#How To Make Grape Grow Bigger

[shotmrmiller]

soulmate au part 1

john price x f!reader

wc: 1.2k

unedited, forgive my mistakes.

since you were born, your world has been grey. you never thought anything of it, until at school, they started teaching you colours. the only ones in the room that could see more than just different shades of grey, apart from the teacher, were identical twins.

weird.

you went home and asked your parents.

"we are born missing half of ourselves. we have a fated one, and when you meet them, your world will look the way it was meant to."

oh. but... "in class, there were twins that could see colour. what about them?"

they look surprised for a second until your dad softly explains. "in rare instances, the soulmate bond will be platonic. which makes sense in this case, because twins grow up with a connection regular people like us will never understand."

you nod and lower your gaze to look at your shoes. you wonder if the person meant for you is interested in junie b. jones books like you are.

-

in high school, you crush on this pretty girl— a cheerleader. her hair is long and beautiful, her face is small and round, and she's so kind. just your type.

but no colour stains your vision, so you burrow your emotions deep and mourn the loss of what could've been.

-

in college, one of your friends ask you if you've met your soulmate yet.

"no, not yet," you lament. what she says after freezes the blood in your veins.

"my mom knew someone whose soulmate was already dead before they had even been born," she comments while stabbing a grape tomato with her fork. "it was really tragic, because she'll never know what it's like to know a love that has no equal."

your heart is in your throat, and you find it hard to swallow the food in your mouth.

what if your soulmate is already dead? oh, god. you might just throw up. your friend doesn't seem to notice the change in your demeanor and continues to babble carelessly about how she knew someone that knew someone who's soulmate had turned out to be a murderer.

oh my fucking god.

you quickly run to the bathroom and throw up your lunch.

how cruel is the universe? to have no control over who is meant to be for you.

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and lean against the stall of the bathroom. you should've known that this soulmate business was too good to be true.

cupping your hands, you rinse the taste of bile out of your mouth before walking back to your friend who stayed in her seat.

"jesus, you look terrible, you alright?" she asks.

running your fingers through your hair, you huff. "i've certainly been better. just got a bit nauseous, nothing serious. maybe it's a stomach bug."

"oooh, you better not be pregnant! what of your dreams of working in the medical field?"

you giggle at her response. "that'd be impossible unless i'm the virgin mary."

she gapes comically then leans in and whispers, "you're lying! don't tell me you haven't dated anyone just because they weren't your soulmate."

you shrug, and keep your eyes fixed on your half-eaten plate of food. "i don't really wanna talk about it, if that's alright with you. besides, you've got bigger things to worry about, like the upcoming exam for mr. richardson."

slapping a hand to her forehead, she exclaims, "oh, shit! i totally forgot! shit!"

you watch her inhale the rest of her salad and toss her trash before waving goodbye and sprinting toward the library.

with a sigh, you look down at your food. grey. lifeless. shaking your head, you pick up your plate and toss it in the bin.

you decide to focus solely on your studies. you have dreams of being a doctor and pining after someone you haven't even met yet would only serve as a distraction.

--

your white coat grazes your calves as you walk toward your new patient. standing outside the room, you pick up the clipboard.

Price, John. 34, Active Military.

he's the head of the task force! god, you've only heard stories of them from the other medics on base who have met them, so to finally come face to face with the man, the myth, the legend? you wipe your clammy hands on the fabric of your scrubs and clear your throat.

be professional, be professional. he's just another patient, it's no big deal.

rapping your knuckles on the door, you wait a second before twisting the knob with a shaky hand. you nervously keep your eyes on the clipboard as you walk in.

"good morning, captain price."

"mornin', doc," he rumbles.

oh, his deep voice just might be the end of you.

"you don't sound all that happy to be here, captain," you tease while flipping through his medical history papers.

he lets out a low chuckle, and you squeeze your thighs together at the sound. delicious.

"nothin' personal, doc. just don't like bein' here, you understand."

lightly laughing at his joke, you finally steel your nerves and look up at him.

only to have your vision bleed in something you don't understand. is that colour? is this what colour looks like?

the clipboard drops, clattering to the floor. john— being the courteous gentleman that he is— quickly kneels to grab it and lifts his head as he hands it to you.

he freezes in place, the clipboard slipping from his hands as he stares at you.

you thickly swallow, and dumbly question, "do you...has your....colour? can you see colour?"

unblinking, john's eyes are fixated on you as he remains silent.

your eyes dart around to take in his features. his brightly-coloured eyes are framed by lines that hint at his age, his strong jaw adorned by a mutton-chop beard. his nose is specked with a beauty mark.

