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barbarianprncess · 1 year

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the anatomy of a hurricane

read on ao3

part i // part ii // part iii // part iv

part v: dissipation

Clarisse does not enjoy the sight of blood.

The irony of her aversion is not lost on her. It’s not that she’s afraid of it. She’s a daughter of Ares, violence is something she has great respect for. She doesn’t faint at the prospect of needles, or flinch at the thought of her period. She just doesn’t like it.

Contrary to popular belief, when she plays combat games at camp, she doesn’t aim to do any permanent damage. Unless you’ve royally pissed her off, she prefers the crack sound of her opponent’s broken bones, or the conch sound of knocking her opponent out. But her real enemies, monsters, don't bleed. When you’ve bested them, they become puffs of clouded dust, falling like ashes where they stood. Ashes means victory.

Blood is a demigod thing. A human thing. Her blood is what makes her who she is. It bonds her to every other kid at camp. It is their strength and their vulnerability. She’s protective of it, and the sight of it in open air means defeat. Blood means loss.

Clarisse doesn’t like blood.

And there was just so much of it.

Annabeth’s blood.

Pouring from her shoulder. Spilling through Grover’s shaking fingers. Soaking Thalia’s jeans where she crouched in the pool of it. Dyeing Percy's shirt as he cradles her to his chest. Staining her cheek where he touched her face, smearing from teardrops he couldn’t seem to help.

Clarisse kind of fucking hates blood.

Hates the way it rushes in her ears, and hates it even more because she’s grateful for it. Grateful for the fact that she can’t hear what’s going on around her. In fact, blood is all she can hear, all she has heard since Grover let out that disbelieving half-laugh, half-sob. Since Thalia threw her chair at the opposite wall.

Hates the way it’s all encompassing, even so far away from the source. She can see it, the half-dried streaks left behind in Percy’s hair from his fingers raking through it. She can smell it, potent and relentless, coming off all of their clothes. She can fucking taste it, metallic and fresh in her mouth from biting the inside of her cheek too hard.

Clarisse doesn’t know how she ended up here, shaking with rage outside the Olympian throne room. Well, she does, but it’s strange. It doesn’t feel real. None of it. But it has to be real because she can still see it and she can still hear it and she remembers.

She remembers the gods finding them on the bridge just in time to do absolutely fucking nothing. She remembers every agonizing second the gods just stood there and gaped at the tableau of misery they’d created. She can still see Luke's mangled body feet away from Clarisse, Thalia, and Grover, huddled around Percy clutching at Annabeth's body. She can still hear how hoarse the desperation made Percy's voice when he demanded the gods, “Do something!”

Apollo had knelt down to pry Annabeth out of Percy’s arms, (which tightened instinctually as the god approached) to see the wound itself, and the look on his face at the sight of her shoulder—swollen and green and still fucking bleeding—was the farthest thing from reassuring.

Clarisse vaguely recalls some whispers and shuffling before Apollo said something to Hermes about getting the child to his infirmary, who dragged his eyes away from his son's corpse, shed a single tear, and snapped his fingers. In a flash they were sitting in uncomfortable plastic waiting room chairs, a stark contrast to the golden doors of Olympus, watching helplessly as Apollo placed Annabeth on some kind of ancient floating gurney, and called to some dryads she assumed worked for him to follow him down the walkway.

And then there was radio silence.

Hours must’ve passed since the Gods locked themselves in the throne room without giving any clue as to when they’re coming out again. Or maybe it’s been minutes. An excruciatingly slow collection of seconds. She really has no idea.

All she knows is the floating tufts of goat hair Grover had been anxiously combing—ripping—out.

All she knows is the furrow of Thalia's brow.

All she knows is in the years she’s known him, Clarisse has only ever seen Percy be this still before once.

The golden doors swish open with far too much elegance for the occasion.

All she knows is the smell and sight and feel of Annabeth's blood.

And as four of them enter the throne room, she is certain that that’s all Percy knows too.

As they stand before the grandeur of the Olympians, Clarisse is underwhelmed.

The gods had reverted to their giant form, in order to fill up their royal thrones. The twelve were seated and arranged in a wide U, like the cabins at Camp Half-Blood. Her brain couldn’t really process the whole of it; instead her ADHD bounced between details. How her father’s sunglasses seemed seconds from slipping off his nose. How the waves that, at first glance, seemed to be engraved in Poseidon’s throne, are actually moving, mini storm systems whirling up and around each of the legs. The snakes on Hermes' staff tearing into a rodent. The simplest of the seats of power being empty; she knew instinctively it was Hestia’s. A quick scan found the goddess still in human form, poking at an enormous fire that crackled in the central hearth pit. The room itself radiated power, and yet Clarisse has to fight the urge to scoff.

She thinks of the battle at Zeus’s Fist last summer. Pictures them sitting in this exact circle watching in relative boredom. Watching the children that they created, lose their lives to a war they didn’t start. And she feels nothing for her father, for any of the beings before her. Not fear, not awe, not even pity. Certainly not love. She feels nothing.

The same cannot be said for Grover or Thalia who radiate disgust at the display of ego before them.

The same cannot be said for Percy. Percy is livid. Clarisse doesn’t blame him.

“Welcome demigods,” Athena addresses them first, “I’m sure you have many questions about what just occurred and I am happy to make everything clear for you.”

“Demigods,” Zeus begins. “I will admit I was as in the dark as you were about this…plan, but I must say I am grateful it took place.” Somewhere to her left Grover coughs, as if physically repulsed by the statement, but Clarisse isn’t sure; her eyes are staring straight ahead piercing a hole through the hearth.

“We recognize your bravery and sacrifice.” Thalia laughs out loud, earning a disbelieving scowl from her father before he continues. “And we understand your desire for an explanation. Athena?”

The aforementioned clears her throat in a way that makes Clarisse want to rip her hair out. She feels a strange sense of deja vu as Athena runs down The Plan in her clipped, pragmatic, light-as-air tone. And that smug look on her face, like everything went exactly the way she envisioned, like she didn’t almost ruin several people's lives by taking someone out of it. The no remorse smirk on her face is something Clarisse knows she’ll see in nightmares for the rest of her life.

(If she ever does start sleeping again.)

Clarisse must’ve zoned out because soon that curled lip is saying, “Any questions?”, and Thalia and Grover are bursting at the seams, so clearly about to explode and Clarisse is waiting for the deadliest of pins to drop.

“How?” Percy speaks but doesn’t look at them

“I’m sorry?” Athena quite literally begs his pardon. Clarisse would laugh if she wasn’t seconds away from spontaneous combustion.

“How did this happen to her?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The whole point of your plan was to prevent demigods from injuries. I know Annabeth better than anyone, and I’m certain one of the reasons she agreed to your dumbass plan was to keep demigods safe. But that’s not her job. It’s yours. All of yours. And you failed. You’ve been failing miserably for millennia because you’re too busy to get involved with individual children's affairs. But you did. You got involved the second you presented Annabeth with this dumbass fucking plan, and as soon as she agreed it became your responsibility to take care of her. To keep up your end of the deal. You said she was to be kept in an enchanted safe house. That it was almost impossible to detect, or to infiltrate. She was safe. I don’t know if you noticed— but the state she’s in, is not anywhere close to safe. So. How, the fuck, did this happen?”

Demeter, who’s been irritatingly disinterested at the proceedings around her, furrows a brow. “Are you implying that the injury of your little friend—,”

“Annabeth. Her name is Annabeth.”

“—is somehow Athena’s fault?”

Athena raises a regal hand. “Thank you, Demeter, but I’m afraid the demigod is right.”

Clarisse isn’t the only one taken aback by the confession but Athena barely gives any time to process it. “The safe house was scheduled to dissolve on August 19th. The only condition Annabeth gave for her participation in this plan was to receive hourly updates on Percy’s…survival status on August 18th, starting at midnight. I was so caught up in surveilling New York in preparation for the eminent battle, I did not send those updates. I would tell you what happened, but Hephaestus has put together the footage, so you can see for yourself.”

A clear screen that reads Hephaestus TV materializes in front of them. One second she’s looking at Aphrodites too-shiny fingernails, the next she’s looking at unnervingly clear security footage of an all too familiar house. There are Greek letters blinking in the lower right hand corner, 23:45 blinking in the upper left.

Military time, Clarisse thinks. They’re using western military time. She itches at the thought. Because she knows that’s how the gods viewed them. As soldiers to take orders from they’re higher ups at any moment. She knows that objectively, has seen it in action, but for some reason those blinking numbers hit her hard in the gut.

Roughly translated, the screen is reporting the time as 11:45 pm, August 17th.

The room is messier than she remembers. There are more papers strewn on the floor, a pile of barely eaten sandwiches ready to spill out of the trash can, ancient books with pages ripped out open on the ground. The only thing up on the wall is what appears to be a calendar open to the month of August. There are little notes on different days, and four big red circles surrounding a date she doesn’t have to see clearly to know what it signifies.

And suddenly, there she is. A curly blonde whirlwind spinning on screen. Next to her, she hears Thalia stumble back three steps. Grover lets out a bleating moan.

She glances at Percy. He doesn’t move or speak or even breathe but he’s looking at Annabeth on the screen like he’s seeing Olympus for the first time, a mortal standing before Zeus. Like watching Annabeth pace around in a safe house in New Jersey is a religious experience.

Clarisse looks away.

The video speeds up until the clock reads 12:00 am, August 18th.

On-screen Annabeth uncaps a marker and x’s out the circled day on the calendar. Drags an old fashion looking phone that Clarisse assumes is magical out of a closet and on the floor and sits cross-legged in front of it.

Her left leg is bouncing over her foot. She’s picking at her nails. Tugging fingers through her curls. Scrunching her nose. She’s waiting, it’s palpable, you can feel the anxiety through the screen.

At 1:36 am, Annabeth taps at the phone, picks it up, and says something into the speaker. Her words are muted but her mouth is frantic and her brows are furrowed.

At 2:43 am, Annabeth fills a bath with steaming water and uses one of the few emergency drachma she has to Iris-message someone who doesn’t answer.

At 3:13 am, Annabeth pulls out a bag of what looks like rocks and throws one of them on the ground. A sort-of glowing portal opens where the broken pieces should be. She takes one last look at the house, grabs a piece of paper off the nearest table, stuffing it in her pocket, and steps through.

The footage switches to grainier surveillance of a street corner. A figure is lurking behind her. Bile rises in Clarisse’s throat when she reads the street sign.

She was two blocks away.

She was right there the whole time.

Clarisse doesn’t want to think about what happened next. There’s a boy with an eyepatch that Percy seems to recognize based on the growl he lets out when he appears. There’s a fight. The part of Clarisse that has trained with Annabeth half her life knows that based on Eyepatch boy’s skill level, Annabeth could take him any other day.

But it’s August 18th.

And she’s distracted, and terrified, and alone, and unarmed.

She never stood a chance.

Annabeth fights it out for a while but the odds are more than stacked against her. She ends up on the ground, and the Eyepatch boy is standing over her. He raises his dagger to take the final blow and Annabeth rolls away at the last second and the blow aimed at her chest ends up lodged in her shoulder.

Annabeth lets out a blood curdling scream.

The video cuts off.

“I’m sure you can infer what happens next.”

Thalia scoffs, high pitched and false. Grover throws up in a gold-plated bucket.

And Percy is raising a hand.

A great sense of resignation expands in Clarisse’s chest.

Thalia notices first, choking down her laughter and calling out, “Percy, dont!”

The room begins to rumble. A crack appears on the stone floor beneath him, and snakes its way to both sides of the room. He’s drawing a line in the sand separating Clarisse, Thalia, and Grover from the gods.

He’s protecting them from himself, Clarisse realizes.

The room rumbles, cracks crawl like spider legs beneath in Olympus’s throne room. Pillars begin to crumble, symbols of power are shaken from their mantles and Percy effectively turns the proudest place in the universe into dust and rubble.

