#the second argonauts

[punkeropercyjackson]

So little Pjo content remembers the series is set in the early 2010s.Piper Mclean's a butch lesbian who's autistic about Sanrio before butch lesbian tumblr bloggers with sanriocore themes became a thing.Hazel Levesque came back just in time to be pastel goth and listen to lo-fi beats compilations and eat cake pops.Percy Jackson is that anarchist millenial transgender woman who convinces kids they're people and is coming to take men's rights and has blue food and pronouns the goverment warned you about.Leo Valdez was around for 31 minutos as it aired and cracked his egg by fujoing out.Drew Tanaka must have owned a flipphone and shoplifted a lot and Nico di Angelo absolutely wore black high tops and white hair chalk and him and his sisters played Animal Crossing New Leaf together on their black,pink and blue nintendo ds'.None of them know who John Mulaney is but they all know Gerard Way is nonbinary and how to unblock fax machines

[punkeropercyjackson]

@mik3stuff LEXCORE👆🏼

sage green & dusty pink pngs ! free to use! credit not needed but appreciated :)

[knightforflowers]

small redesign of my thundermen in honour of twenty thunderdrive! ⛈️

(separates under the cut!)

[punkeropercyjackson]

The longer i look at my Pjo books self-insert and this puppy picture side by side,the funnier it gets.What the Demeter kid doin'

[punkeropercyjackson]

@moonage-gaydream If i said Lex?

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

[saturdays--sun]

BITES ONTO HIM AND SHAKES HIM AROUND LIKE A SQUEAKY TOY NEW HERMES !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[the-cooler-king]

I would like to read berserk again so I can get a tattoo

[literallyjusttoa]

I have fully reworked and redesigned my Apollo timeline!! These designs are meant to depict Apollo from 2591 B.C.E all the way to 392 C.E., so a good 2,983 years of life lol. A lot of things have changed from my first and second versions of this timeline (which you can see here and here if you're interested) so I'm just gonna rewrite the whole things here for y'all to read and enjoy! (Also disclaimer as always I am not a mythology expert, and I am taking some liberties with dates and time periods so sorry if anything seems off!)

Baby: 2591 B.C.E

Apollo is born. That's pretty much all that happens here.

Fighting Python/Exile: 2591-2582 B.C.E.

Right after being born, Apollo goes off to fight Python. After this, he is exiled from Olympus for nine years due to his crime of committing murder. During those nine years, he spends most of his time as either a shepherd or a traveling musician, and observes mortals and their ways of life a lot.

Pre-First Punishment: 2582-2300 B.C.E.

After his exile, Apollo is allowed to ascend to Olympus. He takes on a form that is extremely similar to the mortals he's been living amongst for the past nine years. As the youngest member of the Olympian Council, Apollo is slightly naive, but desperate to prove himself to the rest of his family. Myths that occur during this time: 1. Apollo finds and mentors Chiron 2. Artemis and Apollo successfully convince their father to release Prometheus from his punishment. 3. Periphas, a king of Attica and priest of Apollo, was so beloved by his people that they honored him above Zeus. This angered Zeus, and he sword he would strike Periphas down and burn his home to the ground. However, Apollo begged Zeus to spare Periphas' life, and Zeus acquiesced. Instead, Zeus turned Periphas into an eagle, the same eagle that now rests on the top of his sacred sceptre.

Post-First Punishment (Troy): 2300-1250 B.C.E.

Back from his time as a mortal, Apollo is now the patron god of the city of Troy. He is extremely attached to his people, and has taken on a lot of their fashions and customs. He is a bit more reserved on Olympus because of the punishment, but he is still young and sure of himself, and is often one of the most active gods on the council. Myths that occur during this time: 1. Hermes is born. 2. The music duel with Marsyas occurs, and he is flayn. 3. Lots of cities are founded on the west coast of Ionia (Modern day Türkiye), many with myths surrounding Apollo. The city of Miletus was founded and named after a son of Apollo. Klazomenai claimed Apollo as their principal god. The city of Colophon becomes the seat of the Oracle of Apollo Clarius, and one of his sons, named Mopsus, lives there. Erythraea is also connected to Apollo's oracle, as it is the birthplace of Herophile. Once you add Troy to the mix, it seems as if Apollo just did a tour of Ionia and set up a bunch of towns along the way, which I think is pretty cool. 4. The seven against Thebes make their march to restore Polynices, Oedipus' son, to the throne. One of the seven, Amphiaraus, was a seer and favored by Apollo (and sometimes his son!). Amphiaraus was fated to die in battle, but Apollo found multiple ways to stretch out his final moments. He redirected attacks so that Amphiaraus was not harmed, and when the man's charioteer was killed, Apollo took the reins himself. When Amphiaraus finally passed on, Apollo wept over his corpse and let him be consumed by the earth, creating an Oracle at that spot.

Asclepius: 1250-1210 B.C.E.

Asclepius is born and Apollo keeps the same look throughout his entire life! Apollo doesn't have much to do with it, but the Argonauts set sail during this time.

Stealing the bolt/Killing the Cyclops: 1210 B.C.E.

This design only lasts a couple of weeks. In his grief, Apollo loses himself.

Second Punishment 1210 B.C.E

Apollo is given to Admetus as a servant for several months. The punishment doesn't last long, but Apollo's time with Admetus is essential in his journey to heal from Asclepius' death.

Trojan War: 1194-1184 B.C.E.

The Trojan War breaks out less than 20 years after Asclepius' death, bringing ruins and carnage with it. Apollo fulfills his duty as the patron god of the city, and viciously protects Troy from the attacks of other Olympians.

Post-Trojan: 1184-940 B.C.E.

The war was lost, and Troy was sacked. In the time following this, Apollo distances himself from mortals, desperate to escape the pain and grief of the last 70 years. This period of his life ends with the myth of Daphne. Myths that occur during this time: 1. Dionysus is born 2. Apollo saves Hemithea and her sister Parthenos and makes them immortal. 3. Apollo's oldest known temple is built in Thebes.

Daphne and Hyacinthus 940-776 B.C.E.

After the death of Daphne, Apollo is devastated. While he had been avoiding the mortal realm before, now he became increasingly uncomfortable on Olympus. He stayed in the mortal realm often, building up his reputation and setting up his popularity in Ancient Greece proper, which was just breaking out of the Dark Ages. Near the end of this period, he loves and loses Hyacinthus. Myths that occur during this time: 1. The cult of Apollo from Crete brings his worship to Delphi officially, and his temple is built at the site. 2. Apollo's music duel with Pan occurs.

