didn't touch the hanging plant.

The air smelled like fresh laundry. The cabin was so cozy and peaceful that Jason’s eyelids started to feel heavy. A nap sounded like a great idea. He was exhausted. There were plenty of empty beds, all with feather pillows and fresh sheets and fluffy quilts and maybe he could take a quick—Mara nudged him in the arm. “Wake up.”

Jason blinked. He realized his knees had been starting to buckle.

“Cabin Fifteen does that to everyone,” Annabeth told him. “If you ask me, this place is even more dangerous than the Ares cabin. At least with the Ares kids, you can learn where the active landmines are and if you get hurt, you could go to the infirmary and get patched up but if you end up falling asleep here, you’re stuck until someone comes to rescue you.”

Jason’s spine shuddered at the very idea of being trapped in a magic nap haven, he pinched his arm to keep him awake. “Got it, stay awake.”

Both Mara and Annabeth glanced around the beds– which was everywhere. There were hammocks hung up, sleeping bags covering the ground, and many mattresses of different sizes littered through the comfy cabin. Jason was careful not to step on the blankets, scared that he might hurt a sleepy and defenseless demigod.

“So who are we looking for?” Jason asked, muffling a yawn.

“We are looking for our friend, Clovis.” Mara answered. ”He’s not the Head Counselor of the cabin, but he is an expert with dreams and memories. If anyone here that can look through your mind and bring back your memories, it’s gotta be him.”

Jason wasn’t sure he wanted someone to look through his head, let alone someone that Annabeth labelled more dangerous than the entire Ares cabin, but he had no choice. Unless Juno decided to give his memories back early, this kid is his only hope. The two dark-haired girls found Clovis pretty easy: he was, of course, passed out on a dark blue bed. He was covered in a giant blanket with a black cat stuffy lying on top of him. The kid looked like a baby cow. He had an ivory tuft of hair on a wedge shaped head, with thick features and a thick neck. His body was stocky with pale white skin similar to Jason’s, but he had spindly chubby arms like he’d never lifted anything heavier than a pillow. Jason wanted to coo at the sight but Mara beat him to it.

“Aww.. I feel bad now. He’s so sleepy looking.” She murmured. Clovis shifted around in his sleep, subconsciously grabbed his cat plush, cuddling with it, making Mara and Jason go ‘Aww..’ again.

But that didn’t stop Annabeth.

“Clovis! Wake up.” She said, waiting for the stout boy to get up and help. When he didn’t get up, Annabeth was about to try again but Mara stopped her.

“Don’t worry, I got this.” Mara said. She knelt down to the boy before grabbing his shoulders and shaking him awake. “Clovis! The Hermes cabin messed with your cabin’s homemade candles and now it smells like seaweed and fish sticks!!” they shouted, making the boy wide awake.

“What!? How dare they!” Clovis gasped, sitting up and squinting. His eyes were filled with malice and plans of revenge. “The violet and honey scented candle sticks we made were perfect for comfort and sleeping and they just go fuck it all up! I’ll cursed them all with three weeks of horrible nightmares–”

“Actually, I lied, we just needed to wake you up.” Mara interrupted, ruffling with his hair. “Sorry Clover.”

Clovis scowled at her and pushed away her hand. He then crossed his arms, which reminded Jason of a giant, cranky teddy bear. “How dare you? You’ve betrayed my trust by lying about our special candles, leave now traitor. I’m going back to sleep. Good night.” Before he could pass out, Mara yanked his pillow off the bed, holding it hostage.

“That’s not fair,” Clovis complained. “Give it back.”

“Then stop napping for a minute.” Mara said. “We need your help.”

“Well you need a nap, you’re being very rude.”

“No– I mean yes, but not right now.” they sputtered. “What I need is your help.”

Clovis yawned loudly, making everyone else yawn as well. “After that, I can go to sleep?”

“First, you help,” Annabeth interrupted. “Then you can go to sleep. I promise”

Clovis sighed. His breath smelled like warm milk. “Fine. What’s your problem?”

“Actually, Jason here needs help.” Mara explained. “He’s a new camper here. Right now, he’s unclaimed but he has a weird gold sword and memorizes the Roman gods and monsters names instead of the Greek ones.”

Clovis hummed in reply. He kept humming and humming until he managed to hum himself back to sleep. Mara smacked her forehead while Annabeth huffed in annoyance. Annabeth thumped him into between the eyes, and Clovis sat up straight again. “I’m awake, mom!”