“Perseus Jackson!” Poseidon yells, but the only thing he succeeds in doing is turning Percy’s attention on him. “Stand down, son. Before we must make you.”

“Okay.” Percy smirks, with an empty look in his eye.

“Make me.”

That seems enough goading for Hermes, who steps forward and points his staff. Clarisse flinches, preparing for an explosion or an energy blast or something but nothing comes. Because as he prepared to strike, the snakes on his cattle prod slithered up close to his face and whispered something in his ear.

“He has taken on the Curse of Achilles.” Hermes exclaims. “Ancient law is clear, we cannot—,”

“But, this is a direct attack!” Ares shouts. “Can we not defend ourselves?”

(Her father, she remembers. That thing in the leather and the sunglasses is her father.)

“He is at the mercy of the fates, and only the fates.” Hestia answers, strangely calm in the middle of an active earthquake. “We can do nothing.”

A crack in the ground crawls its way from the center of the room to the center of all godly thrones. Clarisse follows its path all the way to Zues’ feet, who looks up and locks stormy eyes with his nephew.

Percy is still looking in Zues’s eyes when he breaks his throne in two.

His symbol of power.

The greatest, most powerful seat in the known universe.

In pieces.

The room stills and no one breathes, nothing moves, and all eyes are on Percy.

Percy is surveying the ashes he made out of Olympus.

“I’m not going to hurt you. This is me demonstrating. Showing you that I could, so you understand what I’m about to say.”

“You may not die. But, you feel pain. You can hurt. You bleed. And you will. If she doesn’t wake up, you will never stop hurting. You will never stop bleeding. I will spend every second, of every day, of the rest of my life, teaching you what pain is. And you will spend every second of your eternal life, wondering if killing her was worth it.”

He looks at Apollo, deadon. “Fix her. Swear on the River Styx that you’ll do everything in your power to fix her.”

“My child…I can't just…there are vows I took—,”

“Fuck your vows. Swear on the Styx that you’ll fix her. Because if you don’t, I will hold you personally responsible. And when I prove that cracking a throne is a kindness, I will make you watch. Do you understand?”

Apollo nods.

“Swear it.”

(He does.)

Percy slams the doors on his way out.

The first week of Annabeth’s coma, Clarisse is at a standstill.

Chiron calls an emergency meeting the second they get back. Well, he calls an emergency meeting the second he looks up from his book and sees Percy covered in blood.

It’s her third time hearing this plan and being completely honest, it makes even less sense the more she hears it. She grips Percy’s bicep the whole time Chiron. Percy’s frame is stiff and brittle and gone is the easygoing sea-breeze he used to carry with him everywhere, and Clarisse feels the pit of her stomach burn.

He doesn’t look at her the entire time, but she doesn’t let go of his arm, either.

The apology is faltered and shaky and it might be the most sincere she’s ever seen Chiron, and it’s not nearly enough.

He doesn’t mention her involvement.

She’s grateful and hates herself for it.

“There was no other choice,” he says, “and for that I am deeply, truly sorry.”

He’s looking at Percy, but Percy is looking at the floor again, and Clarisse is the one who has to watch Micheals’s strangled laughter, Katies’s wild teary eyes and the way Silena’s shoulders sag and face melts into something bitter she doesn't recognize on her features.

She hates it. She hates the thick, suffocating feeling of being in this room full of hearts broken for nothing, like someone came in and hacked them to pieces with a blunt machete and left the remains in a pile on the ping-pong table.

She lets go of Percy’s arm, then, and tries not to let it bother her too much when he doesn’t speak to her. Or look at her. Or otherwise acknowledge her existence.

After spending three days in the Olympus equivalent of an ICU, Annabeth is put in a medically induced coma to give her body time to heal from her injuries. Hermes then transported her directly into the infirmary at camp with a note on her chest with directions from Apollo to Will on keeping her alive.

The first thing Will does when he gets over his shock is get Percy.

And as Clarisse stands with Beckendorph outside their wooden excuse of a hospital, and watch Percy clutch Annabeth's hand and glare at the machines keeping her alive, she wonders aloud, “The fuck do we do now?”

Beckendorph sighs, bone deep.

“We wait.”

The second week of Annbeth’s coma, Clarisse is getting restless.

Other than the breathing tube being removed from her throat — something you couldn't pay Clarisse to witness again — Annabeth has made very little progress.

Camp's routine adjusts accordingly to her presence.

Will gives the same update every day at morning meetings, (She hasn’t gotten any worse. No, she hasn’t gotten any better, but the lack of crises makes me hopeful we will make progress soon. Yes, I know I said was hopeful yesterday. You know Annabeth, she’s a fighter. She’s strong.) effectively setting the tone for the day.

Everyone seems to isolate themselves, reeling and grieving and agonizing in their own special way. Beckendorph locks himself in his workshop, Micheal breaks more bows. Katie has taken up baking and Travis pretends they’re delicious. Connor lets Malcolm tutor him in English.

For the entirety of the first week, Percy stayed firmly by Annabeth's bedside. Will set up a cot for him to sleep in, and Percy refused to sleep in it until they pushed it close enough to her bed for him to hold her hand.

Clarisse is sitting at the far end of the room, watching Percy watch Annabeth's chest go up and down, when he speaks to her for the first time.

Once he starts, he doesn’t ever really stop. It becomes constant background noise. He makes it clear he’s not speaking to anyone else, his words soft, his eyes trained on her face.

She picks up bits and pieces.

“ If your twelve year old self could see you now...”

“…Your dad is pissed. I think you might be grounded for eternity...”

“…Everyone misses you…”

“…Someone punched a hole in the wall in the Big House. I promise you, it wasn’t me…”

“…I miss you…”

“…My mom might be more pissed than your dad…”

“…I missed you when you were awake, I missed you all the time…”

“…I’m mad at you…”

“…I wish I could say I didn’t know what you were thinking when you did it, but I do. I know you. I know what you were thinking. It kinda makes me sick...”

“…I’m honestly, really fucking angry with you…”

“…I miss you, and I'm furious with you, and I need you to wake up so I can forgive you…”

“…I just really need you to come back to me, okay? Please, come back to me…”

“…Annabeth, I need you to wake up.”

(She doesn’t)

Then he’s putting his head down next to the hand he’s holding, and he's crying those terrible, horrible broken sobs that seem to cut open Clarisse’s chest and squeeze at all her vital organs. And Clarisse thinks that she is going to kill Annabeth Chase when she wakes up.

Except she won’t. At this point, Clarisse has decided that death, quite frankly, is an activity that Annabeth Chase is simply not allowed to partake in. It’s non-negotiable. If Annabeth ever tries to die again, for fake or for real, Clarisse is going to lose her shit. Annabeth and death are no longer allowed in the same goddamn sentence, because Clarisse’s life never needs to be this fucking complicated ever again, and, also, Clarisse isn’t completely sure that the boy curled up in the too small hospital bed would survive it a third time.

The third week of Annabeth’s coma, Clarisse is at a crossroads.

Thalia is visiting, so Percy is for the first time leaving Annabeth’s side for a period of time not filled by showering or debriefing. Chris had suggested they take a boat out on the lake and they both agreed, if only to get away from the stares and whispers. And when they were done they sat on the beach until the day’s heat morphed into the night's breeze.

Clarisse is picking helplessly at the sand beneath her when Percy says, “I told him it was okay.”

Clarisse’s entire body goes rigid. She doesn’t ask who or what or why even though her head is swirling with curiosity. Instead, she stays silent and just as she is, like if she moves he’ll change his mind.

“Chiron, I mean. I told him it was okay.” She hears four waves crash before he speaks again. “I didn’t forgive him. I don’t know if I’ll ever really forgive him. I think I might kind of hate him for a long time. But, I understand. Why he did what he did, I understand now. I didn’t before.”

“I was so angry, Clarisse. When I thought that she…I was really fucking angry all the time.”

You deserved to be.

“Luke was angry all the time too. I don’t want to be like him. I don’t ever want to hurt her, not for anything. Especially not for revenge against the gods. They don’t deserve it.”

“I’m just really tired of all of it, Clarisse.”

“I’m sorry, Percy,”

“S’not your fault.”

“But—,”

“I know.” Something about the way he says it, stops her from trying to speak. Because somehow, he knows she knew the truth. And she doesn’t know how or why and she doesn’t particularly care because all she can feel is guilt and dread and a selfish bit of fear. But, Percy does what he has continued to do since that day on the docks to her left.

He surprises her.

“I know, and it’s not your fault.”

“It’s okay, Clarisse. It’s okay.”

They sit like that for a long time. Clarisse reeling, Percy contemplating. She stands up when the bell for curfew rings, but he doesn’t. Her back is turned to him when he asks,

“She made you promise, didn’t she? She made you promise to take care of me?”

Clarisse sighs, “Yeah. Yeah, she did.”

“Well, when she wakes up, I’m telling her you did a shit job.”

She smiles in the darkness, and heads back to her cabin.

It ends where it began—the Big House. Everyone is assembled for their morning debrief, and Will is standing to give his update.

The door creaks open and without looking she knows.

Maybe she knows from Chris's hand on her thigh tightening. Maybe from the way Will drops back into his chair. Maybe from the sound of Conner choking on his sandwich. Maybe from the high-pitched half-sob Malcolm lets out. Maybe from the way Beckendorf sighs like the weight of the world has lifted. Maybe from the way Katie rubs at her eyes. Maybe from Silena’s smile. Maybe from Percy.

Percy, who for the first time since that day on the docks, looks truly alive.

Clarisse turns and there she is. Annabeth. Hovering in the doorway like a ghost, looking as if she’s just as surprised by the fact that she’s here as the rest of them. Her eyes are sunken and wild and darting around the room in a desperate search. They pass over Travis and Katie, Beck and Silena, and Micheal and Chris and—

Percy.

They land on Percy.

Percy, who’s looking at her like she’s the sun coming out.

Annabeths eyes freeze, fill with tears, and positively fracture.

She looks bad—sickly and gray and skinny as one of Nico’s skeletons, and everything about her malnourished frame swaying on her feet suggested a breeze could blow by, and she’d just float away. Her face is ashen and her hands are shaking and her shoulders are drawn up in a preemptive flinch.

Percy is looking at her like she’s divine.

“Hi.” Her voice is high and fragile and afraid. The room is so silent her voice practically echoes through the space. Everyone is frozen stuck in place, gaping at this girl who stopped a war before it began.

Percy’s gaze is darting over her too small figure like he can’t pick between any of the parts of her. Her kneecaps, her collarbones, her ankle, her fingertips, her mouth, her hair, her eyes—he keeps coming back to her eyes—he looks at all of it, all of her. He’s looking at her like he never wants to look at anything else.

“I didn’t mean to barge in on your meeting, I was just….” Percy snapped his gaze to her eyes when she started talking and Jesus, it’s so intense, Clarisse wants to look away on Annabeth’s behalf, but she can’t, she doesn’t seem to be able to. If Annabeth is the sun then she’s somehow managed to pull the entire room into her orbit and Percy is close enough to burn.

“I’m sorry, Percy.” Everything about her is shaking. Her voice, her hands, her legs, they vibrate compared to Percy’s stillness. “You don’t have to accept it, you don’t have to forgive it, you don’t even really have to hear it, I just need you to know it. Selfishly, I need you to know it. That I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, Percy, sorry I did this to you, sorry I couldn’t be there for you, sorry I agreed to it in the first place, I-I just…I was trying to protect you. To keep you safe—alive, just trying to keep you alive. I wanted for you to have more time than the fates gave you. That’s all I’ve wanted for five fucking years, for you to have more time. Because I…you have to know that I—,”

“Annabeth.” She freezes, looks at him, and there’s that orbit again, only this time Percy and Annabeth are the only planets that exist. Together, they are their own personal solar system.

“You died.” His voice is hoarse, low.

“I know.”

“Don’t do it again.”

She hesitates, “I’ll try.”

“You love me?”

She exhales. Nods.