"what colour are your eyes, captain?" you softly ask.

he closes his mouth and takes in a sharp breath. "i've been told they're blue."

"blue," you smile. the eyes of your soulmate are blue.

but then, your delighted smile melts off your face, in horror.

there's a shiny band on his finger. he's married.

john price, your soulmate, is fucking married.

your vision distorts with the tears that threaten to spill and bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling. it feels like there are shards of glass in your lungs, cutting you open with each quivering breath you take. your pain is red-hot, searing under your skin, flowing through your veins like molten lead.

john knows exactly what you're looking at.

"love—" he starts but you cut him off swiftly.

"don't. you don't owe me anything, captain. uhm, but uh... maybe it's best that we switch your doctors, yeah? conflict of interest, and all that."

you all but run away, away from that room, from him.

how terribly unlucky.

you head towards your office, which is down the hall, and slam the door closed. only then, do you cry, and mourn what should've been.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 1/4

(König x F!Reader)

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Word count: 5.3 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Lol what now? König dual wields 2 swords, goes Mike Tyson on his enemies, teaches his captive girl constellations in German, cuddles her and feeds her grapes, buuut mainly just tries to get into her pants (which historically did not exist at the time) A bit of a slow burn, but don't worry, they'll bang eventually ^^

AD 90, somewhere in the untamed frontiers of the Roman Empire…

The end of the world is here.

Not only have the crops failed for two years in a row, making chieftains beggars and beggars food for the fish, but now there are rumours that the god of war has arrived to destroy the land. The accursed Romans had turned their eagle gaze back to your land after years of sending their troops elsewhere, making it seem like they were not interested in your distant land after all. Untamed, they called it, harsh and barren and therefore inferior – your lush, abundant, beautiful land. No doubt they spat on it in their war councils because your roads were not paved, because your crops and villages were modest, and the women sometimes fought alongside men. Their storytellers immortalized false tales about you, calling you barbarians, but the only barbarians you could think of were the Romans themselves – crude, filthy and boorish creatures, drowning in wine and shit in their cities.

Rumours started to get fat and distressed when the troops approached your village. They said there was a giant at the head of the army, that the Romans followed a Titan's son who loved to eat men, torture women and impale children. They said he didn't accept proper food but preferred to eat his fallen enemies, washed his weapons with the blood of children, and split captured women apart with his cock, as long and sharp as his sword. They told that the Titan ordered his soldiers to poison the wells and destroy the growing crops with salt and vinegar. The rumours said that his tent was bigger than any chieftain's house and that he still struggled to stand at full height inside it. 

Even the land itself seemed to bow before him. Good weather followed his conquest wherever he went; ambushes failed, scouts got caught and tortured, exposing more villages to pillage and ruin. Your brother told you to flee the village, but how could you survive without your clansmen? You didn't know how to hunt; you barely knew how to fish. Your task in the village was to gather clams from the shore, dye wool and help the old Seer. How long could you survive on sorrels and clams alone?  

. . .

The old woman calls you to see her on the brink of war, and tells you to prepare for a ceremonial offering. Two horses, black as night if possible, brown at the very least, to appease the Great Mother of the Earth and quench her thirst for blood. If the Mother is satisfied with your offering, She will perhaps stop the approaching army or convince the Titan to leave your village alone.

She does a small rite before you, and you need to stay with her through her visions. You hate the smell of the leaves she burns, and try to cover your nose with your tunic to prevent breathing in the bitter fumes. The seer looks like she’s just lying herself down to sleep, but it’s always a burden when the spirits arrive and she starts to talk. You turn your back on her to coax them to rise: a mortal stare annoys the chthonic ones. You nearly fall asleep too as you wait, wanting nothing more than to go back to your own hut and have a good night’s sleep. Perhaps because you’re lousy tonight, and less vigilant as you should be, the spirits arrive sooner than either of you thought.

“He’s strong,” the seer croaks from the earthen bed, and you fight the urge to turn around and peek at the old woman, currently in the clutches of spirits. 

“Invincible… Hungry... The horses…won’t suffice…”

She drifts someplace else, and you try to memorize every word, every intonation, as cryptic or as simple as they are, for later interpretation.

“I see you,” she says in a slightly more cheerful tone, which is odd because the old woman is never happy or satisfied, no matter how bright the sun shines or how much food there is in the storages and pits.