“Main” Apollo 776-500 B.C.E.

Starting with the first Olympic games, This period is defined by glory and worship. Apollo's popularity in Greece increases exponentially, and this is only added to once he takes the reins of the sun chariot. He meddles in mortal affairs often during this time, growing into the persona we see of him today. Myths that occur during this time: 1. Niobe's kids are killed 2. Apollo falls in love with Cyrene, and gives her a city. 3. Tarquin purchases the Sibylline books. Sometime before this, Apollo curses the Sibyl of Cumae. 4. The Pythagorean cult is established, a group that religiously followed the teachings of Pythagoras. Alongside this, they mainly worshiped Apollo at Delphi. They used math to break down music, and believed "the universe as a whole was composed of harmony and numbers". 5. Phorbas, who is either a savage king of Elis or a giant, preys on travelers on the pilgrimage to Delphi. To put a stop to this, Apollo challenges the man to a boxing match, and kills him during the fight. Another Phorbas, this one hailing from Rhodes, is often confounded with this one. Apollo dated the second Phorbas, so I bet this was very confusing for a lot of poor Greeks. 6. The city of Megara fought for independence from Corinth, and claimed Apollo as their patron god.

"Classical" Apollo 500-300 B.C.E.

As Ancient Greece moves into it's classical age, and the height of it's glory, Apollo's worship continues to grow. In the 400's, Pericles and the architects of the Acropolis in Athens used the money held by the Delian league (An allied group of islands in the Cyclades, lead by Delos) to create their temple to Athena, which held the Athena Parthenos. This, alongside many other ways in which Athens attempted to take control of the rest of Greece, caused tension in both the mortal world and Olympus. Apollo begins to see cracks in the foundations of Greece, but can not do much about it at the time. Myths that occur during this time: 1. The Peloponnesian war breaks out. It lasts 27 years, with Sparta claiming victory over Athens in the end. Olympus continues to degrade as Athena and Ares spar. 2. Shortly after this, the Theban War starts. Sparta had won the Peloponnesian war and taken Athens place as the head of Ancient Greece, but many city-states took issue with this. Both Corinth and Thebes waged war against Sparta, with Thebes being victorious in this struggle. Thebes was Dionysus' city, and Corinth, Poseidon's. The Olympian council continues to splinter. 3. Apollo's first temple in Rome is built. The Temple of Apollo Medicus was constructed outside of the religious boundary in Rome, as Apollo was still seen as a foreign deity at this time, and so his worship was not permitted in the city proper.

Late Greece (300-146 B.C.E)

Greece is falling apart at the seams, with civil wars breaking out all over the region. Rome is growing stronger to the west, and eventually takes over Greece completely at the end of this period. Apollo attempts to ignore the signs of failure, keeping up a relaxed, even as the war begins to devour Greece entirely. Myths that occur during this time: 1. Dionysus journeys to India 2. Trophonius and Agamethus are killed.

Fall of Greece: 146-32 B.C.E.

Olympus falls, and will not come back together for a while yet. With each deity lost and unfocused, they all have to find their own way back to their former glory. Apollo is one of the last to return to the council, spending centuries wandering the ruins of Greece, burying his people and mourning the culture that had been lost. It is not until Augustus brings his worship to Rome that Apollo returns to Mount Olympus.

Rome 32 B.C.E.- 140 C.E.

Apollo is now one of the chief gods in Rome. Even though he is at the same level of power and popularity that he had during the height of Greece, it doesn't feel the same. Apollo drifts, going through the motions with very little passion behind it. It takes some time for him to warm up to his new civilization, which leads to:

Late Rome 140 C.E.- 392 C.E.

As Rome continues to grow and prosper, Apollo begins to grow fond of it's people. He interacts with them far more, and begins to once again meddle in their affairs, especially when it comes to the various emperors that ruled the nation. This trend continues until the eventual end of pagan worship in Rome. Myths that occur during this time: 1. Apollo meets, falls in love with, and eventually kills Commodus. 2. The Bacchanalia, which was a private cult festival of the Dionysian cult of Liber that was full of drinking and mingling of all social classes, becomes popular. This festival is obviously associated with Bacchus first and foremost, but there was a common rumour amongst members of the cult that you could meet Apollo at these celebrations.

And that's the whole thing! Hope you all enjoyed, this took a lot of time and research lol.

[punkeropercyjackson]

@royaltystudios LEO LEO LEO SO LEOCORE!!!!

Misc.

[ancientrome]

Puteal (wellhead) with Narcissus and Echo, and Hylas and the Nymphs. Roman 2nd century. x

This puteal (wellhead) is an outstanding example of Roman figural relief sculpture of the second century A.D. It once covered a well in Ostia, the port town of ancient Rome, probably within a sumptuous Roman villa along the Tiber River. The ancient Roman sculptor has transformed a utilitarian object into a luxurious work of art. Carved from a single block of marble, whose form resembles a Hellenistic altar, the drum is decorated with two cautionary tales from Greek mythology that relate to water. The sculptor seamlessly combined the story of Narcissus and Echo, best known from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, with the tale of the handsome hero Hylas being abducted by nymphs in the land of Mysia (western Turkey) as he was fetching water for the Argonauts on their quest to find the Golden Fleece, best known in Greek literature from the Argonautica of Apollonios of Rhodes.

[thesillypolice]

I hate when people headcanon Regulus as trans and decides to make Regina his dead name. Are you forgetting every Black is named after a star???? Literally you can just Google stars and randomly pick one and it would be better than Regina.

There are so many better names you could use!! Plus with a well thought out one you can add some nice background to your fic or headcanon.

Here's a few I've found if your interested-

Gomeisa- The second brightest star from the constellation Canis Minor which means smaller or lesser dog in latin. Pair this with Sirius being the brightest star from the Canis Major; "the greater dog" in latin and you've got some fire angst and background to their growing up.

Cygnus- The Swan constellation, Swans are often seen as symbols of grace, purity and beauty. Which is the standard Regulus would have been held to in the Black family if raised a girl. They can also represent transformation. The myth of Cygnus is very foreshadowing. Phaethon's close friend or lover, Cygnus of Liguria, grieved bitterly and spent many days diving into the river to collect Phaethon's bones to give him a proper burial. While they didn't exactly drown it would be ironic mentioning this before Regulus ends up dying in the lake.

Lyra- A small constellation known for its harp shape. Lyra is also a common female name in the Greek time while still having to do with stars. The myth of Lyra they played their lyre to quell the Sirens' voices, who were trying to lure the Argonauts to their deaths. Sirens are a bit similar to how Regulus died by the Inferi.