‘This must happen a lot.’ Jason thought.

Clovis shook his head around and squinted at the group. “Okay, new camper with a cool, gold sword and weird knowledge. What does that have to do with me?”

“Well if this helps, I also don't have a single memory of my life since this morning.” Jason imputed helpfully.

That must have been what Clovis wanted to hear because he didn’t pass out. He actually stood up and stretched, staring wide-eyed at Jason. For the first time today, his eyes were full of light and really wide open.

“So you’re dealing with memory problems? Why didn’t you start with that!?”

Jason was about to say ‘Well, we were getting to that part.’ But Clovis already moved on, walking over to a corner with a velvet blue couch covered in fluffy pillows and a large, soft armchair. The Hypnos’ kid sat down in the armchair and waved Jason over.

“Come! Sit, sit.” He said, patting the couch.

Jason went over and sat on the pillow-covered couch but he hesitantly looked at Clovis, whose smile was a combination of a sneaky cat and a mad scientist. “What.. are you going to do?”

“I’m going to place a trance on you, and while you’re in a trance I’ll try to find where your memories are locked up.”

Jason was having second thoughts about this now, but this was the only way so he took a deep breath and asked, “What do I need to do?”

“You just need to follow the sound of my voice and hold this candlestick.” Clovis grabbed one of the candles sitting on the windowsill and handed it to Jason. The tiny blue flame danced around with the gentle breeze, emitting a sweet mix of cinnamon and ginger.

“But please cover your mouth if your nose feels itchy. Last time this happened, someone,” Clovis glanced at the girls, Annabeth quickly looked away in embarrassment while Mara muffled a grin. “sneezed in my face during the process.”

Clovis laughed at the memory. His laughter sounded sweet and comforting, like a weighted blanket sitting on Jason’s shoulders. The faint smell of cinnamon and red poppies seeped into his nose as Clovis continued to talk with him.

“So tell me, what was the first thing you saw when you woke up?” Clovis asked.

“Well, when I woke up on the Wilderness bus, Piper was sitting next to me, holding my hand.”

Clovis hummed in reply. “What else happened?” He moved his hands and held Jason’s face, cupping it delicately. Clovis’ warm hands touching Jason’s cold skin, sent a chill down his spine.

“Then she calls me.. her boyfriend, which was really shocking because I never thought I could date someone so pretty like Piper. And… Leo also appeared, saying that.. we’re friends.”

“Okay, what happened after?”

Jason was about to say some more but he had slowly forgotten what was about to say next. Something about…Leon.or maybe.. Penny.? The whole room was silent, except the sound of Clovis’ calming voice quietly speaking to him, telling him to stay focused on him. Jason was ready to answer another one of Clovis’s questions, all fine and dandy.

And soon, Jason was no longer in Cabin Fifteen.

He found himself stuck in the woods again. Unlike the first dream he had earlier, the trees stretched high up to the sky, covering it with its leaves. The faint scent of Arroyo lupine filled Jason’s nose as he attempted to walk through the dense woods.

Redwood Parks. The name echoes through his mind as the bushes rustle behind him. Gray wolves from different directions start coming out of the bushes, surrounding him like a piece of prey. The wolves led him to the remains of an old house. During this, Jason showed no sign of fear towards them. Deep inside, he knew they wouldn’t harm him. But was it out of care or because of an order, Jason wasn’t so sure, but he knew Jason couldn’t show any weakness to them. Weakness was a plague that’ll get him killed here and now.

One of the wolves that were walking beside him bared its teeth at Jason before snapping at his heel: both a playful gesture and a threat. Jason snapped his teeth back at the wolf. Always fight back.

Soon, the strange pack of wolves walked Jason inside the ancient house where a pool of water stared back at him. It seems bottomless with a blue mist surrounding the whole thing. Wanting to investigate the area, Jason tried to step forward but the wolves began growling at his defiance. Soon, a female wolf appeared from the shadows, towering over him glaring at Jason with calculated stormy blue eyes. She wore a grin that is a mixture of a smile and a snarl, both dangerous if Jason doesn't play his cards right.

‘You of all demigods would know better than to step forward without an order’ The She-Wolf spoke with hostility.

Jason looked up to the wolf. “I think.. I know you.”

Her ears flicked around and her eyes flashed, but Jason understood it- she wasn’t a human but a wolf. They don’t use words but their body to speak, and what she said was. ‘That you do, but in order to complete her mission, your mind has been wiped clean and you were placed there to meet them.’