“Me?” You dare to speak even though you’re not allowed to disturb the spirits. You could slap yourself for blurting out a single word, but luckily, the hungry ones don’t attack you for your insolence.

“You.. will be his downfall,” she speaks as if you are having a conversation here. “Be there. When he arrives.”

“...Be there? Why?” You dare to utter again, more concerned about what the Mother implies than the potential fury of some lowly earthen spirits. You haven’t got the faintest clue about what She might be suggesting. Why do you have to participate in the battle? How can you be there without getting killed? You’re not a warrior… The Mother has it all wrong. 

Suddenly, you curse the night, you curse the whole day, knowing your brother’s late proposal was perhaps a warning, a hint from the gods to leave, and leave quickly.

The old woman laughs dryly on the ground - the throaty, outright sick cackle makes you flinch. 

You don’t like this... You don’t like this at all.

“Mother. What must I do?” You demand to know, thinking about how all the gods, spirits, old women, and Titans should go to hell.

“Become a tree,” the old woman offers as if it’s the easiest thing to do. “A flower. Me...”

. . .

You become a marten first, then a bird. Then perhaps a tree.

You climb a spruce and wait there. You wait until the sunrise; you wait until noon. You wait until you see the glint of the Roman spearheads and hear the sound of their march.

You’ve dreamed of the Titan ever since you left the seer’s hut. You’ve dreamed of him slaying everyone in the village; you’ve dreamed of him driving a thick spear into the ground and grabbing you with an intent to raise you into the air and impale you on it. You’ve dreamed of him behind you, above you, inside you. You wake up one morning only to see that half of the people have left. You don’t know where they have gone, and you can’t follow them even if you did because the old woman waits for you in front of her hut and gives you a nod the instant you walk into another beautiful, sunny day.

That’s why you’ve turned into a branch in a tree, but for what purpose, you have no idea. You can’t understand why you must be here to witness the world’s end.

Your men scream and shout and roar as they crash into the thick forest of spears. The enemy is silent: it’s eerie, how the world burns and falls into ruin around you, people are screaming; everyone who has a soul and a heart is screaming for Mother as they die, but the men behind the Roman shields refuse to emit a sound. They don’t curse or shout or summon their gods; they simply stand their ground and pant mist into the air as wave after wave of men break on their shields and die before their feet. Somebody loses his spear because it gets stuck between your clansman’s ribs, but the Roman simply draws his sword in its stead: it’s the only sound among the pitched wails that cut through the forest – the cold, clear ring of a gladius being pulled from its sheath.

That is why you flinch at the sound of the first shout, a brutish command that sends all the shields to the side, only to present more shields: the Romans switch positions in their formation as if they’re not even human beings like the rest of you, just a single enormous creature made of iron and leather and bone, operating it's flat forest of weapons.

And then you see him: the giant of your dreams, the hungry titan everyone has told you about. He rises from the tide of helmets like a summoned god, concealed as one of the soldiers and only now revealing his true nature. He stands at least two heads taller than the rest, pushes his own soldiers to the side and breaks out of the formation these vicious Romans love so much. You knew he would be strong and big, but you didn't know he refused to show his face… You wonder what kind of a monster hides behind the black cloth with nothing but two eye holes ripped on it. As if this man needed the additional effort to stand out from other soldiers...

He's like a God of War, just like the survivors said: his armour is of Roman design, but the amount of metal that had to be scraped together to cover this man's shoulders and chest must've demanded a fortune in gold. He doesn't seem to care about the Roman ways, however: he throws his shield away as soon as he's out of the cumbersome formation as if he has carried it only as a decoration up until this point. He draws another sword in its stead – if any other man did such a stupid thing, traded his shield for a weapon, you would snort. But not now.

Standing between the Romans and your clansmen like a challenge, a threat, a deity, even the men possessed by the seer's blood spells hesitate to approach him. But when they do, the god unleashes carnage: the first warrior gets his stomach slashed open, and the two thick swords look like toothpicks when wielded by this man. A stomach wound is a gruesome, slow way to die - but just before the warrior's entrails spill to dangle between his feet, the brute grants him mercy by sweeping his head off with a single blow of his gladius. 

A roar finally rises from your enemy: they cheer Death on as the head of your neighbour meets the mud next. The soil is already soaked in blood, but the Mother is hungry still. The forest booms with Her bloodlust as the god moves around like a slow tempest of muscle, metal and darkness: he breaks every Roman rule by fighting as his own man instead of demeaning himself as one of them, a lowly part of this odd metal beast before you. He sends a limb flying in the air with a swing of a sword; he uses the same weapon as a bludgeon to bash in someone's skull. He crushes a man's chest simply by sinking down onto one knee, breaking bone, tendon and flesh to splinters as a whole ribcage gets crushed under his massive weight. 