Alcyone- the brightest star in the Pleiades star cluster. The myth that goes along with this one is perfect!! The eldest sister Maia originally had the brightest star. However, the next sister’s star, Alcyone, now shines brighter. This symbolises sibling rivalry between the two sisters in the past. This is perfect for Sirius and Regulus. It gets even better though in another myth Alcyone and her husband at one point angered Zeus to the point of drowning her husband. Perfect for more drowning foreshadowing.

lol I'll stop now I hope this was enough to stop the Regina business.

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 1: Cat Adams

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 4986

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you finally understand what is going on. and that leaves you more lost than ever.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

The first thing you notice is the colour of the walls– beige and cold and not green. You don’t say anything to Spencer, though; you couldn’t even if you tried. Not with all those eyes on you. Your visitor’s pass clicks and clanks against the buttons of your shirt and your hands still shake, even with how tightly they are holding onto your bag. Morgan and Spencer have been very careful to not make too many sudden moves near you, but they are not the problem, it’s the situation. It’s the fact that Spencer doesn’t tell you who is Cat Adams. Is the fact that they made you put your phone in a metal box before entering the building, and then proceed to talk about as if you are not right there. 

“She’s going to need a security detail,” Morgan sighs, sunglass finally off and it knocks your breath away how worried he looks. He can’t really hide it, you think, not with how expressive his eyes are. Spencer, on the other hand, is unreadable. His face is set and frozen in a blank expression that has all the hair on your arms standing up. He doesn’t speak, though, and that is probably the first time you’ve ever seen Spencer Reid that quiet. “Kid, are you listening to me?” 

“Security detail won’t do,” Is all he says before guiding you out of the elevator and into an open space filled with office desk, trapped inside those god awful beige walls. Fuck, you think you are starting to hate beige; that specific shade of it. You hate how it numbs out everything inside, how trapped it makes you feel. No one really talks to you, but from the way they stare, it’s quite obvious that they know what Spencer won’t tell you. 

At this point, there are various things happening inside of you and you can’t quite keep up with them all. Your stomach is roaring, sending sharp jolts of pain up and down your torso and you wince a little with each step you take. In turn, each step you take has you wobbling on unstable legs, and you take deep breaths to try and keep it together. Though every time you inhale, your lungs burn from the panic that lingers in the back of your brain. And finally, you brain, tired and overused, still seems to have an issue with processing the situation, and it takes you to a time that no longer exists– a time in which Spencer laughed at your literary themed jokes, or when he would come with coffee and nothing more than a smile. You understand now, why he kept you in the dark about his job; you understand the weight that this job has on him. 

It makes you wonder if it’s a weight you’re strong enough to carry on your shoulders.

By the time you blink yourself awake from your world of past memories, there are people around you and you don’t recognise any of them. Somehow, you are seated at what looks like a very typical office desk; the chair swivels as you look around. The copy of The Argonauts on the desk is a dead giveaway of whose desk you are on, but then why isn’t he here? Why did he bring you to this cold, cold place and left you by yourself? Why– “Y/N? It’s Y/N, right?”

There are two women next to you, one to your right and one to your left. You don’t like how they make you feel like a cornered animal, but their faces show nothing but understanding and compassion, and you don’t feel like being a bitch will help your situation. Your anger, building higher and stronger with each passing second, is not because of them, and you are many things, but you like to think you are not unfair. “Yeah,” You croak out, gulping the ball of emotions that seemed to be stuck halfway down your throat, making it hard to talk or breathe without your lower lips wobbling pathetically. 

“Y/N, my name is Jennifer, but you can call me JJ. This is Emily, we both work with Reid.” 

It takes you a second to know who they are talking about. For you, it’s never Reid. It’s Spencer when you are laughing at one of his rants about something so niche and specific that you couldn’t find it anything other than amusing. It’s Spence when you’re heart is full and the butterflies are awake. And it’s Favourite Customer when you want to tease him. It’s never just… Reid. “Spencer,” You nod, embarrassed by your own need to say his full name. You don’t want to need him, right now, but you can’t help but look around the open bullpen. His wild, shaggy hair is nowhere to be seen and you don’t understand how the sweet man that stole your heart can do something like this. You are scared and confused and he just left you with strangers. “I uh, I’m sorry, but wha-what’s going on? No one will tell me anything, and I think I have the right to now why Spence had a gun and why I was dragged away from my shop and–“

If you had anything in your stomach, you’d vomit again but all you manage is to double forward a little, the pain of your hunger and your nausea together starting to get a little too much when the added stress of being alone with strangers got added into the mix. “Here,” JJ pushes a packet of saltines towards you. “Got into them when I was pregnant with my boys and now I always keep one here. It’ll be good to eat something, Morgan mentioned you got sick.”

“Thank you, I– Penelope?” Seeing her there, with her pinks and oranges and yellows, makes as little sense as seeing Spencer with a gun. Her warmth and happiness don’t fit in a place like this, that, so far, has only brought you anxiety. 

“Y/N! Oh my god, sweet, pretty Y/N!” For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, you chuckle. And it breaks you down inside, how fragile you must seem for Penelope to wobble towards you in such high heels and yet, hug you with the utmost care in the world. It’s in her arms that you start crying again. “Oh no, no no no, don’t cry, it’s okay… You’re safe here.” 

“Safe from what?” You wail, and if Spencer had bothered enough to be there, that would’ve been the first time he would have seen you raising your voice. 

Ever since you were little, you never raised your voice. As an adult, it has happened once or twice, but never at someone specifically. Your nature is that of a more reserved person, someone who enjoys the spectator role a bit too much and prefers to observe from afar. There is power in knowledge, and it shouldn’t be surprising to anyone that you value the little bit of it that you have– so much so, that you built a business in which you could gather all the knowledge you deemed special and worthy and important, and then you could share with other people. Sure, you don’t always feel like your job is significantly important for the betterment of the world, but every time a client leaves with a smile, you know you’re doing your part. 

“Cat Adams.” 

The name alone is enough to make you fall onto the chair again, body limp and drained. Spencer is back, but he’s off. His lips are pursed in that way he does when he is unsure of what to say and he’s hidden his hands inside his pockets. It’s his own way of keeping secrets, hiding his hands from you… and you don’t like it. For as long as you have known him, his excitement shone through his hands; it’s the fast movements and the wiggle of his fingers that always make you smile. It’s how he best communicates and now it’s how he pushes you away. “Miss Y/L/N,” There is a man in a suit standing next to him, and you shrink in your chair under his stare. It’s heavy and cold, and you think that if he looks at you for a second longer you might start crying all over again. “My name is Aaron Hotchner, I’m the unit chief for the BAU. Please, come with me and I’ll explain everything. JJ and Spencer, you too. Penelope, prepare to brief the team in 20.”