“Her mission..?” Jason said, trailing off. “You’re talking about Juno- I mean Hera, right?”

Just then, the other wolves growled in unison and the ruins’ mist began to clear away. The imagery that he saw almost made Jason want to gag, even if he didn’t understand what it was. Two glowing orbs stood in front of him, sharing two different scenes. The first orb revealed an image of a familiar vine dirt cage, woven like a ball of twine. Sitting inside was a woman dressed in black robes, looking more exhausted every minute but he could feel the remaining power she had left radiating from the cage. The second cage meanwhile, looked more inky and corrupt, it radiated a more malevolent energy that even the giant she-wolf shuddered from it. Before he could ask, the mysterious cage shook and slowly rose upwards from the ground. Jason looked back at the wolf, puzzled about what this meant. “What is this? Who’s inside the other cage?”

‘That is the enemy of the sky.’ The wolf growled, her eyes glared with malice. ‘The ground wishes for the crown to rise again by misusing our sacred land.’

“Well where is this place, then? I can come over there and help you, just tell me where it is.”

She huffed. ‘You wouldn’t become half of the soldier you are if we made it too easy for you. Besides, you’ve made the journey before. After all, it was the place where it all began for you.'

“But how?” Jason pleaded. “I don’t even know who I am, let alone where I’m supposed to go.”

‘Nil sine labore: nothing without effort. You have conquered the impossible and you will do it again. Now our time to talk has come to an end. Now, arise. Son of-’

Everything happened in a flash. Jason sat up, gasping for air and jerked his head around. Annabeth, Mara and Clovis all stood by him, sharing a look of anxiety and worry, though Clovis looked more intrigued than beforehand. Jason rubbed his eyes. “What happe-”

“You were about to fade away.” Annabeth said abruptly. The look in her eyes made JAson believe that Annabeth- much like the she-wolf from his dreamscape, likes to get straight to the point. “We had to wake you up from the trance. You were asleep for less than five minutes.”

Jason’s shoulders sagged after hearing that. “I’m assuming that you couldn’t find anything?”

“If by anything you mean your memories or any answers to your predicament, then you’re right but also wrong.” Clovis said a bit too cheery. “While I couldn't find out your parentenge or why you memorized all of Roman mythology, I did find something interesting. See, your memories are ‘gone’ but not erased, they’re just blocked out by magic. Usually, I could bring them back after one dream session but in your case, it’s a special one. There are only two ways to bring them back.”

“Which are?” Mara said, trailing off.

“One, you would have to find the one responsible for this and make them reverse the magic on you. That might be difficult depending on which god casted the spell since the gods can be fickle and can change their minds quickly on a whim but it can be accomplished.”

“What about the second option?” Jason asked.

“The second one involves more on Jason’s ability rather than the god’s ability. When I went inside Jason’s mind to have a look, there’s a giant wall built around the suppressed memories, making your mind wiped clean. There are some bits of memories that weren’t locked away, hence why you can remember the Roman god names and your name. Another thing I noticed was the tiny cracks forming in the wall. Whoever did this, the magic they casted is fragile, like they did this during a weakened state out of desperation.”

“If you want to get them back, you must find a connection to your old life- a key and open the lock on your own at the right time. This is also pretty difficult and very vague but it can also be accomplished as well.”

But Jason didn’t understand. How in Tartarus was he supposed to find something that’s connected to his old life? Maybe his sword was a clue? It did give him a glimpse of someone he knows.

Annabeth frowned. “Well, what does that mean?” she asked, sharing Jason’s thoughts out loud. “When is the right time? And how are we supposed to know what this ‘key’ is?”

Clovis yawned, once again making everyone yawn in unison. “I don’t know, only the Fates and the Author truly knows the full picture.”

Ignoring that cryptid and odd reply, Jason made sure not to show his disappointment on his face. He patted Clovis’s shoulder and smiled. “Well, thank you for trying to help. It’s better than nothing. I’ll see you around.”

“No problem.” Clovis murmured, flopping back into the comfy armchair and already halfway asleep. But Clovis looked back at Jason and winked at him. “If you ever want to take a nap with us– come by some time.”

Jason felt his face warming, but before he could answer, Clovis fell asleep.