“Okay.”

Clarisse blinks and there’s a supernova.

Somehow, through the haze and blinding lights and pure unadulterated love of it all, the rest of the council finds the sense to clear out of the room, and give them their privacy.

(Not that it mattered. Percy was kissing her before any of them could think, let alone avert their eyes. They all fumbled out of their chairs and rushed out the door in such haste, there was no way they were quiet, but Chiron's hooves and Silena’s giggles didn’t seem to penetrate their little universe.)

After what Clarisse considered to be an absurd amount of time considering the fact that they knew the entirety of camp was waiting for them, they emerged with swollen lips and matching smiles. Percy had one arm in a vice grip around her waist, as Annabeth seemed pretty shaky on her feet, but made it down the steps without mishap.

Everyone stood frozen and staring, the spell she cast still unbroken. Annabeth seemed to pick up on this, her smile softening as she held up her arms.

Katie and Silena dive in first, squeezing her way too tight and laughing in her ear. Travis and Connor were right behind them, choked up and unblinking, until Annabeth reached up and ruffled their hair. They let out wet laughs and Connor tripped over his own feet backing up. Thalia holds her face in shaking hands. Grover held her hands gingerly and sob into her collarbone. She took Malcolm’s hand, whose fists had been curled up and kissed him on the cheek, melting the stony emotions on his face. Beckendorph holds out his hand for a complicated handshake, and Micheal bumps her arm with his shoulder. Chiron tucks some of her hair behind her ear.

Then it’s her turn.

Annabeth is looking up at her with wide, and grateful eyes, similar to the look she gave her in the factory but somehow older.

Clarisse is fuming and elated and hates her and never wants her to go away again.

Honestly, Clarisse kind of wants to hit her.

While she’s deciding, Annabeth throws her arms around her neck.

She smells sterile.

Clarisse begins to cry.

Annabeth takes it in stride, kneeling to the ground when Clarisse starts to collapse in on herself, and holds her. Percy crouches in a way that can’t be very comfortable, and holds the both of them. And then there are more arms and more tears and somehow Clarisse is smack in the middle of a group hug and she doesn’t even care.

They’re far from okay. She thinks they might be someday.

When a storm is over, it leaves wreckage behind.

Annabeth’s not-death left behind obvious debris. Foundations of trust were cracked, people were wounded, and some things would never be the same as they were.

But, they rebuild. They fill the cracks, and mend the bones, and make something shiny and new out of broken rusted parts.

It's hard, painful work.

(It’s worth it.)

They are camped out in sleeping bags around Annabeth’s infirmary bed, and for now, the storm has passed.

Annabeth is half asleep on Percy’s shoulder, and the ocean before them is calm.

Percy’s smile is in Annabeth’s hair and the earth is steady beneath them.

They are holding each other and despite it all, there is nothing but love around them.

For now the storm has passed. And that, Clarisse thinks, is enough.

#percabeth #annabeth chase #percy jackson #percabeth fic #my writing #anatomy of a hurricane

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lutethebodies · 5 months

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LTB Tav Tuesdays: Cannor Coth, the Lost Singer (Part 1)

Let's kick this off with my first Tav, based on the first character I made when jumping back into 5e after a ~30 year layoff from D&D. His name is a very loose translation of the Welsh canwr ar goll ("singer lost") or canwr cudd ("singer hidden"). I've spent more time with him than any of my other characters, so I'll try to keep this entry from running long and flesh out bio/backstory details in other posts this week, using the many surveys/memes/prompts on here. His short bio (stripped of all names/places) goes like this:

The bastard son of a disgraced army medic and a wayward noble lady, Cannor was raised in a rebel military camp far from his parents' native land. When his family was broken by that exile army's defeat, Cannor slowly clawed his way from obscurity to infamy, becoming a skilled singer and storyteller who dabbles in diplomacy when the money’s good and his ego is starved. Slightly over the hill but still antsy to be remembered, Cannor’s happiest when creating. Whether blowing blarney, keeping cool, or anything in between, he’s equally at home in lordly courts and tumbledown taverns. Cannor is a cultural sponge with nearly four decades’ worth of travel, soaking up language, accents, impressions, geography, history, and lore. As a younger man, he cultivated community wherever he went and made the world his home, but after being banished from his adopted home city years ago, he’s developed a deep desire for stability.

In 5e, I created Cannor circa late 2019 for my brother's homebrew campaign "Worlds of Aeos," a sailing/islands-based setting that eventually expanded well beyond that. Cannor was originally a College of Whispers bard, armed with a whip and dagger to finesse rather than fight, but as the campaign quickly became more violent and dangerous, I switched him to College of Swords. For a party that began as literally an "oops all bards" power trio (everyone, including the DM, had been in college bands), surviving to level 16 was no small feat. Cannor was effectively the frontman, a saber-wielding singer/storyteller and aspiring envoy who never got beyond the "spying and dirty tricks" bits of diplomacy school.

In BG3, I've run about five playthroughs with him: a FAFO original, a second to refine my playstyle, a third to be as completist as possible, a fourth with my other favorite Tavs as his hirelings, and a fifth that finally graduated from Explorer to Balanced. In each one he balances fights with finesse, taking full advantage of what a human swords bard can do and equip. BG3 rules allow him to be much less fragile than 5e, but I still sort of nerf him by sticking with light armor (the stylish +1/+2 studded leather, dyed black and summer green) and d6 scimitars instead of d8 rapiers/longswords (I wish there were whips in this game). He always romances Minthara, both because she's my favorite companion and because it actually works well with his old backstory (which I'll get into with another post).

For better and worse Cannor is my self-insert/running commentary on how poorly bards have been stereotyped by popular culture, because I hate the "useless fop" and "lecherous swine" bard tropes and I always have. I tried to subvert that a bit by creating a sort-of "spy who sings and strums" character—who leans more on "master of none" than "jack of all trades"—someone who's not utterly useless in a fight, but also not as combat-focused as, say, Gurney Halleck from Dune. It's probably not as original as I'd first thought, but it works for me and that's what matters.

In my own homebrew "Nua" campaign, Cannor was the DM-NPC and lore-dispenser (like Volo, but much less clichéd and much more able to defend himself) who accompanied my players' PCs through one region of the world I made. That worldbuilding was so compelling that I created my own cartography for it, and in 2022 self-published it as an atlas. In 2023 I used Cannor (and his career-killing habit of composing/performing original songs) as a frame for my own longtime music/lyric hobby, writing and recording seven of "his" songs using a mandocello. Thankfully I finished that project before BG3 ate my brain.

Anyway, since this post was much less about the character himself than what I've done with him, I'll add a much longer, story-like follow-up post soon, and I promise future Tav posts won't be so convoluted. But like I said, Cannor's my guy, so he gets special treatment. Part 2 is here.

#ltb tav tuesdays #bg3 #bg3 oc #bg3 ocs #cannor the lost #bg3 bard #bg3 tav #my ocs #my bg3 #my bg3 character #my bg3 ocs #Tav Tuesday

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asdaricus · 4 months

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I like pictures of humans and monsters or at least behemoth beasts working together. Maybe it's a bit of a James-Gurney streak? Prompt follows: classical balanced composition, City of Brass + City of Wizards + Star Wars Atlantis, wizards in lavish robes, women merchants selling water, noble warriors in kaftans and turbans, warriors riding reptile lizard, mythical, ethereal, intricate, elaborate, hyperrealism, hyper detailed, strong expressiveness and emotionality, by Darek Zabrocki, Marc Simonetti, Ivan Laliashvili, Jean-Baptiste Monge, Gustav Bauernfeind, Michael Whelan, Stephen Hickman, Frank Frazetta, Gerald Brom, cinematic lighting, visual clarity, 200mm, UHD, 32k, 16k, 8k, 3D shading, Tone Mapping, Ray Tracing Global Illumination, Diffraction Grating, Crystalline, Lumen Reflections, Super-Resolution, gigapixel, color grading, retouch, enhanced, PBR, Blender, V-ray, Procreate, zBrush, Unreal Engine 5, Cinema 4D, ROMM RGB, Adobe After Effects, 3DCG, VFX, SFX, FXAA, SSAO, --ar 170:63 --s 750 --v 6.0

#AI Art #Midjourney #Midjourney v6 #reptiles

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jimothy-hopkins · 2 years

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What Godly Parent/CHB Cabin I Think Bully Characters Would Be In.

Zeus

Zoe Taylor.

Bif Taylor.

Poseison

Gary Smith.

Hades

Pete Kowalski.

Ares

Russel Northrop.

Seth Kolbe.

Jimmy Hopkins.

Thad Carlson.

Dan Wilson.

Wade Martin.

Christy Martin.

Athena

Beatrice Trudeau.

Donald Anderson.

Parker Ogilvie.

Max MacTavish.

Peanut Romano.

Justin Vandervelde.

Aphrodite

Mandy Wiles.

Derby Harrington.

Pinky Gauthier.

Gord Vendome.

Edward Seymour II.

Lola Lombardi.

Kirby Olsen.

Apollo

Trent Northwick.

Cornelius Johnson.

Norton Williams.

Bryce Montrose.

Eunice Pound.

Vance Medici.

Demeter

Bucky Pasteur.

Tom Gurney.

Troy Miller.

Angie Ng.

Bryce Montrose.

Dionysus

Duncan.

Juri Karamazov.

Casey Harris.

Hal Esposito.

Karl Branting.

Hephaestus

Johnny Vincent.

Lucky De Luca.

Ricky Pucino.

Hermes

Lefty Mancini.

Melvin O’Connor.

Earnest Jones.

Ethan Robinson.

Algernon Papadopoulos.

Luis Luna.

Fatty Johnson.

Hypnos.

Ivan Alexander.

Nemesis

Damon West.

Constantinos Brakus.

Davis White.

Nike

Chad Morris.

Ted Thompson.

Bo Jackson.

Tad Spencer.

Staff bonus

Chiron

Ms Philips

Mr. D

Mr. Galloway

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hells-wells · 2 years

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our Love Is The Love Of The Century 4

Following the fallout of the particle accelerator explosion, what will the consequences be for Eobard and You?

Pairings------- Eowells X Reader, Harrison Wells X Reader////// Warnings------- Mentions of death, descriptions of minor character death

Your screams filled the destroyed room, tears stung your eyes as you struggled on your feet, swaying back and forth. Slowly moving towards Harrison’s body you trip over something solid, barely protecting your face as you hit the hard cold floor. Your eyes were still blurry but you could make out the shape through the darkness, it was a body. There was no mistaking it, leaning in closer to see who it was, you noticed the silver-blonde hair…

Ashley… I never cared for the bitch but what a horrible go, looks like part of the ceiling came down on top of her…

You noticed there were pieces of glass that had slashed her face pretty deeply, checking her pulse it confirmed your suspicion, she was dead.

I wonder what killed her first? The glass or the ceiling? Or being a two-faced, backstabbing bitch? Probably the latter…

The throbbing from your head was starting to become too much, when you tried to stand your legs gave way, huffing an annoyed breath, you started crawling towards him, he has to be alright.

Harrison please, please be ok…

You tried pushing the tears back as you reached him, quickly checking his pulse, he was alive. Breathing a sigh of relief “Harrison?... Harrison?!” Please be alright…” You started to break down, he was alive but wasn’t moving. He let out a muffled groan, you heard it, quickly pulling your phone out and dialling 911 “Just hang on.”

The first responders were on their way, waiting felt like it took years.

“Y/n…..” Harrison’s eyes opened “Ar-are you alright?” His voice was shaky and weak.

“Hey, I’m fine thanks to you” You smiled down at him.

He returned the smile “Does that make me your hero?”

Earning a small laugh from you “Always”

The sounds of footsteps broke your concentration, looking behind you towards the doors you saw the flashlights.

“We’re in here!”