Part of you wants to tell him no just to see what would happen. It’s clear, from more than just his title, he’s in charge. Your one and only connection to these people and this place is Spencer, so he is your tell-tale. He is your magic ball. It’s a skill, rather than a gift, being able to sense people like this– it’s something that years in retail and sales have taught you– and right now, you see how Spencer shifts his weight from one leg to the other while looking at his boss, waiting for instructions as if he couldn’t come up with them himself, and that, more than anything else that has happened today, is what scares you the most. 

Because if a man like Spencer can’t come up with an answer for this specific issue, you are not sure anyone else can. 

—————————————

“Can someone please tell me what is going on?” You are not above begging, hands balled into fists on your lap as you look up at Aaron Hotchner with pitiful eyes. You probably look messy, at this point, but you can’t bring yourself to care. All you care about is you. And your store. And the fact that an hour has passed since you first got to that godforsaken office and no one seems to care; no one seems to care about your time or your personal affairs. 

They only care about that stupid package. 

“Miss Y/L/N, I apologise for the confusion we’ve caused, but I guarantee that everything that has been done so far was to keep you safe,” His words, as strong as they sound, don’t feel any more assuring than then tentative glance Spencer throws your way. 

“Oh god,” You breathe out, eyes wide while your mind ran circles around you. It is a dangerous thing, to let a literary lover imagine– your brain, filled with epic tales and unforgettable real stories, starts rushing towards the worst case scenario and you find yourself reaching out to hold at something, anything, that might make you feel grounded in reality again. It’s how soft Spencers suit feels in your fingertips that makes you realise you reached out for him. “Oh god, was that like, a bomb? Did I sign for a bomb? Oh god, Spencer, do people send you bombs? I didn’t know, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, Spence, I–“ 

“It wasn’t a bomb,” Spencer is quick to interject, hands finally out of his pockets when he reaches out to hold your shoulders. His thumb gently caresses your arm and you try to breathe somewhat regularly, imitating the rise and fall of his chest like he is the beacon light bringing you back home in treacherous waves– like he is the only one you can trust in that place. “Y/N, it’s okay, it wasn’t a bomb. The contents of the package are not important and they were harmless. But we need you to focus. I know I scared you and that this is all very overwhelming, but you need to listen to Hotch. Please.” 

In your mind, you keep repeating those words to yourself– Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch.

“Cat Adams is a prolific serial killer,” Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. “We’ve arrested her a few years ago and we believe she has resurfaced.” 

Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch. Listen to Hotch.

“And that she has been targeting Reid.”

With one panicked look his way, you say what the words stuck in your throat can’t convey– I can’t listen to Hotch anymore. “She… She is a serial killer,” You whisper, eyes focused on Spencer in search of a nod or a shake of his head. This is the FBI, but you only trust him. “And she is after Spencer. Okay, I uh– I need– I don’t know what I need.” 

If you asked Spencer, he would tell you that you have a certain something about you whenever you are tired. Your shoulders slump forward and your head fall on your hands in a desperate way to keep your neck upright. The lack of energy is almost visible in you, and sometimes he has to fight the urge to hold your head up for you. 

But you don’t ask Spencer. Actually, you don’t say anything at all; you let people talk about you and around you, but your brain shuts down with each and every word, unable to retain any more information. “Can I go home?” There is a minute of silence before Hotch sighs, shaking his head. “But you said you arrested her, correct? Therefore I shouldn’t be in any immediate danger. I mean, it’s not like she has access to USPS delivery data from prison, right?” The more you speak, the faster you try to get up. You’re not thinking straight, and with all due reason– there is no power left in you to do this. There is no energy, no will, no strength to keep on going because it feels like you’re running in circle. 

Spencer notices it, too, and in what can only be interpreted as a daring attempt to calm you down, he let his hand rest on your shoulder for a second. It’s a subtle way to tell his team to go easy on you, almost like he’s having a full conversation with Hotch without opening his mouth. You, however, don’t catch it, and you continue to try and push yourself upright and away from them. You need to get away from them.

“So she has no clue who I am and I have nothing to do with this because I’m just a bookseller! And I just happened to sell Spencer some books and we’re just friends!”

A wave of shame downs on you when the words leave your mouth, like you are admitting to failure when  you haven’t even had the chance to try it to begin with. It’s like you deny Spencer’s presence in your life as a whole, like he has no significant place or role next to you, and you can’t seem to meet his eyes even when he starts speaking. “Y/N, I am so sorry,” The choked out sound that escapes him is the only thing that makes you look, makes you raise your eyes to meet his and you gasp when you notice he is holding back tears. “I’m so sorry, I thought she was gone, that she was not a threat anymore, I–“ 

“Reid,” JJ sighs, and you see something in her that makes you shift in your chair, a bit uncomfortable with the way his name sounds coming from her lips. “Reid, she’s going to be alright. We will get some officers to keep watch by her place, and we can file a request for protective detail during the day.” 

“You know as much as I do that none of that will help!” Spencer’s voice gets higher and louder with each word and his hands are back at it again, flying around the room in frustration. You have never seen him like that before, and it scares you more to see him scared than to hear that you might now be placed under protective custody. 

“Spence,” This time, when your voice wobbles in fear, it’s not because of him. “Spence, is it really bad?” 

When you were little, you used to refuse to admit your were scared. You’d use any other word– frustrated, spooked, uncomfortable– but you would never admit fear. Your dad always thought it was the cutest thing, though, because despite you puffing your chest out and crossing your little arms over your chest, the one thing that always gave you away was the way your lips wobbled. Right now, you feel like that little kid again, refusing to admit to how you really feel but giving it all out anyways. 

Spencer’s eyes read you like a book. You can feel the weight of them, moving across your face, taking in the lines and expressions you make without even realising. It’s like every part of you is a new chapter, telling him more and more of a story he is yet to finish, and with a sigh, sad and defeated, he nods. “It’s really bad, Y/N, I’m so sorry… this is all my fault. I should’ve been honest with you, I should’ve told you what I did and who I worked for and all that it brings with it.”