A distant conch shell horn echoed in the background, and Annabeth sighed. “Alright, it’s dinnertime now.” Jason and Mara both gave her a look, but before either of them could protest Annabeth said, “Look, it’s not like I’m giving up helping you with your problem. But what I am saying is that you won’t find a solution here. You’ve been given a quest by both Juno and Hera, so we’re going to need to discuss that during the campfire with Chiron and everyone else, and you’ll be off in the morning. Besides, I got a feeling you’re feeling hungry.”

With precise timing, Jason’s stomach growled making the trio laugh before getting shushed by one of the dazed Hypnos’ kids. The three demigods started exiting out of the cabin, tiptoeing carefully around the sleepy bodies of the hypnos kids.

“Bye Clover!! Sorry for lying to you!! I’ll bring you a gift to apologize soon.” Mara loudly whispered, closing the cabin door behind them.

Jason sighed, finally free from the powerful magic from the cozy nap cabin. The day was almost over by the time they left and while they didn’t find out about his past, at least there was another way to get back his memories. Looking up, the once cerulean skies were now a fiery orange fading from the west. Many campers were leaving their cabins and started walking to the east, chatting with friends about the day’s events.

“We should head to the pavilion now.” Annabeth said, breaking the silence. “We don’t want to be late and miss dinner.”

Mara’s ears perked up at the word, ‘dinner’. “Oh yeah! Dinnertime! Perfect timing ‘cause I’m craving a cheeseburger and some french fries.”

Just then, a noisy owl swooped down towards the trio and landed next to Marar. It’s feathers were a shade of mahogany, the frantic bird’s coat was messy and dirty and it only had one long feather sitting on top of it’s head. The owl was shrieking and hopping around in a panicked manner, like it’s trying to tell them something. To Jason’s surprise, both Mara and Annabeth understood what it was saying.

The owl was flapping it’s wings and pointed in a different direction. During this, Annabeth’s eyes widened while Mara shouted aloud, “They’re doing what?..With what!?! Ok, Annie, go take Jason to the pavilion. I’ll take care of the problem.” The goth girl dashed after the owl leaving the two behind.

Jason glanced down at Annabeth. “Will she be fine?”

She hummed. “Yeah, I’m sure. Come on, the pavilion is this way.”

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A/N: Finally done with this chapter. Made the Clovis and Jason scene pretty gay, I swear someone possessed me.

Next chapter will finally star Mara's POV and the story will follow this POV order for now on

Jason, Mara, Piper, and Leo

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Taglist: @punkeropercyjackson @dontspillthefrijoles43 @puriteenism @aurantiumred @yawnwhatyadoing @emmidemi @justhereforthememesnangst @padfoot-sirius-black @darwizzylover @sarcasticallyperfectperson @its-teeem @novaclips3 @an-asexual-crow

[blue--ingenue]

Scorpius Malfoy Headcannons - Kindness

Content Warnings: mentions of depression, anxiety, self-harm

his kindness stems from enormous empathy and intelligence. between his grief for Astoria, sympathy for his father’s ostracization as a former Deatheater, and years of bullying, he understands suffering (both his and others’). he knows what it’s like to feel like nobody understands your pain, and he’s spent years helplessly watching his loved ones suffer (powerless to stop Astoria’s blood curse, and unable to soothe his father’s grief after her passing). pain is an old and constant companion. he doesn’t want anyone to feel like that, which is why he’s so quick to comfort others (even if this leads him to put others’ needs before his own)

he’d rather feel pain than inflict it. whether emotional or physical, he is quick to take the hits for those he loves. this tendency combined with his empathy leads him to put his needs second. we see this when he listens to Albus vent about Harry for years, but doesn’t seem to confront him about this one-sided sympathy until he blows up in the library scene. scorpius also does this multiple times when he and Al are held captive by Delphi:

the second she trains her wand on him, Scorp’s priority are appearing strong for Albus and assuring him that no matter what she does, they cannot break down and do her bidding. more subtly, he keeps Delphi’s attention on himself rather than Albus just before they are saved by Cedric. if her wrath and focus are on him, she’s less likely to curse his best friend

he does feel anger, jealousy, and bitterness, but he mostly internalizes it. where Albus is more expressive with his frustrations, Scorpius prefers to keep it to himself, unpack it later so he can figure out what to do with it on his own