You stayed beside him as they checked his vitals, it wasn’t long before they started to wheel him out on the gurney, he held your hand the whole way down. They were leading you both outside the building when a rush of feeling dizzy hit you, fast. Your fingertips felt numb, your legs shaky, and when you spoke it didn’t sound like words, that’s when everything went black, you fell down on the ground.

“Y/n! Y/n!” Harrison’s voice slowly faded until there was nothing.

—--------------

Hours went by, you had woken up first and made your way to Harrison as soon as you could. Seeing him laid up in the hospital bed, with the breathing tubes made your heart stop, the guilt started to overwhelm you.

If I had just stayed put… Then he wouldn’t have gotten hurt…

Dragging a chair over to the bed, you sat down next to him. Taking his hand in yours, you sat there and waited. You’d wait however long until he was awake. At some point, you had fallen asleep, head in his hand.

He slowly started to stir, not that he was really asleep but he had to make it look real. His eyes found you sound asleep. Eobard’s heart softened seeing the circles under your eyes and tear-stained face, gently moving the hair that had fallen on your face, he just stairs for a moment. Y/n’s eyes open with a light smile pulling on her lips, once she sees you, she sits up, and tears start falling down her face… Again.

“Ha-Harrison!” Her voice was dry from crying.

Eobard smiles gently, stroking her cheek “I am glad to see you, Kitten.”

That’s when she breaks down “I-I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault” she barely stutters out.

His face falls for a moment upon seeing her pain… That he caused.

“Y/n” she didn’t answer “Y/n” pulling her into a tight embrace, he decides the best thing he can do is hold her “It’s not your fault” he repeated over and over again.

NEXT CHAPTER

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tenderlysharpmidain · 2 years

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Prompt: Unreal engine, James Gurney, Gediminas Pranckevicius, expunged space pirate, odd illustration, pixar, Atmospheric, fractal Lab style --ar 21:30 --chaos 66 --upbeta --v 3

Jalle

midjourney

#midjourney

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lesbiancosimaniehaus · 11 months

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Also I did think Meg Ryan was miscast. I think the script would have been better served as a play—because it reminded me a lot of the AR Gurney play Love Letters. There’s not a whole lot of action that is necessary to the story, in either one. I actually think J. Smith Cameron would have been better suited for that, not only because I love her and I saw her in Love Letters and thought she was terrific, but also because she does great work when there’s more words than action, and when dialogue is wordy.

I don’t particularly think Meg Ryan and Duchovny had much in the way of chemistry.

#what happens later

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spoekelse · 2 years

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Victorian Era Costumes That I Find Similar to Anime Character Designs

I'd like to dispel the notion that a Victorian would pass away at the sight of an anime girl. Sure, rich ladies didn't like to show ankle, but there are more people out there. These are a variety of costumes from burlesques (then known mainly for being comedic), ballets, and theatre. A few are not by performers, and were for taken for personal reasons. These are all from the 1860s-1910, so Victorian and Edwardian (if you will).

Paris, France. P. Nory , Photo: Walery

Thigh-highs:

Right: Boston, USA. "Miss Darcey", Photo: The Notman Photographic Co.

Left: Broadway, New York City, USA. Alma Stanley, Photo: Marc Gambier

Bold design elements:

Top Left: Paris, France. Pauline d'Argent , Photo: Walery

Top Middle: Broadway, New York City, USA. Rose Zazel, Photo: Marc Gambier

Top Right: New York City, USA. Veronica Jabeau, Photo: Falk

Bottom Left: Paris, France. Eugénie Fiocre, Photo: Disdéri

Bottom Centre, Right: Paris, France. Unknown, Photo: Jaime Abecasis ARS Paris

Kemonomimi:

Left: Paris, France. R. Darty, Photo: Walery

Right: New York City, USA. Eliza Blasina, Photo: J Gurney & Son

Bat costumes after illustrations in Jenny Taylor Wandle's 'Masquerade & Carnival'

San Francisco, USA. Dolly Adams, Photo: Houseworth's Celebrities

Ladies in short dresses and capes:

Left: San Francisco, USA. Mabel Santley, Photo: Houseworth's Celebrities

Right: New York City, USA. Gracie Wilson, Photo: Newsboy

Faeries:

Left: New York City, USA. "Miss Farrington", Photo: Mora

Centre: New York City, USA. Unknown, Photo: Moreno & Loper

Right: Paris, France. Eugénie Fiocre, Photo: Disdéri

Sailor girls:

Left: New York City, USA. Pauline Hall, Photo: Mora

Centre: Unknown performer and photographer.

Right: San Francisco, USA. Elma Delaro, Photo: Houseworth's Celebrities

Femboys, crossdressing:

Left: Riga, Latvia. Unknown university fraternity students, Photo: Th. John for Jurjew

Right: Tartu, Estonia. Unknown university fraternity students, Photo: C. Schulz for Jurjew

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reddus-sideblog · 2 years

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M.E.R.C.s - Post-Mortem

5-02-890 AR

The basement of the Triage station was cool, in stark contrast to the heatwave assaulting Santa Free aboveground. It was about the only comfort that the building held for Blanc, as every other facet of it was deeply perturbing. She was pulling a double shift today, one as an active duty Triage Strike Team guard and another as a medical examiner for her station’s morgue.

Covering this shift was a favor for one of the usual morgue staff members, Sophia, who was up above and a good distance away, attending her sister’s wedding. Blanc didn’t love weddings, but anywhere besides this morgue would be an improvement, even another Triage station’s morgue would do. Being underground didn’t bother Blanc, she’d been raised in a farm grotto, it was the work that was awaiting her that she was dreading.

The sealed door to the mortuary closed behind her, and dispassionately she covered her face with a medical mask, covered her hair with a net (which her petite black horns poked through), and donned elbow length disposable gloves over the light gray skin of her arms. Blanc closed her eyes and slowly inhaled through the mask before approaching the trio of covered bodies laid out in the middle of the processing area. She picked up the clipboard at the foot of the leftmost gurney and pulled a pen out of her breast pocket.

“Kyle May”.

Blanc pulled the sheet off of his corpse. Kyle’s body was probably the most intact out of the three that lay before her. After Raum and her had jumped out of the strike team’s ambulance the chimera had hopped out with their medical supplies, ready to follow the devilkin into the mission area. Kyle had been hit by a burst of SMG fire from one of the Infernalites that had injured their client, and while he survived the initial trauma, the catguy hadn’t taken time to stitch his own wounds. This saw him bleed out needlessly in the passenger seat of their ambulance while he and Blanc were evacuating the client, leaving her as the mission’s sole survivor.

One of Kyle’s pointed, fluffy cat ears had been pierced by a bullet, with the resultant stream of blood now caking the right side of his cold, pale face. Blanc looked over the bullet wounds. None of them should have been fatal, and he would have been able to get out of the way if he wasn’t loaded down with medical gear. There were three puncture wounds on his upper left arm, one on his outer left thigh that pierced through his dense chimera muscles but hadn’t hit any arteries, one that pierced his heel on the same leg, and one that grazed his ribs, likely crushing one or two lower ones. Most catpeople had an additional set of ribs, and while flexible, they could suffer damage just like anyone else. Given the unreliable hybrid nature of chimera anatomy Blanc had assumed that her teammate suffered from a number of chronic illnesses evident in his family. She was fond of the orange-haired chimera, or rather, she had been. Even though they had been working together for almost three years the devilkin lady had only recently started working up the courage to ask him out.

“Seven bullet wounds, locations marked on diagram. Subject perished of exsanguination during physical activity after injury.”

After rolling the deceased chimera over to the meat locker Blanc signed her name on the signature line of the autopsy report. Everything had gone wrong this morning, and this evening was just the aftermath. She’d barely worked half an hour inspecting her friend’s corpse and filling out the necessary paperwork but it was time for a smoke break.

The two Eve-clan cigarettes she ended up smoking were nowhere near enough to calm her down, but being away from the processing area for a bit longer was better for her than continuing to stare at her team mate’s cold bodies. However, twenty five minutes was a bit long of a smoke break, and the heat outside was truly oppressive, especially while wearing full-body armored scrubs. She was also the only person on staff for the morgue, so if a rush order came through it would be on her shoulders.

Blanc shoved the crumpled 20 pack of cigarettes back into her pocket as she skulked down to the basement where the morgue was located. She’d had six today, which was double what she’d ever normally smoke in a day, and it was only half past five in the evening. The gray devilkin had woken up twelve hours ago, and the exhaustion from this morning was starting to catch up with her. Before she opened the door to the morgue Blanc hesitated and doubled back to get a cup of coffee. She usually just had her coffee with cream, but she added three sugar cubes to the cup. Maybe she deserved another treat today.

Finally she made her way back to the morgue, after avoiding a few different co-workers looking to console her. Blanc hated the momentary sympathy that their condolences always reeked of. Raum and herself were the only devilkin on Team 4C, and at the Linkennedy Triage Station for that matter, and the older, laidback man was just about the only person at Triage besides Kyle that she’d ever confided in. His cool demeanor, slicked back platinum-blonde hair and spiraled horns always made him seem unflappable to her. Blanc couldn’t even work up the emotional energy to be mad about how often she’d overheard the other staff talk about her enormous patches of scars, her small horns, or her serpentine tail. Getting mad about it wouldn’t change anything anyways.

“Raum Roberts”.

When they had gotten the call to rescue William Flynn, Blanc and Raum had balked. The elderly human senator was a well-known antagonist of hellsector’s ungovernable statuses, and neither of them could count the overwhelming number of times Flynn had been involved in an explicitly anti-Infernalite scandal, or else had been caught making off-color remarks about half-demons. Regardless of sentiment, Triage had a brand reputation to uphold, and they were the ones handing over bullion for services rendered to the M.E.R.C.s they employed.

After the Santa Free senator’s armored car had been driven off the interzone highway by a hit from an RPG it had barely limped into the Stockada Sector, rolling to a stop in an undeveloped lot at the edge of the sector furthest from the off ramp. Linkennedy was practically next door to Stockada, and strike team 4C got there in three minutes. Despite their enormous misgivings, Blanc and Raum followed the standard operation of any Triage Strike Team, S.A.T. procedure. Secure target, Administer aid, and Transfer to a Triage care facility. After Kyle was hit by Infernalite gunfire the team had made it to their target’s armored car, and the situation seriously escalated.

“Subject has fourteen laceration burns from heat weaponry. Five on his lower left arm, one on his right shoulder, two on his face (one blow removed one of his horns which is no longer present as a result), and six on his torso and abdomen.”

When the strike team reached the senator’s location, Sienna, the team’s head surgeon, along with Kyle, began administering aid to Flynn, who had been punctured by shrapnel from the rocket’s explosion. Blanc and Raum guarded the perimeter, keeping watch for any further assailants. As it turned out there were many. The two devilkin fended off a few small squads of Infernalites, keeping the meeker ones away with their pistols, and cutting down the more reckless ones with their high-frequency blades. As the senator was transferred onto a pack gurney a number of the red-emblazoned Infernalites became desperate, and charged the strike team as one. Raum had gotten their attention by revving his HF weapon’s engine loudly, obviously challenging the half dozen combatants wordlessly. Raum told Blanc to go on and make sure that the other team members would get back safe. She wanted to refuse, but Blanc listened to her comrade all the same.

“Subject expired when his chest cavity was pierced by a heat weapon, destroying his heart, killing him immediately.”

Blanc sighed as she covered Raum’s corpse. His patches of shining turquoise scales had dulled significantly since he’d perished, and they were now interrupted by a number of blackened burns all over his body. Blanc had a father, the chimera man who had adopted her when she was a small child, but Raum had felt like a second father, someone more in tune with the world most devilkin lived in. She’d always been divorced from the culture her blood bore with it ever since she was orphaned, but Raum had brought her a good few steps closer to that society, and he’d even brought her to a few festivals across Santa Free over the years. Blanc sighed as she closed the meat locker’s door again. She had been looking forward to attending the Festival of Fire with Raum in two months, and she’d even booked the time off already.

“Sienna-795”.