“No, Spencer, this is not your fault,” You breathe out, reaching for him in a moment of weakness. Your anger is still there, still simmering at the way that, in a sense, this is very much his fault, but you manage to rise through it when his nervous hands try to reach for you but fall nimble by his sides instead. “I mean, it kind of is, but it isn’t. And it’s okay. I’ll be okay. Right? I’ll be–“

“You’ll be just fine,” Hotch interrupts. His brows are slightly raised and from the way he looks at Spencer you think he knows something you don’t, but you’ve been feeling like that ever since you’ve stepped into that office. Everyone around you knows something you don’t– they know things about each other, about Spencer, that you simply don’t, and that you think you never will. Because after this– this betrayal, this hurt, this fear– you just don’t think you and Spencer can coexist anymore. You don’t think you can forget, as hard as you might try, the sight of him holding that gun to your head. So for now, you try to calm down. For now, all you can do is try to calm down. “Miss Y/L/N, we need to asses the situation, understand if you are in any kind of immediate danger. While our team works on this, we will ask that you relocate. Do you have relatives you can call? Friends?”

Technically, you do. Your parents live in New York and so do most of your friends– all it takes is one call. But that is one call you really don’t want to make. “I don’t want to leave my store,” Looking down at your hands, you wonder how easy it is for them to see right through you. “I just moved here. I know it might sound stupid, specially considering the… you know, this whole situation. But my life is here now and I would rather stay, if, if that’s okay, of course, I mean, you know… best.” God, you look so uncomfortable trying to stand up to his boss that the pity in Spencer’s face is almost palpable. “Please.”

“Hotch, she can stay with me.”

“Do we think that is a good idea?” JJ frowns, and you can’t help but nod, looking at Spencer as if he’s insane.

“I– That’s a very kind offer, but isn’t she after you?” You manage to ask, looking around for any clue their team might give you. These guys are professionals, though, and they know how to keep up their masks of indifference. 

“Yes and no,” He explains, sighing before crouching next to where you sit. “Y/N, this woman– Cat– she is psychology disturbed. She is what we call a black widow, do you know what that is?”

You nod, blushing a little with how close he is to you. “I uh, I read a book that the main character was a black widow. Butter, by Asako Yuzuki.” 

His smile makes you melt a little, and you hate how weak you are to the little windows of personality he allows you to see from time to time. “Yeah, I like that book too. But… this is real life. Cat Adams goes after cheaters, liars.” 

“Then why is she after you?” 

“Because I lied to her,” He admits, your eyes stuck on his expression and if you were anyone else, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his jaw ticks in response to what you can only assume to be anger. But you are not, anyone else, you are very much so yourself, an observer, a quiet listener, and it just so happens that your favourite person to observe and listen to is Spencer Reid himself. “I was our decoy to capture her and now she sees me a as a game. Almost like, like a game of wits, to see who’s smarter, to see who will win. Is this making sense, Y/N? Do you need a break?”

“I just, I don’t understand where I fit. I was just housesitting for you, I could’ve been a complete stranger.”

“Miss Y/L/N,” Hotch interrupted, leaning forward in such a somber way the hair on your arms stand up. “You have managed to get something she never did. Cat Adams is acting out in jealousy.”

“What did I get? I’m sorry, I don’t–“

“Me,” Spencer said, eyes piercing into yours. “You got me.” 

—————————————

By the time you make it back home, the moon is high and the roads are clear. It has been a while since you last got out of the house at the early hours of the morning. Fresh from the move and focused on your new store, making friends wasn’t at the top of your priority list when you landed, a year and something ago. Without someone to drag you out to bars or bribe you to go to clubs, you don’t really leave the house much at night, preferring the comfort of your own couch and the company of a book in the weekends. 

“You know,” For a second, you almost forget that he is right there behind you, and you jump a little when his voice echoes in your empty apartment. “You’ve been to my place so many times, but I never really even seen your apartment.” 

How do you tell him that there is not much to see, anyways? How do you tell Spencer that, in the time you’ve been here, the 365-plus-something days, you just never really thought about your apartment the same as your home? Your walls are empty, and it’s a little embarrassing, the way his brows shoot up when your turn on the lights. Besides your couch and a centre table, the place is almost empty. The TV stands on an old piece of furniture, a unit too dark and too classic to match with the rest of the things you have, and it’s a little too obvious that it came with the place and you were just too lazy to get rid of it. There is a singular throw pillow on the couch and a blanket, with a pile of books standing by the foot of it. But what really strikes him as odd, what really makes Spencer look around and make sure that yes, this is your apartment, is the fact that there are no shelves. There are no books, besides the four or five pilling up on the rug. 

“You know, for a book lover, you have… no books,” He mumbled, hands on his pocket as he offered you that smile you used to adore so much, but that now makes you a bit uneasy– tight lipped, never really reaching his eyes. “Why do you have no books?” 

“They are all downstairs,” You say, marching straight to your room to grab a backpack. “How many days do you think I’ll be staying with you?” 

“Honestly? Until we solve this.”

“…And how many days is that?”

From where he stands, he can’t see your sagged shoulders, trembling hands holding onto the blue backpack you had laying around the back of your wardrobe. “Pack for as long as you can,” He shouts from somewhere deep inside your place. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Too late for that,” You mumble to yourself, grabbing the closest items your found– a couple of shirts, sweaters, and jeans. After today, it’s not like you have much energy left to try and plan outfits ahead, so anything will do. 

It’s borderline funny, when you think about it… Just yesterday you were worried about what to wear, nervous hands sifting through your endless collection of sweaters to try and find just the right one for the day. Spencer visits you everyday, so everyday is a new day to impress him. You even start wearing makeup; a bit of mascara to make your eyes shine behind the glasses you refuse to wear, some blush to make the natural flush you get whenever he’s around seem more normal. It’s vain and futile, you know, but it makes you feel a tad more confident. A tad more… colourful. Like Penelope. “I think I’m ready,” You say once you’ve gathered all items you might need from the bathroom. “I’ll still be good to work, right?”

He nods, a smile on his face as if this is good news to him too. “Yes, we will have men stationed outside your store all day, so you don’t have to worry about anything while I’m away at the BAU. I’ll personally drop you off and pick you up myself.” His words don’t make you feel any more confident, hands fidgeting with the straps of your backpack. “Y/N, I promise, we will get to the bottom of this as fast as possible. This is temporary, and uh… I’d like to think that, you know, staying with me is not all that bad. You’ll get the bed and you are comfortable in my apartment, anyways, right? And, and! And we can have movie marathons and talk about books, cause I have a lot of books! You know that, of course you know that, you sold me half of them.” Clearing his throat when you just stare at him, you can see how Spencer is ranting. But you don’t mind the rant, actually; oddly enough, his nervous words are the one thing giving you a sense of normalcy right now. “Cat won’t come to you personally, if that helps. She is in federal prison, we’ve confirmed it yesterday, and anyone that comes in and out of your shop will be checked. Y/N, we– I’m not going to let anything happen to you, you need to trust me.”