he places a lot of pressure on himself to be the bright, happy boy he was growing up. ever since Astoria’s health took a turn for the worse, he made it his duty to keep up appearances for his parents. they were already under so much stress, he felt guilty at the thought of “burdening” them with his own grief and troubles. Draco mentions how Astoria wanted to have a child so that he would have something left of her once she passed away. Scorpius knows this, so he makes it his mission to be a source of light for his father. (even if this means suppressing his own grief and pain to keep up the facade)

it's been confirmed by the playwrights that Scorpius has depression and engages in self-harm. (i don't know the exact page number from the Broadway companion book, but they mention that Scorpius carved the marks into his wand, mirroring his own arms). he's been to the scariest places one's mind can travel to, and he knows how being shown just a bit of kindness and understanding can save someone's life

he’s capable of seeing the best in people, but he’s long since stopped expecting it. i’ve seen a lot of people talking about how Scorpius’ constant kindness makes his character appear flat, but i think this is one of his overwhelming traits simply because we rarely see him blow up. most of his internal conflicts are just that, internal. he analyzes every step before he takes one, and he knows the power of choosing the right things to say. we already know he’s book-smart, but he also has such a high emotional intelligence

he’s a forgiving person because he can understand people’s deeper emotions and motivations. he can understand why someone did what they did, but he’s smart enough to know that their motivation is not an excuse. the reasoning does not absolve them of guilt or wrongdoing. and while he has a strong sense of moral justice, he tends to be more forgiving towards those he cares about, which leads to emotional burnout

overall, i just think that Scorpius is highly empathetic, emotionally intelligent, and doesn’t want to see people feel the pains he’s experienced his whole life 

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[frostyclove]

episode 5 spoilers

part 1 - the teens minus the tai/van scenes. its too long im not subjecting yall to my whole episode thoughts at once

Rabies plot still on. Ben asks about the goats mother being sick. We cant see the mouth of the goat. Akilah gonna die of rabies im so sorry guys start preparing emotionally. Plus the llama line

This scene was crazy to watch because I think we all predicted different parts. Tai being the one to weild the death after being the prosecutor ? Shauna giving the bonkers option so that everything else seems kinda normal in comparison? Nat trying her hardest to find a normal way through it? A moral way? Shauna cracking jokes about him dying of old age (shes right but its interesting that they don’t take that as a good option; shows just how quickly Shauna is gaining power; im shocked nat is still technically even in charge)

Also they now have their own rules like crazy. ‘We found him guilty it’s simple’ - it’s at this point that the truth doesnt matter. Only their perception of the truth. And I think thats going to very much matter as the season goes on 

It is a fitting death Shauna but we do not need to be that vicious babes I do love the dramatic irony but I am with nat that is torture 

Also insane that nat keeps accidentally damning coach like girl shut up 

Shauna v nat is exactly what fandom has felt like for the past few weeks love u guys 

Really curious what led van to so confidently blurt out the king of hearts bit. Theres something there and I wanna know what it is. What does suicide king mean does it have a meaning or did van just make that up

Tai looked stressed af at that. Tai didn’t like that

Intersting that van is handing out the cards. 

Should we have a whole tarot spread and what it pairs to in a normal deck and to be comping it to what card they pulled or do you think that’s doing too much because I know if I was writing it I would have taken the time to pair that all up or at least tried but idk 

Shaunas fuck ass face is saying ‘y’all wish you just handed me the gun now dont you?’

Robin is such a sweetie theres no way shes not pit girl at this point 

poor tai by baby im sorry theyre putting you through this but you did literally make this happen miss ‘ill be prosecution’ 

Shauna hat whittle scene 

Yes girl whittle away 

Melissa I may have underestimated you that line was funny as fuck nobody has a better Shauna read than you

(Guys I love Jackie too but Jackie was sometimes shitty to Shauna its just the nature of homoerotic friendships in a plane crash okay) 

Also someone described Melissa as the sheath to Shaunas knife and honestly thats such a good read on them im never unseeing that 

Cute ass gift ngl Melissa may truly be deeply into Shauna 

Also its a case of everyone knew rather than Melissa stalker I think 

Lottie/akilah/travis 

Ngl travis looks hot as hell this episode hes really finding his stride as Lottie backup 

The wrap around Lotties neck - I know it’s for the gas but it also just kinda is soooo reminiscent of the slap bracelet. There something there

Lotties so good at convincing people of things girl certainly was getting good grades in english class on those persuasive essays

Oracle of Delphi is gonna matter any smarties on that got takes on it ? 