Blanc decided to power through the cataloging of the last of her friends. She still had a few hours left on her shift, and while the overtime bullies she was making were great, it didn’t make reducing her friends to ink on a form any easier. While Sienna, Kyle, and Blanc were running their target back to the ambulance they were ambushed. Some clever, or perhaps late, Infernalites had jumped out of an alley while their ambulance was just a block away.

Sienna had produced the in-built assault rifle from her arm and tried to suppress the lot of them, but she was too slow on the draw. The android’s armored frame had let her weather a number of smaller caliber shots while Blanc and Kyle ran to stow the senator in the ambulance’s armored bay. The pistol rounds were hitting the head surgeon like rain on a tin roof before a double-crack of explosive power rang out.

“Subject’s cranial compartment was obliterated by a high-caliber anti-android munition.”

An anti-android round, fired from a shotgun, blasted through the team leader’s head, reducing her ancient mind to a pile of metal shards and white coolant. Out of everyone else Sienna’s death bothered her the most. The old android had more healthcare knowledge and doctoring experience than some universities had in their entire medical department, and now she was gone. Newland wasn’t a better place for her death, and that asshole politician got to live to make other devilkin’s lives worse. Blanc had seen all that she’d needed to see, out in the Stockada Sector and in the morgue.

Blanc shoved the three autopsy reports into the head mortician’s inbox, and barged into the station manager’s office. The Ashlands had three less people in it, and Triage now had four less employees. Blanc had to be anywhere else right now, even in the blazing heat of the early evening, if she was going to find a new meaning to life somewhere in Newland City. Even though her friends were gone Blanc refused to give up on living, no matter how bitter the day tasted.

#Ashlands RPG #M.E.R.C.s #a bit of a downer this time

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comediakaidanovsky · 3 years

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Catalyst of change

Gurney doesn’t turn to the sea, nor the skies. He studies the ground as he walks, looking for anything that might contrast the grass. It’s not the season for wild flowers, but there are some stubborn bastards that usually survive long into the colder months. Eventually he finds a cluster of tiny, white flowers. They’re smaller than the nail on his thumb, and scattered through the grass and moss like fallen stars. He kneels on the ground, dew and rain immediately seeping through the fabric of his pants, but he needs this. Needs to ground himself with the help of something simple and beautiful.

His sister loved flowers and his sister is dead.

Gurney knows that he’s yet to bury many people he loves, and that the only thing that could save him from such a fate is if he’s the first to die.

Sighing deeply, he finally turns his gaze to the cliffside. Watching the sea mirror the grey clouds above, the horizon stretching onwards until it’s swallowed by fog and foam. The world is so big, so deeply cruel, and he is but one man wishing he could keep hundreds of people safe.

All he can do is give of himself. Share with others these skills and experiences that have shaped him. There are many lessons that he’d rather not have learned, but if they’re of use to others, at least his suffering has not been in vain.

“You’ll freeze to death, old man.” For a moment he thinks the voice is a figment of his imagination – some feverish version of Paul, speaking to him through the punishing winds – but when he turns around, there is the Atreides heir. Wrapped in a simple, black coat, his hair wild in the breeze. He looks as if he’s left the castle in a hurry, neither wearing gloves nor proper boots; he looks like he doesn’t need such things; like he’s at home here, and the storm and the seas and the darkening clouds are all part of him.

“Then what are you doing here, facing death with me?”

--- AO3

hi, yes, i love gurney halleck, with his poetry and his fear and his fierce loyalty, so i wrote this character study with a side of slash. a coming of age, learning to love, loving in the face of an uncaring universe, type of thing

yes they quote ar ammons and barbara kruger and tracy k smith, and all i can say in my defense is; your honor, they’re in love

and, obviously; heed the tags and read responsibly and all that jazz

#gurney halleck #paul atreides #gurney x paul #dune #fanfiction #yes i have officially lost my mind

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mka1098 · 3 years

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I’m Gay Panicking But It’s Fine - A Solangelo One-Shot Fanfiction

Thank you to @windbyfire for letting me use your fanart !

Might be a bit of OOC it's my first Solangelo piece; they are just too cute for me not to try and write them. Also, I'm straight (feel free to make fun of me like my friends, I take all the hits) so my attempt at gay panic is just not great. I just tried to think of my friend when they gay panic. Haha, hope you guys like this piece, and here's the link to the podfic/audio version

Audio listen along: https://youtu.be/xRLTIr6ZqwE

I'm Gay Panicking But It's Fine by Mka1098

Nico is a generally petulant, cold-faced, and stoic person. He smiles only during the darkest and latest of nights and barely grunts a word at people. His expressions are perceived as less than friendly and perhaps the only people who weren’t afraid of him and his ghost powers could be counted on one hand. (Percy, Annabeth, Jason, Hazel, and Renya). So it was a total shock to him when the golden-haired Will Solace bounced next to him right as he was leaving his cabin at 2 PM in the afternoon.

“Uh… hi?” He says in the quietest voice. Will smiles brightly at him.

“Hi, Nico.” The blonde says. Nico frowns. He feels as if he’s being smirked at. And oh, it is not a welcomed feeling, not for him. Enough people believe they can mess with him and those said people were sent right to Will’s own wing.

“What do you want?” He asks with a bit of bite in his tone. Will shrugs.

“Just wanted to say hi.” He says evenly. Nico scowls at him.

“That’s it?” His tone is harsh. “You just wanna pop over here and say hi? For no reason?” Nico says snarkily. Surprisingly, Will doesn’t run and scream in terror; he doesn’t start to shake either. Instead, his smile seems to grow infinitesimally bigger and he shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Yep.” He pops the P of the word before turning sharply left and away from Nico. The blonde doesn’t even look back at the confounded boy he had left standing. Instead, he smiles at some of the other campers and heads into cabin 6.

Nico stares back at him dumbly, even as he disappears into the cabin. “What the Hades?” He mutters quizzingly to himself. Nico crosses his arms tightly on his chest. There are some other campers, gossips for sure, who are staring at him. They are murmuring hush whispers while clearly pointing at him. He sends them a murderous glare; the point gets across and they scramble away quickly. Nico sighs. Sure being dark and broody is helpful when one wants to be alone but there are times when he doesn’t want to be alone. Alas, how on this earth is one supposed to make friends when they have the appearance of a walking skeleton. Nico keeps walking towards the mess hall. He needs food; he needs it now. His stomach shouts at him to hurry up. Hm, if only Jason was here then maybe he’d believe him that yes, the Nico Di Angelo does still run on sustenance-- well, something other than happy meals.

Few campers are still in the mess hall when he arrives. They stick to their own tables, their only sibling. Nico has no sibling, not any that are here at least. Sitting down, he summons plain salted noodles, slightly butter and light garlic; diet coke rather than water. He sighs as he smashes a forkful into his mouth. Pasta’s great and all but he eats it because they are simple carbs. Plain pasta isn’t overpowering, it isn’t too earthy or meaty or lettuce. It’s just enough to keep him upright. Nico sighs again as he finishes half the bowl, quickly getting sick of the dish. As he scrapes the rest of the pasta into the fire, he wishes he had a friend next to him.

“Welcome back.” Nico groans as the harsh light attacks his eyes. He attempts to get up but is shoved, gently at least, back down. “You just woke up; it’d be awful if you fainted again.” The voice chuckled. Nico’s eyes register just enough to see curly blonde hair next to him. The figure is wearing a white coat and holding a clipboard; it’s Will.

“What happened?” Nico says in a slight snarl.

“Shadow travel,” Will responds dryly. “Did you know you have a limit on distance and time?” He asks with an innocent voice but his eyes are letting on more than he’s saying. “It seems to me that your body uses a lot of energy to travel around that way and it lowers our blood sugar significantly.”

Nico scowls at him and blinks at the feeling of a hollow ache within him. “Yes, I did know that.” He says. Will makes a half-smile, half-smirk.

“Great, then I’m going to need you to manage your shadow traveling a bit better,” Will says. “I will come up with exact rules soon but know it’s going to be more limited now.”

Nico feels fury well up inside of him. “Not over my dead body.” He growls. Wills chuckles at his threat, annoying Nico even more.

“One-” Will puts a finger up. “-if you were a dead body then I did my job wrong. Two, as if you’d go so quickly. And three, doctor’s orders.” He says firmly, leaning in. Nico crosses his arms indignantly.

“And what if I don’t listen?” He snaps.

“You will.” Will sounds so sure of himself. Nico’s eyes darken.

“And how do you know that?”

Will leans in; he leans in very much. Nico gulps subconsciously and for a moment is shell-shocked by the smug look on Will’s face. His eyes are full of bright lights and mirth. His mouth is pink and completely sure. Nico never really talked to Will before… well yesterday when he had randomly said hi when Nico woke up. He had always known the blonde, how could one not and vise versa. He knew Will was smart and capable and a wicked good doctor; Nico just didn’t know how commanding and snarky he was either.

“Oh, I have a feeling.” With that, Will leans back and rips off a piece of paper, and hands it to Nico. The boy stares at it; it has times and measurements. “Your rules,” Will says easily. “Doctor’s orders.” He leaves with a flourish of his coat and Nico is left still on the bed with shouted orders to rest.

Nico is surprised-- pleasantly surprised. Everyone at camp is afraid of him and his ‘scary’ powers. But Will is not. It’s a nice change. A hint of a smile appears on Nico’s face. He actually listens for once (because he is not Percy Jackson)

“What is that?” Nico stares at the cards in Will’s hands. He shrugs. Nico scowls at him deeper. “What is that?” He repeats.

“Mythomagic cards.” Will smiles brightly; Nico wants to put on sunglasses. “I was playing with a couple of my patients when I remembered that you used to be a huge fan of the game. That was how you identified Dionysus right?” Will teases. Nico feels his face warm up, something that never happened before. Indignantly, he turns away with a huff. “Huh? Don’t like it? Mm… could’ve sworn you still liked the game; oh well, see you later then.”

Will only takes about 3 steps before Nico caves. “Wait,” Nico calls out quiet but Will hears and spins around as if he had shouted at the top of his lungs. “I- I still like the game, okay?” Nico says, trying to act hardened but it wasn’t working as well as he was hoping it would.

“Perfect!” Will says with a grin on his face. “Come join me.” He puts a hand out between them. Nico stares at it. What? Noticing that Nico didn’t move a muscle, Will quirks an eyebrow up. “Huh? Too much for you to handle?” He teases. “Sorry, just say it.” He brings his hands back to the pocket of his sweatshirt but smiles welcomingly for Nico to follow him. Nico frowns before giving in and following the blonde. He still catches the smirk residing on Will’s face.

“You don’t need to look so smug; I still like the game,” Nico growls. Will tilts his head to the side.

“I hoped so.”

They enter the hospital healing wing and there is a group of kids in clean white robes that seem to light up when their eyes catch on Will. They are young-- ages 9...10...11...12 perhaps. “Dr.Solace!” They chorus before even noticing that Nico stands next to him. Will smiles brightly; he looks almost like an angel of medicine with the sun shining through the window. “You’re back!” The kids continue. Will laughs and leaps onto one of the empty gurneys. Nico walks and stands awkwardly next to it. The kids don’t spare him much of a glance-- he wants to melt into the shadows to escape but finds that the wing is so lit up with light the nearest shadow could barely cover his entire hand.

“I am!” Will says, eyes Twinkling. “And… I brought a friend.” He presents his arms out like a magician showing his newest trick. The kids stare at Nico. Nico stares back awkwardly. Uh… what is he supposed to do now? He waves; a tight forced smile is on his face. The kids look at him intently and then back at Will. They smile, a move Nico did not expect, and nearly giggle out. What on… what? “Guys…” Will says with a head shake. Nico looks at him with a head shake. Is there a blush on his face or has Nico forgotten breakfast again? “-don’t laugh. This is Nico.”

A kid falls over, chortling. “Oh… we know.” He says mischievously. Will sends him a hard look. The kid turns back to Nico and thrusts a stack of cards in his hands. “You’ve ever played?” Nico looks at the cards… amateur set.