“I do,” And you don’t mean to sound so sad, but you can’t help it. Right now, he’s the only person you can trust, and for you, that is one of the saddest things you’ve ever experience, because even though you know you need to pull away from him, that you need to put some distance between yourself and the man standing right in front of you, you just don’t trust yourself to be able to do it. “Anyways, can we go? I’m really tired, it’s been one hell of a day.” 

The walk over there drains the last bit of life you still have in you, foot dragging and tripping on the road, and you hate that this is how Spencer holds you for the first time– stopping you from falling on your face. “Sorry,” You mumble, following him once you’re on your feet again. The way his hands hover around you while you slowly make your way up the stairs of his apartment is adorable, and each and every time your heart skips a beat for him, it also breaks for yourself. You are digging your grave, and the worst part is that you don’t seem to care. You’re weak, you think to yourself, exhaling heavily when you finally walk inside the familiar apartment. 

You are so tired that you don’t really think about things too much, dragging yourself to the armchair you adore so much and sitting down. The way you kick your shoes off isn’t very polite, but you’ll worry about that tomorrow; for now, all you want is to shut your eyes and drift off to sleep, lulled by the muted green walls and the stories they told. While you slip into the hypnotic pull of a dreamless slumber, you can hear shuffling in the background, and later on, much later into the night, you don’t feel it, but Spencer covers you with your favourite blanket– the wool one his mother gifted him ages ago, the one you always leave tossed aside on his armchair. And you don’t see the way he smiles at you either, like he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders and doesn’t mind; not as long as you get to sleep as soundly as you are then. 

Actually, when it comes to Spencer, you are blind. To logic, yes, but to him, too. For someone as observant as yourself, it’s a little ridiculous how oblivious you are to the looks he send your way when you’re not paying attention. They linger, and he smiles in a way you’re yet to witness, but they are all for you. It’s the one bit of him that Spencer can give you, and you’re not even aware of it enough to take it and keep it safe. 

But maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better to not have hopes. 

Sometimes, Spencer thinks, fixing your blanket so that it tucked under your chin just right when your curl into a small, defenceless ball of exhaustion, it’s better to never have loved, then to have loved and lost.

He would know. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

aaaahhhh this is really happening! it's now official: a muted shade of green is an active series :D sorry if it felt like it took so long for an update, I just don't have much time to write recently, but I'm working on it! hope you like it <3

[punkeropercyjackson]

@mik3stuff

oh no, cringe-

[ancientcharm]

Roman Puteal (wellhead) 2nd century.

This puteal (wellhead) is an outstanding example of Roman figural relief sculpture of the second century A.D. It once covered a well in Ostia, the port town of ancient Rome, probably within a sumptuous Roman villa along the Tiber River. The ancient Roman sculptor has transformed a utilitarian object into a luxurious work of art. Carved from a single block of marble, whose form resembles a Hellenistic altar, the drum is decorated with two cautionary tales from Greek mythology that relate to water. The sculptor seamlessly combined the story of Narcissus and Echo, best known from Metamorphoses by Ovid with the tale of the handsome hero Hylas being abducted by nymphs in the land of Mysia as he was fetching water for the Argonauts on their quest to find the Golden Fleece.

Text: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. NYC (USA)

[akekiitaz]

Age headcanons for my favourite acheans when the trojan war started because I want to and CAN share them!!!

Achilles: 23. Yes, considering that, he had Neoptolemus young. It was more common at the time, from what I've seen. He is young and stupid.

Agamemnon: 40. 10 years older than Menelaus. I doubted for a second they'd be so close with a 10-year age gap, but then i remembered how close me and my older brother who's also 10 years older are, and it only made me more convinced of that age gap.

Ajax, the great: 34. Five years older than his half brother. Honestly, I am kind of choosing this one only using the fact Telamon and Nestor were argonauts in some versions as a metric, for I have not found any other indicators of his age.

Ajax, the lesser: 30. I mean, I can only see him as younger than Ajax the great. Also, I am using the fact his father was an argonaut as a metric for that age ONCE AGAIN.

Antilochus: 18. Some claim Nestor said he was too young to join the war when it started, and only joined in the middle. He would have joined at 23.

Diomedes: 26. Some interpretations say he was the youngest among the acheans, but I find that unlikely. I chose the interpretation he is only the youngest among the kings.

Menelaus: 30. Not very old, not very young. He is in the middle ground, in my opinion.

Nestor: 53. He, according to some interpretations, met and had a similar age to most of the achean's fathers, so I used it as a metric for his own age.

Neoptolemus: 6, 16 when he joined the war. Many describe him to be in his "late teens".

Odysseus: 34. He is described as an "raw old man" during the illiad if I am not mistaken, nine years after the war starts, so I believe that makes sense. Odydio toxic age gap yaoi

Patroclus: 25, older than Achilles, but only by two years. A bit more wise than him.

Teucer: 29. Guess what's the metric? Yeah, his dad being an argonaut. Then again, I do not know much about Teucer. Feel free to tell me about him.

[athenagc94]

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 28

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

TW: Blood (not overtly described) and smoking

First | Prev | Next

Chapter 28

The letters stopped immediately. 

Jason expected that would happen, but it didn’t stop him from religiously checking the PO box for the next week. When it was clear he wouldn’t be hearing from you, he reached out to Tim to amend the scholarship. No more letters, no more contact. You would still get your money if you chose to accept it, but he had the sinking feeling that now that you knew where it was coming from, you’d decline the scholarship altogether. He would hate to see you put your dreams on hold to prove a point, but you were stubborn like that. 

Crime Alley had snuffed another dream. 

Who was he kidding? He couldn’t blame this on Crime Alley. It was his fault, and his alone. 

Steph was right all along. He inserted himself where he ought not to be, and now he had to face the consequences of doing so. He had a bad habit of ruining good things, so why not taint what he had with you? His intentions were good, but good intentions had a way of coming back to bite him in the ass. It was easier to do dubious things and hope he stumbled into good along the way. 

You asked for time, and he respected that. The execution of his confession was far from perfect. It wasn’t a confession at all. You found the truth yourself while he stood there like a gaping fish. Even when the opportunity to tell the truth presented itself on silver platter, he had to go and spit in it. 

Jason had to trust that you’d reach out when you were ready. Or maybe that was the last time he’d ever hear from you. 

He tried not to think about it. 

He couldn’t. 

Not unless he wanted to go to a very dark place. 