Shes in the antler queen outfit 

Gotta use some suspense of disbelief on how theyre handling gas but thats not the biggest of issues its very subtle

Big love protective older brother travis vibe - also that haircut I need it on more lesbians its so hot 

Why’d they leave the rope ?

Lottie is mildly obsessed with timing. Curious if that’ll be expanded on

Lottie somehow still right. Somehow still effective. Travis stressed as hell. Poor guy. 

Akilah dream - cool as hell 

Ben; the bridge back to civilization ; but darkness. An unknown. A smog. Shaunas leadership time. It will be dark, it will be scary. But they will feel safe, adding onto the ‘their perception is what truly matters ; not the truth’ aspect that I think is the core of the season 

No interesting to note - they have him drawn and quartered in the dream. Another form of medieval torture. Food for thought

Misty/ben/fish/ending

Okay this goes later but it’s on my brain - ben didn’t eat the fish. I think there will be consequences for that. But I dont know what . Its got me stressed 

Bens like damn good food what are they gonna do execute me ? And misty all teary eyed is like “yeah….” Cute af if he wasn’t like dying 

I love misty in this scene , shes really grown so much 

You can tell coach is like, really frustrated that he has to comfort misty even though hes the one dying but he also just like has given up on life so he just doesnt seem to care either. Its such an interesting place for a character to be

The makeup team did so good with him

This may sound odd but this scene feels very informed by video games. Like this is the scene in any single player story game (thing TWD, TLOU, or BG3) where you say goodbye to the one helpful and soul character before everything goes to utter shit before the final act. It’s really well done I really enjoy it. 

The way he looks at her crying omg then she just says bye like… poor guy 

My poor baby 

Shauna needs to fuck Melissa some more the girl has too much frustration and im losing patience with her by the ep no reason to be doing all that hun

Poor nat. Nat giving up her power. Giving the necklace to the next chosen. Except this turn its chosen as sacrifice (well, ish)

Ben really tries to appeal to nat. he thinks nat is the one thats going to do it. shes holding the gun. He thinks shes the one to kill him. And then hes blindfolded before he sees nat hand it over to tai. He thinks his basically adopted daughter is the one who is going to execute him. I cry. 

I am misty in this scene big cry 

Even with the Lottie interruption - this is the girls CHOOSING , VOLENTARILY , to go forth as part of the wilderness. To hand over their connection to civilization. handing the power from nat (a moral and reasonable leader) to Shauna (a brutal and vicious one). This is the moment they fully cross over into, basically, wild animal territory. And id expect the party in the next episode to be a reflection of the crowing of a new leader, and thats what Shauna is so hoppy about in the trailer - being handed the power of leadership. 

First time seeing gen with a personality and I can say I dont really like her - shes another Shauna puppy it seems 

Then tai gets handed the gun, coach blinded. Great work on part of the cast and crew scene is great but Im about to focus on my love <3

Tai bawling. Tai barely able to hold the gun. No longer steady. Now breaking down. Losing it. Id bet she can hardly even see. Growing more and more stressed by the moment 

The sound work is crazy good gotta take a moment for the sound team <33

Then she shivers so hard she can barely hold the gun. And her stress has reached a high enough point. Other tai is here. Tai will be okay. Other tai will take care of her. Thank you other tai 

And van notices, the shift in physicality is obvious. But theres a relaxation there. Because tai will be okay. And other tai shoots 

And I swear in this moment I thought travis was dead. Then I remembered he died as an adult. And then I thought they were doing the killing them twice thing. But hes not hes fine. Other tai has killer aim, but luckily nobody got hit. 

Impeccably almost late timing from Lottie though

Other tai already gone though interestingly enough

No but seriously thank you Lottie good job gal theyre gonna scream at her but she did so good saving him there. Well. She tried. 

I honestly thought Shauna was gonna just end him right there. She walked onto frame and I went ‘ahh the coup its usurping time’ but no thats not what’s happening lol

Crazy parallels of her making Melissa do it. Bens screams into the otherwise quiet night. Misty losing it. I dont think the plan was exactly to cut his achilles, but since he was fighting back with it it was an easy target. I do appreciate that Shauna respects a clean knife though thanks for not crossing anybody’s blood we dont need to get blood diseases that would just make everything complicated 

Welcome to the end of their morals. They died that night. Lottie, travis, nat, Mari, misty, and honestly even kinda van all lost their power that night. It’s now Shaunas wilderness. And it will be interesting to see how that goes for them leading into their rescue (which will likely be at the end of this season)