“Yeah.” Nico grunts. The kids here are all too young to know his past-- they don’t know what these cards mean to him. “Course I do… I’ve got seven of these.” He continues. The kid’s eyes widen like saucers; the other kids gasp dramatically.

“No way!” The kid lights up like a firework. “That’s so many! I only have that one of everything. But I do have two Apollos!” The kid explains.

“No, you don’t! You don’t have Athena.”

“It didn’t come with!”

“That’s no excuse.”

Nico is confused and stares at the bickering kids, unsure of what to do next. WIll seems to have noticed his discomfort because he leans over slightly. “Tanner, he’s one of Ares’s kids. Lara’s mom is Athena. They like to fight a lot but they’re friends.” He explains. Nico quietly nods, observing as Lara and Tanner begin to shove each other's shoulders. Will allows them to fight for a minute longer before cleaning his throat and stenly glaring at them. Lara sheepishly takes her hands off of Tanner’s shoulders. “That’s enough; do you want to start the game now or what?” Will smiles, holding his cards up. Nico copies the motions, inspecting each player carefully.

“I’m ready to win.” Lara brags. Without meaning to, a rare smirk raises to Nico’s face; it feels equally foreign and nice.

“That’s funny because I’m sure I’m going to win,” Tanner shouts at her. Lara stickers her tongue out at her.

Nico lowly huckles, hiding it behind his stack of cards. Will seems to be the only one who notices it. The blonde looks at him with a smile and eyebrow quirk. Nico scowls. “What?” He snaps.

Will shakes his head. “Nothing. Just nice to see that look on your face.”

Nico stares at him, unsure of what he means. So instead of worrying about it, he resorts to slamming these kids at Mythomagic. No one knows it better than he does.

“Woah! How’d you do that?” Lara shouts at him when Nico unsurprisingly wins. He shrugs.

“Easy move.” He says lazily. Lara glares at him but it’s nothing like her older sister’s stare so he’s not fazed at all. “You’ll learn it in time.” He all but teases. She snarls at him; he slightly grins back.

Will laughs and forces Lara to put her cards back in the pile. “He’s a big fan of the game, don’t take it personally.” He tells her. Tanner looks back at Nico with wide and impressed eyes.

“Really?”

Nico feels awkward-- never once has anyone looked at him in awe. Why was this kid doing these? What did he want from him? “Uh- yeah. I have most of the extra packs. You know, it’s fun.” HE babbles out, wanting to melt into the ground. Tanner leaps up onto his gurney.

“That’s awesome!” He cries. “Can you play with us more?” He asks. His eyes go big and wide and Nico finds it in himself to not shut him down with a harsh no. tanner looks excited, Lara looks interested and Will looks smug. Nico snarls at him.

“What’s got you all happy and sunshiny?” He asks. Will just keeps smiling, still looking like a medicine angel or whatever.

“It’s nice seeing you have fun. I’m so used to you groaning in pain on one of these.” He motions to the gurneys. “You should play with us more. Lots of the kids love the game.” Will asks. His smile seems welcoming. Nico is still unsure if he should or shouldn’t agree. “Besides… how else will those extra card packs come into use?” Will teases.

Nico decides that he’ll agree to play with him more often. “Touche.” He mumbles and Will knows he’s won. The kids are a bit loud for his taste but the game is fun. It’s nice playing with people who love Mythomagic almost as much as he does. And Will… he’s nice… a little too nice but not awful. He’s a nice friend. Maybe…

When Nico leaves the hospital wing to retreat into his own cabin to nap the day away, he leaves with a new ten-year-old fan, a planned gaming session next Tuesday, and Will’s touch lingering on his shoulder. He buries himself in his four blankets and knocks out for twenty hours.

He admits… it’s weird having a friend-- at the same time, it’s so nice. Will is friendly and bright; slightly annoying but sometimes it makes him smile in a way that makes him also want to bury himself into the ground. How could a person look so sweet yet not disgusting? It didn’t make sense! The last time a person had smiled like an angel and been cute without being awful was Percy and Nico didn’t need another round of that.

“Hey… Will, can you- do you think you can help me with something?” Nico says, very nervously. The feeling’s very odd for him; he’s more brooding than awkward on a day-to-day basis. The young patients behind Will seem to giggle slightly. The blonde smiles back at him, looking as golden as his father in a tiny way.

“Yeah… with what?” He asks, leaning forward on the gurney.

Nico opens his mouth to respond but is distracted for a second. Who on Gaea’s earth gave Will arms like that? They’re strong, that’s clear but not overly muscled and big. Lean but firm and oh dear Zeus, why can’t Nico stop gaping at them. Why are they so gorgeous? Why are they so distracting? Oh gods. Nico swallows and forces his eyes away from the view. If Will had noticed him staring, he certainly doesn’t show it. His smile is as serene and pleasant as ever. Nico swears his face isn’t bright red but it may be.

“Um- Per- my dad wants me over for dinner and… I don’t know, I wanna make a good impression on my step-mom; she’s not trying to smite me so I think it’d be nice.” Nico admits, fighting the urge to shadow travel away. God, he’s so awkward. Nico blames Will’s newfound arms for the feeling-- technically though, Nico had been awkward since he called out Will’s name while walking slowly into the room.

“Yeah, of course!” Will smiles brightly.

“Really?”

“Definitely. My shift’s wrapping up anyway so I have the time.”

“Oh.” A smile sneaks its way up on Nico’s face. He hates it. “Thanks.” He says meekly. Will shrugs, calling that it’s no problem and that he’ll meet him at his cabin in about ten minutes.

When Nico closes his cabin door, he questions his own sanity.

He further questions it as Will explains which fork is which and which spoon goes where. Oh if he thought his arms were a distraction before then it was the entire center star of a solar system now. With his doctor coat, most of Will’s arm had been covered and only the forearm showed and a sliver of upper arms-- now his entire arm is on display and Nico’s mouth is basically probably drooling. It’s all lean muscle and beautifully tanned skin.

“Nico? Hello~?” Will waves his hand in front of his face and Nico jumps about a foot in the air. Will snickers; Nico does not.

“I hear ya, salad, soup, all that,” Nico growls in an attempt to hide his gaping. Will chuckles and folds his arms over his chest. Huh, wow… biceps-- very nice. Nico feels dizzy.

“Great, then I will be on my way then,” Will says easily, walking towards the door.

Everything in Nico’s mind and body screams at him to not let the boy leave. He steps up and puts a hand on Will’s shoulder and wow, it’s an equally terrible and glorious idea. He jerks back like he’s been burned; Will takes notice and looks at him like he’s gone insane. He probably is a third way there.

“I- I need help picking something nice to wear.” Nico blabbers out, a very unlikely thing for him to do. “Pure emo black probably isn't the best impression.” He continues like an idiot. He secretly asks for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. Then again, he could probably have that arranged if he really wanted it to happen. “I don’t know what to do, you know…?” Cue awkward grin. Cue facepalm. Cue Will’s weirdly cute head tilt.

“Well your father is Hades so I don’t think she’d really mind this-” Will looks him up and down; Nico’s face becomes red. “-ensemble. But I do get where you’re coming from. I’m thinking… nice but still My Chemical Romance?” Will teases him. Nico scowls at him. “I kid-- actually no I don’t.” Will makes a quick turn and thrust open Nico’s closet. It’s a total mess and explosion of black clothing. He’s unsure if he should be embarrassed or not. Either way, he is. “This… not bad...this one is actually better-- okay, I got one.” Will throws his newfound sartorial choice. Nico catches it in his hands and looks quizzingly at them. “Nice non-ripped jeans, striped black and white button-up… just wear black sneakers and comb your hair out of your face a bit,” Will instructs him.

Nico nods. “Not a bad choice.” He laments. WIlls rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“I’m gay-- course I have some style. What’s your excuse?” He says snarkily.

Nico can only blink back at him. Gay, gay, he’s gay. Oh of course he’s gay! His inner monologue is stupid. I’m gay, he’s gay. Oh my gods, we’re both gay. I could date him! I wanna date him? Do I? No! I don’t! Maybe? Yes? No? He has great arms… it wouldn’t be bad. And a pretty cute smile-- plus he’s gay. Wait… why is he staring at me with that look? Nico opens his mouth but no words come out. Wills starts to full-on laugh. He’s laughing, oh my gods, I’m dead. It’s cute… AH, I’M EVEN MORE SCREWED! Wow, his arms… I should watch him do his blood tests one day. Nope...that’s weird. But would it be hot? Probably…AUGH!

“Are you okay?” Will gasps in between his chuckles. Whatever is happening in Nico’s mind is the mental equivalent to a keyboard smash.

“Yep,” Nico says, preparing to shadow travel. He steps backwards into the shadow and begins to melt away.

But much to his shock, Will’s eyes widen and his hands shoots out, grabbing Nico by his hoodie sleeve. Will drags him back into the light and aggressively points a finger in his face. His expression is a mix between worry and lots of anger. He’s never been like this before. Nico is shocked and weirdly intrigued.

“You’re not getting away with that-- not from me at least.” Will scolds him. Nico stares at him blankly. He’s mad… it’s lowkey hot. Uh- should I be breathing right now because I don’t think I am. I mean, he’s a doctor he could fix me. NO! BAD IDEA! I’ve never seen him so mad. Or mad at all. Huh. Huh... I don’t think my brain is functioning. “-as your doctor… it is an order.” Will finish but Nico caught only 10% of what he said. Nico gulps, not out of fear but out of… well he doesn't even know.

“Noted,” Nico says dryly. Will huffs and nods, looking at him with a fierce glare. It’s now he understands why Percy gets that stupid dazed look on his face when Annabeth is yelling at him. He’s really hot right now and I don’t think that's okay. Nico wants to shadow travel again but it would probably be risky. Not that he doesn't want to see angry Will again, it’s more so… he’s already pushed it.

“Good,” Will says haughtily before leaving the cabin.

Nico stares out his window till Will’s curly blonde hair is no longer visible. He then falls into his bed, face-first into a pillow. He blinks into the pillow-- and does so for a very long time. His brain is fried and it is because of Will.

I’m panicking

“I need your help.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Please help me now!”

“Okay, okay, what for?”

Nico looks around him and then back at the IM. “I think I’m panicking.” She raises a brow at him and drily says, no duh. He glares at her; Renya isn’t phased in the slightest. “But really-- I feel like my heart is about to explode.”

“Is your heartbeat really going that fast?” Renya questions. Nico throws his arms up in the air.

“Maybe? Probably not?” Nico sighs and drags a hand down his face. “...I saw Will.” He admits.

Renya’s face turns into an interested smile. “Go on.”She says. Nico feels his face heating up and the following urge to jump into an ice bath. Gods, he hated blushing like a ten-year-old girl.

“Everyone was going swimming…” He continues. The smirk on Renya’s face grows. “-and I decided that maybe I should go too, you know, for fun.” He mumbles.

“Nice to hear you’re not hermit-shelling yourself.” Renya teases. Nico glares at her. SHe only shrugs.

“But-” Nico points up a finger. “Will and his sibling decided to go swimming in the lake too. Which I guess makes sense or whatever, everyone in camp is burning up today but I still wasn’t expecting it.”Nico ignores Renya’s snickers.

“You didn’t realize that he: as a part of the camp, was going swimming in the lake?”

“Shut up!”

“You literally called me to freak out over this.”

Nico just nearly swipes at the message. “I discovered his arms a couple weeks ago and I couldn’t look at him the same; now I’ve seen him without a shirt and I can’t look at him, full stop. He’s hot-- like really hot. Literally looks like his dad; what do I do?” Nico walks around in a circle in his cabin, tugging at his hair in a frenzy. “I stared at him for a complete minute. I don’t think I breathed or blinked or moved at all. Just- I stood there.” He continues.

“Nico,” Renya says seriously. “You’re panicking.” She deadpans. He turns to scowl at her. She raises a brow in defiance.