So, instead of crashing out like every instinct told him to do, he settled on something more (barely) productive. He passed the Black Mask case to Tim, including full reign of his territory and all the evidence he gathered over the last few months. Tim might have had something snarky to say, but Jason wasn’t around to hear it. 

He skipped town shortly after, leaving his phone behind so no one could bother him. The temptation to check his phone every five seconds for a message from you was too strong. There wouldn’t be one, so it was easier to leave it behind. 

Artemis and Bizarro waited for him with a long list of clients seeking their expertise. It promised a hefty paycheck and a perfect distraction, so Jason jumped at the opportunity to drown himself in mercenary work. 

It worked for the first week. 

But as time wore on, the darkness found him. Work could only do so much. It couldn’t protect him from the quiet nights when he was left alone with his thoughts, with his regrets. He couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he tried to distance himself from the mistakes he left behind in Gotham. 

Running wasn’t working. 

Again. 

So, crash out it was. 

That was how he found himself here, pinned to the ground by a harpy. At least, that’s what he was calling it. Artemis vehemently denied his claim. But he saw the body of a bird and the head of a beautiful woman. If not a harpy, then why harpy-shaped? He’d read the myth of Jason and the Argonauts, and yes, he did see the fucking irony now. 

Their most recent venture led them to Crete, yet another check mark in the totally a harpy box, by the way, to find a relic for their client. He was a collector of rare pieces of Mediterranean origin, though he was painfully vague on the details save for a few amphoras that depicted a hidden temple of Zeus. A lot of people would cry myth, but ya know, Jason had dug himself out of the grave and he was currently wrestling with a harpy, so anything was possible. 

Hooked feet pierced the leather of his jacket and dug into the meat of his shoulders as it dragged him across the remnants of a cobbled street. Where was it taking him? He wasn’t too keen to find out. 

Jason twisted in its grasp, ignoring the way its talons shredded his skin as he wrenched himself free. Reaching for his gun, he only allowed himself a second to compose himself before he shot. His bullet clipped its wing, passing harmlessly through its feathers. 

Damn it. 

He tried again. 

It dodged at the last second, impossibly fast as if it were made of the gales it rode on. Feathers flitted around him like petals in springtime. This is what he got for rushing headfirst into the ruins without the others. He, honestly, didn’t remember doing so. One second, he was with the others, doing some light surveillance of the area, and now he was here. 

As the harpy doubled back to come at him again, he closed his eyes and braced himself for impact. 

He deserved this. 

If Jason hadn’t lied. If he told you the truth from the start. None of this would have— 

Artemis lunged at the harpy, her sword arcing in a clean sweep that severed its wing at the joint. Brackish ichor sprayed from the wound, coating her blade like an oil slick. It fell heavily on its side, its dulcet birdsong shifting to a haunting wail. With a hard look on her face, Artemis drove her blade down on its throat, silencing it for good. 

When it stopped twitching, she turned her glare on him. “Your masculine audacity astounds me sometimes.” 

“Yeah, same. Where’s Biz?” 

“Finishing off the others. Sirens travel in packs.” 

Jason pressed his hand over the gash on his shoulder to staunch the flow of blood. “Sirens? No way.” 

“Modern mythos has warped their image to resemble that of a fish woman, but that was undoubtedly a siren. She lured you with her voice, not that you seemed to notice until she had you pinned. You are fortunate this one liked to play with her food.” She flicked the blood from her blade. “You would have known the dangers if you waited like we discussed. You are a mess, Todd.” 

He smiled through the pain as Artemis yanked him to his feet. The strength behind it nearly pulled his arm clear from its socket. “Tell me something I don’t already know.” 

She crossed her arms, unimpressed. “I am sending you home.” 

Home. God, he hated that word. “You can’t bench me.” 

“And yet, I just did,” she said with a knowing slant of her brow, “I refuse to sit back and watch you get killed because you have decided to lose all sense of self-preservation. Whatever happened in Gotham is no concern of mine until it effects business. I—” 

“She no care for you.” 

Her eye twitched as Bizarro touched down next to her. A siren had slashed through his shirt to reveal the unblemished pectorals beneath. Must be nice to have skin tougher than steel. 

“It is unfortunate that I am put into a position to tell you that this is not the way to work through your feelings. As they say, it is the pot calling the kettle black. However, that would insinuate that pots and kettles are equal, and they are not. You are a flimsy kettle.” 

If Jason wasn’t actively bleeding, he might have had a leg to stand on, but now wasn’t the time to argue with her. “Gee, thanks.” 

“She says it to be mean,” Bizarro said sympathetically, “You are doing great. You no need to go back.” 

He shook his head. “I can’t go back to Gotham.” 

“Once, I would have loved to hear you say those words to me. I had wanted it more than you realized, but that is why I know you must. As much as I hate to admit it, you cannot quit that city. Nor can you quit its people.” Her gaze sharpened. “None of them.” 

Not even you. 

“So, what? You want me to fly back without a fight?” 

“Unless you would rather swim home? I hear the Mediterranean is balmy this time of year.” 

Jason grimaced. “I hate you.” 

“The feeling is mutual.” Her tone suggested the opposite. “I do hope that you can return to us in peak form eventually, but it is clear to me that you are simply running.” She placed a hand tentatively on his arm. One would almost say comforting, but Artemis would never admit that. “And I would like to meet the one that has so thoroughly fucked with your head. It seems she does not put up with your shit. An admirable quality.” 

Bizarro peeled back the strips of leather and Kevlar to study his wounds. “We no want to meet her. So, you fuck this up.” 

Jason laughed despite himself. If only they knew the half of it. He hadn’t been the most forthcoming of what went down between you and him, but it seemed they’d filled in the blanks themselves. 

“Yeah, we’ll see.” 

*** 

Jason recalled the night he met you. 

Your yellow hoodie, the strings chewed to pieces. 

Your worn copy of Wuthering Heights. 

The wariness in your gaze he’d grown fond of. 

Your conversation made his return to Gotham feel a little warmer, but that wasn’t the case this time. He arrived outside his main safehouse without preamble. It looked the same as the day he left it, untouched and uninspired. It was moments like this that he missed the organized chaos of your studio. 

He shrugged off his jacket and trudged across his living room, pointedly ignoring the phone he’d left on its charger in the kitchen—right next to Viola, the plastic succulent.  

A warm front pushed in while he was gone, leaving the air thick. He shoved open the window that led out onto the fire escape. Time had long-since corroded the lower landing, but his remained sturdy despite the creak of the grate under his boots. 

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a carton of cigarettes he purchased from the bodega around the corner. A year had passed since he last smoked. It was a bad habit Jason returned to when life felt particularly bleak. It hung loose between his lips as he brought the lighter to the end. 

The familiar burn of nicotine filled his lungs. It didn’t help, per se, but it felt productive. Thin strips of smoke seeped through his teeth as he flicked some ash over the railing.  

Per Artemis’ demands, he came back. 

Now, what? 

Jason ran his fingers through his hair. He should have considered his next steps on the plane, but what he did next depended entirely on you. If you didn’t reach out, he wasn’t about to bully his way back into your life. 

“That’s a nasty habit, ya know?” 

He sputtered, choking on his next inhale. 

That voice. 

Babs said he was out of the country. 

Dick hoisted himself over the edge of the railing, dressed in his street clothes. He made it look effortless as he twisted into a handstand that pulled the fabric of his shirt taut across the lean muscles on his back. Show off. With a soft grunt, he shoved off and stuck the landing beside him. The grate groaned under their combined weight, and Jason felt less certain about its structural integrity than before. 

“So, I’ve been told.” He offered him the carton. 

Dick pulled one out and pressed it between his lips. Jason lit the end and watched as he took a long drag with the grace of someone who’d done it before. Only Jason knew the truth. Dick had been the one to teach him how to blow smoke rings, not that any of the others would believe that little Dickie would ever smoke. It was a memory he held onto like precious gold. 

“When did you get back?” 

“About three weeks ago,” he said with a half-smile, “Tim told me you skipped town.” 

And yet, he’d miraculously appeared the very night he got back. Jason could smell the bullshit from a mile away. “Who sent you to check in on me? Artemis?” 

“Please, we both know she’d have sent Roy.” 

“She still might.” 

“Then it’s a good thing I got here first.” Dick knocked shoulders with him. “Between you and me, Roy gives shit advice.” 

“Is that why you’re here? You give shit advice too.” 

“Rude.” Dick leaned against the railing. Despite his grumbling, Jason shifted over to make room for him. “Here I am, trying to be a good big brother, and this is the welcome I get.” 

Their relationship was complicated. Familiar, but complicated all the same. Case in point, this was the first time he’d seen Dick in almost a year because he couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes.  

Jason couldn’t shake the hooks that Gotham used to drag him back, but Dick, he was desperate to spread his wings and fly. 

He’d always been that way, even back before he died. He rarely came home, too busy being a hero and making a name for himself that was separate from Batman. Having him for a brother was like that sibling that was always away at school. 

Some things didn’t change, but that had. 

Dick tried to be more present for Tim, for Damian. With every new member that joined the Bat family, Dick went out of his way to make them feel welcome. Jason knew things had changed. His death may or may not have had something to do with it, but Dick never confirmed that it had, and he never asked. 

“Alright, fine, if Artemis didn’t send you, who did?” 

“Would you believe it if I said Bruce?” 

Jason blotted out his cigarette. It wasn’t scratching the itch like he hoped it would. “No.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”  

His laugh skittered across his bones as he took another drag. It had always been vaguely unsettling, but he’d toned it down around others. Not with him. When it was just the two of them, he dropped the pretense. Dick was far from the golden boy everyone claimed he was, and he allowed himself to relax around Jason who had seen the wrinkles in his facade long before he smoothed them out. 

“Alfred asked me to check in.” 

“Now, that’s more believable, but barely.” 

Dick puffed his cheeks. “Alright, fine, he didn’t actively say those words either, but it was heavily implied. I’ve learned to read between the lines.” 

And that was more believable still. Jason flicked and unflicked the lighter, watching as the flame danced on it wick. “Why doesn't anyone in this fucking family knows how to communicate?” 

Dick shrugged. “No idea. Probably why you’re in this mess now, yeah?” 

He shot him a narrow look. “What do you know?” 

“Enough. You’ve taken a page from the Tim Drake school of using fake names with the girl you like. Bold move. Not what I would have done, but we can’t all be perf—” He couldn’t even finish that statement without bursting into another peel of laughter. 

Jason flipped his lighter off. “Are you here to give advice or do you just want the credit for saying you did?” 

His expression turned more serious. “I was waiting for you to ask for it. Something tells me that’s as close as I’ll get, so here it is. You made a bad call, but that doesn’t mean all is lost. She already knows you have a vigilante identity and that’s, honestly, half the battle in our line of work.” 

“She seemed to like Red Hood a lot better than she liked the man under the mask.” That wasn’t true. Not even a little bit, but if he said it out loud, maybe he could convince himself it was. Your silence might hurt less if he believed Red Hood was the true object of your affection. 

“It’s because you never gave her a chance to know Jason Todd.” 

If anyone else in their family saw fit to appear suddenly outside his apartment, spouting the same bland ass advice, Jason would have started shooting, but Dick said it in earnest. He sat with his suggestion for a few moments as Dick finished off the rest of his cigarette.  

There were no expectations beyond his thoughtful reflection.  

He knew Jason well enough to know he couldn’t be forced to draw a conclusion before he was ready. 

And he was right, of course. 

You knew him, but not really. There were aspects of his past that fundamentally shaped who he is as a person, and you deserved to know about them. He never gave Jason Todd a chance. 

When Jason finally nodded, Dick flicked his cigarette butt over the railing. “So, when do I get to meet her?” 

“Never, if I can help it.” 

“Prick.” 

“Dick.” 

They shared a conspiratorial smile. “I missed ya, man.” 

“I’m right here.” For better or for worse, Jason was here. Gotham was his home, whether he liked it or not. But if it meant spending the rest of his life with you, maybe this city wasn’t all bad.  

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

*** 

In the serene quiet that followed Dick’s departure, Jason settled at his kitchen table, daunted by the blank sheet of paper laid out in front of him. Dick made it sound simple, but nothing about his life was simple.  

You deserved to meet Jason Todd. Not just the bad parts, not just the parts that were vaguely bittersweet parts, but the good parts as well.  

And there were good parts of his life. 

He decided a letter was the best way to tell his story. It was more romantic, and Jason was nothing if not a bleeding poet at heart. 

As he brought pen to paper, one thing became clear. 

He was going to need a lot more paper. 

--------------------

A/N: I overcame my fear of writing Dick Grayson. Anyway, we're on the homestretch, friends. Two chapters left.

--------------------

Tag List

Let me know if you want to be added!

@bungunz @emu-lumberjack @goldendistrict @qardasngan @rues-lovely-memoir @sawendel @banana-lol @anuttellaa @k-tblog @wujiscarrot @umiexe @4rachn3 @rheaphobic @flowery-fa @theendofthematerialgworl @overthebriarpatch