“I know that!” He cries out. His eyes catch to the uncovered window where there is a perfect view of bare-torso Will ran by. He is silently laughing, hair flying back and eyes nearly closed. Nico gulps and his brain pauses for a minute or two. How are the campers around him even functioning!? It’s like watching a piece of art but not in an objectifying way. “I’m gay panicking but it’s fine.” Nico sputters out. The words are a total mess that falls in front of him. Renya cackles like a witch.

“Will walked by?”

“Yes!”

Nico grabs a blanket from his bed and huddles it around his body. He groans loudly and falls to the ground. Renya’s eyes trail down with him, quietly witnessing his breakdown. She doesn’t even make a sound as he mutters deliriously about how Will is affecting him and that his brain is now melted.

“You know, it may just help to tell him you like him. Might stop the panicking.” Renya offers. Nico glares at her from the ground and forces an arm out to wave around madly.

“What part of-” His arms are now a helicopter rotor. “-this makes you think I could confess.”

Renya rolls her eyes. “You’re an emo-depressed boy, not an emo anxious boy.” She says drily.

“I could be both!”

“But you’re not.” Reyna chuckles. “It’s fine to tell him you like him. He’s not as blind as Percy; he’s as gay as you are so that means he knows what he’s doing. You’ve said it before, he’s very clearly smirked while you blushed. Why not tell him? Will’s not the type to lead a person on. He probably is just waiting his time and having fun with it. It’s more torturous for you than him.” Nico makes a sound of pure gay panic for an impressibly long time. Renya allows him to do so. “I gotta go soon.” She looks off the IM for a second and nods. “However, you still need to at least consider it.” She points at him threateningly.

Nico nods meekly from the floor and watches wordlessly as the IM disappears.

If anyone is able to die from gay panicking, Nico’s unwilling trying to accomplish it.

Nico wants to die but he can’t seem to turn off his mouth. The words he was spilling weren’t the ones he had practiced with Renya but Will is smiling at them nonetheless. He’s sure the red on his face has taken over and he’s become a tomato head. Nico feels miserable and thanks all deities for making sure no one else is walking onto the scene.

“-so yeah that's kinda what I wanted to say...yeah.” Nico prays for his father’s realm.

Will lets out a laugh and if it wasn’t so horribly sweet and cute, Nico would have shadow traveled away. “That’s very nice and brave of you to say,” Will says. He leans out and presses a kiss to Nico’s cheek. Nico nearly falls over. “And I like you too. But I’ve been waiting for you to make a move since you started staring at my arms like a lifeline.” Nico gasps and points at Will accusingly.

“You noticed?”

“How could I not.”

Nico glares at him harshly. “I don’t like you no more.” He mutters. Wills sighs but with a smile on his face. He opens his arms and closes them around Nico’s form. Nico is shocked by the fact that he is still standing. His inner mind is frozen still. “Oh.” He says dumbly.

Will chuckles, the sound resonates lowly and vibrates from his chest to Nico. “Does this make up for it?”

Nico scowls but doesn’t deny anything. His heart is beating much faster than it should but it’s kinda okay with him. He decides that, yes the hug makes up for the torture Will put him through: freaking arm tease. It’s warm and comforting and he really likes how Will smells.

“Yeah. It does.”

Awe... aren't they just so cute? I wrote this pretty late at night so my own speech patterns ended up slipping in. By the way, the emo-depressed/anxious boy thing is literally a thing I put in from my own personal conversations. I have a very wonderful NB emo anxious depressed boi in my life. I hoped you guys liked this story and found it either funny, cute, or slightly relatable...maybe. - Mka1098

#solangelo #nico di angelo #solangelo fanfic #solangelo fanfiction #will solace #pjo #percy jackson fanfiction #they are just cute gay children #nico is panicked #will is hot #gay panic #gay panicking #nico is gay panicking over will

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asdaricus · 2 years

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More ancient colossal temples by Midjourney. It's true that Midjourney has a long way to go before it gets the details of classical architecture correct. But it's amazing how much it does get right! The crumbling ruins of the Temple of Hathor, Ancient Rome, Frigidarium, colossal columns made out of red marble columns, Ruins of Baalbek, very detailed, high definition, sunny skies, atmospheric lighting, in the style of David Roberts, --ar 2:3 The Temple of Jupiter, Ancient Rome, Vaulted Pagan Basilica, colossal columns made out of red marble columns, very detailed, high definition, sunny skies, atmospheric lighting, in the style of David Roberts, in the style of James Gurney, in the style of Lawrence Alma-Tadema, in the style of Ludwig Deutsch,--ar 3:2 --q 2 --v 4

#ai art #Midjourney #ancient temple #temple ruins #David Roberts #Ludwig Deutsch #orientalist

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btsqualityy · 4 years

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Set It Off / Part Three

Jimin x Reader

Genre: Angst, mafia!AU

Warnings: guns, robbing, murder, a minor character (i.e: a member) does pass away in this part so pleaseeeeee, if that makes you uncomfortable, DO NOT read this part!

“Here, take your headsets,” Namjoon instructed as he handed a set to you and Jimin. Today was the morning of the heists, and all of you were at the organization’s headquarters getting ready.

“Hobi and I will be in constant contact with the four of you, giving you updates on the status of security and any police presence,” Yoongi told you and you nodded your head.

“How long do you think you’ll be able to get us inside?” You asked.

“A minute and a half,” Hobi sighed. “Two if we get lucky.”

“Don’t worry hyung, that’ll be more than enough time,” Jungkook smirked as he finished loading one of his guns and cocked it.

“Jungkook, no happy trigger finger,” Namjoon said firmly. “Just get in, get the money and gold bars, and get out.”

“Alright, alright, I hear you,” Jungkook grumbled, and you couldn’t help but to smile at how genuinely disappointed he seemed.

“Jimin, you prepared to help them out in case shit goes left?” Namjoon checked and Jimin nodded, reaching down and lifting up the hem of his shirt to show the two pistols that he had tucked into the waist of his pants.

“Ok. Now, remember Taehyung,” Namjoon said as he turned to him. “You’re going to go in, flirt with the bank teller and get her good and distracted before giving Y/N-ah and Jungkook the go-ahead.”

“I got this hyung,” Taehyung smiled, taking his knife and sliding it into his sheath that was tied to his leg before pulling his pants leg back down.

“Well, I guess there’s nothing else I can tell you guys,” Namjoon sighed heavily and you smiled knowingly at him.

“Don’t worry Joon, we’ll be fine,” you assured him as you finished loading your gun. “In and out.”

“I know,” he smiled back.

“Hey guys, I put a small emergency kit in the car that you’re gonna be using,” Jin announced as he strolled into the room. “So that if something does happen, you’ll be fine until you make it back here to me.”

“Thanks hyung,” Jimin nodded. “Alright guys, let’s load ‘em up!” After saying bye to the guys who would be staying back at headquarters, the four of you went out to the large garage, immediately going towards the Dodge Charger and getting inside.

“Tae, try not to flirt so long this time,” you instructed him as you glanced over your shoulder from your spot in the front seat. “You flirted too long last time.”

“Well, excuse me for being caught off guard at the fact that that security guard was actually cute,” Taehyung pouted. “Too bad Jungkookie here killed her.”

“She was gonna call for back-up, the fuck else was I supposed to do?” Jungkook shot back.

“Enough, you two,” you chuckled. “Focus.” The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, the 10 minute drive to the KB Financial Group building passing all too fast, yet all too slow at the same time.

Jimin pulled up to the front of the building, parking in a spot and unlocking the doors.

“Don’t forget the code phrase,” you reminded Taehyung and he just nodded.

“I got it,” he murmured, reaching over and opening his door before getting out and shutting it behind him. You waited with bated breath as he opened up the front door to the building and walked inside.

“He’s in,” you spoke into your earpiece.

“Great,” Yoongi answered, and you could hear the faint rapid tapping of a keyboard happening on his end. “Me and Hobi are getting the security system down now.”

“Hello,” you could hear Taehyung say through his earpiece. “I’m new in town and I was wondering if you could maybe help me...set up a new account.”

“O-oh,” you heard the bank teller stammer. “Of course Sir.”

“She’s so whipped for him already,” Jungkook snickered.

“It’s Taehyung, would you not be if you were female?” Jimin questioned.

“I am and I’m male,” Hobi laughed, making you smile at his words. A small conversation continued between Taehyung and the bank teller as she detailed all of the ways to open up a new account to him.

“The hell is taking so long Yoongi?” You demanded to know, since it had been well over five minutes since Taehyung had walked into the bank.

“Give me a fucking minute,” he growled back, followed by more rapid typing. “Got it! We’re in!”

“Tae, we’re good on our end,” you muttered into your earpiece.

“You know, you are absolutely gorgeous. Would you like to go out with me sometime?” Taehyung cooed and you knew that he had heard you since he said the code phrase. You and Jungkook quickly gathered your guns, opening your doors before stepping out.

“Be safe baby,” Jimin called behind you, and you turned around to give him a small smile. Jungkook opened the door to the building for you and you walked inside, immediately sneaking up behind the security guard and butting him in the back of the head with your gun, effectively knocking him out.

“Everyone, get on the ground! Now!” Jungkook bellowed and all of the customers slowly lowered themselves onto the ground.

“We don’t want to hurt anyone, so just stay down!” You instructed, slowly moving through the crowd over to the counter, where the safes sat behind it.

“Go ahead,” Taehyung told you, climbing up onto the counter and holding all of the tellers at gun point. “Get the money.”

“Ok,” you nodded, lifting yourself up and hopping over the counter before instantly going over to the safes, which were already open. Pulling out a portable duffel bag, you set your gun on top of the safe and began to pack it with as many stacks of money and as many gold bars as you could. Once that bag was full, you threw it onto the counter next to Taehyung’s feet before proceeding to do the same thing with two more duffel bags.

“Hey, we can only keep the wall down for about 45 more seconds,” Hobi warned the three of you.

“Don’t worry, we’re good,” you assured them, zipping the third duffel bag shut and grabbing your gun before hopping up onto the counter again. “Grab a bag,” you told Taehyung, who nodded and did so, slinging the strap over his body.

“We all good?” Jungkook asked and you nodded, handing him the second bag and watching as he slung it over his body as well.

“We’re moving towards the door, 10 seconds,” you said.

“Doors are open, car’s running,” Jimin replied and you nodded slightly. You couldn’t believe that everything was going off without a hitch, and you started to almost feel foolish for doubting the job so much in the first place.

However, that feeling didn’t last for long.

“Holy shit,” you heard Hobi gasp. “Guys, watch your sides! There’s a security guard there!”

Just as you moved to turn to the side, you saw the exact moment when the bullet hit Taehyung in the chest.

You watched in horror as he immediately fell down to the ground, loud wails of pain coming from his mouth.

“Tae!” You screamed, going over to him and covering his body with yours. “Jk, cover us!”

“Already on it!” He grunted, standing in front of the both of you and shooting towards the security guard’s direction, managing to get a head shot which made the security guard fall over the railing of the upper floor and crash onto the ground of the first floor. However, more guards appeared, returning Jungkook’s fire.

“Jimin, you’re gonna have to come in!” You shouted into the mouth piece. “Tae got hit and Jk’s covering us but I can’t pull him out by myself!”

“Here I come,” Jimin replied instantly and within seconds, he had busted through the doors of the bank, helping Jungkook by taking out a few security guards before he leaned down and picked Taehyung up bridal style. You reached down and grabbed the duffel bag that Taehyung had dropped as well as his gun, before running over and grabbing Jungkook by the back of the shirt.

“Let’s fucking go!” You hollered, making Jungkook follow behind you as the two of you run outside. Jimin had managed to put Taehyung in the backseat so you slid inside with him as Jungkook got into the front passenger seat. As soon as the doors shut, Jimin pulled off, immediately making a u-turn in the middle of the street before heading back towards the organization’s headquarters.

“Hey, you still with me?” You asked Taehyung and he nodded his head slowly. Seeing that he was ok for the moment, you reached down and tore his t-shirt open, a large gasp escaping you involuntarily when you saw how large the gunshot wound was.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Taehyung joked quietly and you couldn’t help but to laugh as tears formed in your eyes.

“No, no, you’re gonna be alright,” you assured him, reaching down and grabbing the small first-aid kit that Jin had packed in the car, pulling out a large amount of gauze and immediately pressing it to Taehyung’s chest.

“Hey, shit went bad,” you could hear Jungkook speak into his earpiece. “Taehyungie hyung got hit, tell Jin hyung to be ready because we’re two minutes out.”

“How bad is it?” Namjoon asked and you could hear Jungkook’s sharp inhale of breath.

“Bad,” he finally answered and you saw Taehyung exhale roughly.

“Hey, hey, let’s take this off,” you whispered, reaching up and taking off the earpiece that he had been wearing. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“You’re a bad liar, you know that Y/N-ah?” Taehyung whispered and you just sighed, more tears streaming down your face.

“I know,” you admitted gently, reaching down and holding Taehyung’s hand tight in yours. Soon enough, Jimin pulled up to the front of headquarters, immediately getting out and opening the backseat door. You gently lifted Taehyung’s head out of your lap and moved out of the way, letting Jungkook and Jimin carry him inside. You managed to grab the three duffel bags and carry them inside as well, shutting the door behind you to see Jimin and Jungkook laying Taehyung onto a gurney that was set up near the front door, Jin already there with his medical supplies to take care of him.

“What the hell?” Jin whispered as he worked on Taehyung. “What kind of gun did that security guard have?”

“A fucking AR-15,” Jungkook spat. “Since when are security guards packing like that?”

“I guess they are at the largest bank in the country,” Jin muttered. Just then, Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hobi came into the room.

“How is he?” Namjoon questioned and Jin sighed.

“Honestly, not good,” he admitted. “He’s lost a lot of blood and I can’t get the bleeding to stop.”

“Well, try harder Jin hyung,” Jimin insisted. “We can’t let him die!”

“Don’t you think I’m doing that?!” Jin shot back. “I don’t want to see him die anymore than you do Jimin, but it was a fucking AR-15! I’m not a god damned miracle worker!”

“Stop,” Taehyung’s now raspy voice spoke up. “It’s ok.”

“No the fuck it’s not,” Jimin said but Taehyung shook his head lightly.

“I knew the risks, and I’m ok with this outcome,” Taehyung murmured and you couldn’t help the sob that wretched itself from your throat.

“Taehyungie hyung, we can’t let you go,” Jungkook whimpered.

“You have to, or else you all are gonna go down with me,” Taehyung sighed. “Just in a different way.”

“Tae, are you sure?” Namjoon checked and before he could answer, you could hear the faint sound of police sirens.

“I’m sure,” he stated firmly. Everyone moved over to the gurney then, whispering their final goodbyes before jumping into action. After Jungkook said goodbye, you walked over to the gurney and moved Taehyung’s fringe out of his eyes.

“You’ll be...a good....mom, Y/N-ah,” he whispered and your heart broke at his words.

“I’ll miss you, and I’ll always be sorry,” you cried softly.

“Don’t....be, because I....love you,...and... Jiminie,.... and the rest... of.. the... guys,” he hummed before letting his eyes shut for the final time.

“I love you too,” you sobbed, leaning over and kissing his forehead firmly.

“Guys, police are five minutes away,” Namjoon announced and that made you look up at him. “We gotta go.”

“Baby, come on,” Jimin said, gently grabbing your hand and pulling you away from the gurney. As he did so though, he stopped and stared at Taehyung’s body, and you saw silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

“We’re gonna split up into three cars, each car takes a duffel bag,” Namjoon instructed. “Hobi, Jin, you two are with me. Yoongi and Jungkook, you guys in the second car. Y/N and Jimin, in the third car. Let’s go people!”

“Jimin?” You called out to him and the sound of your voice seemed to shake him out of his thoughts because he grabbed the duffel bag that had been sitting at your feet with one hand, grabbed one of your hands in his other, and the two of you ran out of the building. Getting into a new BMW, you threw the duffel bag into the backseat while Jimin started up the car and immediately pulled away from the building.

Turning to look out of the window, you saw both of the cars that the others were in take two different directions from yours and you found yourself hoping that you’d be able to see them all again.

#bts #bangtanarmynet #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts jimin #jimin x reader #park jimin #jimin smut #jimin angst #jimin fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts mafia au #bts scenarios

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xxlovingfandomsxx · 4 years

Text

Ill Timed Confessions

Paring: OC! V x Santino D’Antonio

Warnings: death, gunshot wound, nothing but pain 😭

Word Count: 1,429

A/N: This is an AU for the ending of chapter 13 of one of the most amazing stories, called Children of Ares written by the talented @the-darklings If you haven’t read COA yet, you really should, it’s a masterpiece. But anyway, I’m sorry for the pain that you’re probably going to experience from this and I hope you enjoy the ride, I guess?

Clara races to the Continental, her lungs aching for air and her limbs screaming for rest be damned. Ares’ words still running through her head, he loves you, gives her another burst of speed as she finally lays her eyes on those familiar doors.

Clara runs straight through the lobby where she spots Charon who manages to get out the word lounge before she starts barreling towards her destination, a feeling of unease and worry flow through her as she pushes herself to run like her life depended on it.

I’m coming grumpy, hold on

Clara repeats her mantra over and over until she sees the warm and welcoming light of the lounge. She’s finally reached the top of the stairs when she hears Winston’s wary voice “Johnathan… just walk away”

At that moment, Clara realizes that no matter what Winston said, no matter what anyone said or did, he won't stop.

John can't stop, she knows that now, she’s always known that he won’t ever stop, he's too determined to place a bullet between Santino’s eyes. Time stops as she comes to a decision, the finality settling deep in her gut, a gentle calmness washes through her body as she slides down the banister.

“Yeah Johnathan,” Santino starts, in a mocking tone, “Just walk-”

BANG

A harsh quiet fills the room, a sudden unexpected stillness that has left the three men utterly speechless as they watch the scene unfold before them with looks of terror and complete shock.

Clara stumbles a bit as she tries to grasp onto the table for balance. She clutches onto the wound as she looks towards Santino, his normal expression of a cool, arrogant heir gone, an expression of pure terror replacing it.

Clara reaches out for his face, smoothing out his furrowed eyebrows, “I told you I’d come for you” She gives him a weak smile as she finally collapses, her injuries and fatigue finally catching up with her.

Multiple things happen at once, Santino reacts the fastest, jumping out of his seat to get to her. Winston struggling to keep his composure in check, John standing absolutely still, staring at the spot Clara was just occupying.

I shot her

Santino gently gathers her into his arms, “Amore, can you hear me? Open your eyes please? For me?” He watches as she struggles to open her eyes and sets her gaze on Santino’s face.

“Grumpy, are you alright?” She reaches for his face and he leans his cheek into her open palm, savoring the familiar burn of her touch. “Don’t worry about me cara mia, you just focus on keeping your eyes open, Hm?”

He frantically looks around the room until eyes land on John, fury burning in his eyes. “Look at what you’ve done! This is all YOUR FAULT!” He starts to yell in sharp Italian while an unmoving John finally lays his eyes on Clara.

I shot her

Running footsteps can be heard barreling down the stairs as Ares and the Elites made their way onto the scene. Ares does a quick sweep of the room and lands her gaze on her boss yelling at John. She slowly moves her gaze unto the body in Santino’s arms and her eyes widen as she realizes who it is.

She slowly makes her way to them, her eyes burning and slowly filling with unshed tears. Clara notices her first, a small smile on her face as she sees Ares inching her way towards them.

Clara struggles to lift her hands to speak to Ares, Santino stopping his yelling to look in the same direction as her. “Ares, grazie a Dio, I need your help… Clara was shot and she needs a doctor. You have to go find one before it's too late.”

“Grumpy-”

“No cara mia, try to stay still, we’ll get you help. What are you all just standing around for… GO GET HELP!” He yells in italian.

“Santino, look at me… Please?” Santino finally gets a good look at Clara, eyes starting to fill with tears as he met her gaze, surprised to see a loving gaze staring back at him.

“I think I have to break another promise to you grumpy, I don't think I’m gonna make it to Paris with you” She let out a sigh, her breathing growing heavier as she continues to lose blood.

She gives him a teary smile “I don’t regret it, taking the bullet for you, so don’t beat yourself over it when I’m gone okay? Don’t do anything stupid either because I won’t be able to save you next time” She inhales deeply, Santino feels a few tears slip out and cascade down his cheek.

“I promise to try not to do anything stupid amore mio” He grabs onto her hand laying against his cheek as he feels it starting to slip.

“Ares, you know how Santino manages to attract danger wherever he goes so you have to make sure he’s safe okay?” Ares manages to sign a weak I promise before she falls to her knees beside them, tears falling down her face as she gazes upon the closest thing she had to family, struggling to breathe.

“I left a letter for you in my room, Cha-Charon will be able to retrieve it for you” She inhales another sharp breath. Clara feels moisture on her cheeks, she gives her Santi a teary eyed smile.

“I know that you lo-love me grumpy,” He looks startled by the confession,”I don’t know how you managed to do it but you snuck your way into my he-heart” He lets out a shaky breath.

“What-what are you saying cara?” Clara sighs, “You’d have me be weak in front of you Santi?” She teased, he gave her a flash of a smile, “I-I, I love you Santino D’Antonio… I’m sorry for the crappy timing.” They both let out a weak chuckle.

“I’m sorry it’s taken you so long to hear it.” He shakes his head, “I would’ve waited for a lifetime if it meant you would have said it. Oh amore mio, I-” He takes in a sharp breath, trying not to let the dam break, “Clara, te amo… Ti amo con tutto il cuore” He whispers the last part, making sure that only she heard it.

Clara smiles and feels a warm type of feeling spread through her chest, the feeling disappearing as fast as it spread leaving her feeling numb. Santino leans down and leaves a kiss on her forehead, gently bumping it against his own.

She leaned forward a bit, her lips ghosting Santino's, he could feel her weak exhales this close. With his heart practically pounding out of his chest, he closes the distance and finally kisses the love of his life.

Santino feels a warmness spread throughout his body, along with a sense of relief, having learned that she did love him back. He pulled away reluctantly, cursing his lungs for their need of oxygen.

He felt her hand slip from his face and frantically looked back into her eyes. "Amore?" The light in her eyes dimmed as she managed a final adoring smile, Santino watching in anguish as she exhales for the last time, slipping into death's cold embrace.

"Cara mia?" Santino shakes her once "Clara? Wake up, amore, wake up" He shakes her again, a bit more forcefully. "Clara don't leave me please don't leave me" Santino feels the dam break, all his unshed tears making their way down his face, falling onto her cheek.

He repeats it over and over, wake up, shaking and tears streaming down his face. Ares trying to pull him away, finally succumbing to her grief as she leans onto Santino's shoulder.

Winston, still struggling with his emotions, makes his way over to them, gently grasping onto Santino's shoulder as his sobs grew louder. The finality of Clara's death sweeping through the room, not a dry eye in sight.

John sitting himself onto a chair, tears in his eyes as he realizes he killed the only other person he ever cared about in the world, Charon finally making his way into the lounge, taking in the scene before him, a look of sadness crosses his face as he inches closer.

Santino doesn't let go of Clara until she's safely placed on a gurney, attaching himself to Ares as his grief and anger take over and he dry heaves into her neck as they try to comfort each other, knowing full well that they may never recover from this devastating loss of their beautiful viper.

#john wick #santino d'antonio #john wick fic #santino d'antonio imagines #riccardo scamarcio #john wick 2 #my writings #santino d'antonio x vipress #santi x v #OC! V x Santino D'Antonio #Children of Ares #coa #D writes

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