Warriors flee before him, they fall under the combined wrath of the Mother and the Titan's sword. The dead seem to fall eternally, along with your heart, before meeting the ground with a hollow thud. 

Your chieftain is among the last men standing, meeting this unstoppable foe with admirable courage. Not having succumbed to the spells of bloodlust in years, he meets his death as a seasoned but old warrior. With his fighting years behind him, your chief doesn't have a chance against this man, but you have to grant the beast a feather's worth of honour, because he recognizes your chieftain as the veteran he is and salutes him with his sword. Then he proceeds with the bloodbath: flinging your leader's sword and axe easily to the side, he walks straight into his arms like he would into a hug, grabs him by the waist, and raises him into the air like he's nothing but a child. 

Your scream never leaves your lungs as you watch how the Titan raises the draping cloth from his face, just enough to sink his teeth into your beloved chieftain’s neck. The noise that erupts from your elder is not that of a man but a tortured animal. It’s not from this world, what you witness next: the giant tears a hunk of flesh from your chief like he’s a piece of roasted meat. Blood streams forth, his screams fade away all too slowly, and you hear your own weak wail in the air as the Titan lets go of the heap that used to be a strong male and a wise leader. 

Your chieftain is dead; his essence spills to the earth in spurts to appease the God of War, who spits blood and flesh to the ground, making you gag into the cold spring air. 

Then he raises his swords towards the sun, and the forest erupts into a roar with him: the thundering, ear-splitting cheer from his warriors makes the very earth quake beneath your tree. It seems to shake the branches of the forest, and before you know it, the giant’s howl of triumph breaks the one you’re curled around, and you fall, fall, fall into the mud beneath you. 

You're not a tree anymore. No: you’re very much a human woman there in the dirt as the sound of shouting ceases like a distant dream. 

And he turns. 

Death turns.

Mother always said you were a curious creature, which is perhaps why you search for his eyes, even though you should be running. She also said you were a smart one, which is why you know that running is futile. Your limbs wouldn’t carry you far anyway. It is a cruel joke from the gods to have what little strength you have left pour out of you into the ground and up to the feet of the enemy who is already strong, both in body and in will.

The Titan looks at you with genuine wonder, a curiosity that surpasses your own. To your odd thrill, you find that his eyes are blue: the same blue of the sea which you used to collect delicious clams from. 

The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.

You had hoped for a swift death… Violent but quick. But it’s clear that it’s not death he has in store for you as he takes a step towards you. It’s not a quick nor a slow death; it’s not death at all, because–

No.

No.

You’d rather have your arms torn off and fed to the Romans rather than have him thrust the sword between his legs, his third weapon, inside you. If you’re going to die screaming, it will not happen on your back; you will not amuse this beast with your womanhood and tears.

You scramble forward to pick up something, anything: a bronze dirk from a fallen warrior. The giant’s eyes fall on the sad excuse of a weapon, then on the sorry excuse of you. He thinks you’re planning to fight him with that thing, and the corners of his eyes crease a little from the prospect of having to subdue you. You’re proving to be quite the entertainment, and you curse those eyes, looking so kind and lively when just moments ago, the same eyes were inhuman and possessed. His are the eyes of a wayfarer, a wanderer, not a soldier: you catch a hint of sadness in them and curse again.

He’s not human, you remind yourself and show him what actual humans are made of. What women are made of. You give him another name, Giant, because you’ve always feared giants and hated the stories about them. Dumb and reckless creatures they are, stupid destroyers who always place their trust in their size. You never meant to fight him, and he only catches up on it as you turn the dagger towards yourself and guide it to point straight at your heart. 

You will be his downfall, just like the seer said.

“Nein–Warte,” the Giant speaks his first words, surprisingly soft to belong to a man like him. 

The sorrow in his stare consumes you in full now. It gushes forth like a tide, causing your breath and hands to shake when they need to be stern. You straighten your spine, jut your chin forward, and call for Mother: you don’t even know if you’re yelling for your bearer, or the Great Mother, or the earth that gives life to all. Perhaps you call them all to gather around and witness your sacrifice, higher in price than any of the Titan’s offerings combined. The blood you’re about to spill onto the soil will surely appease the land and raise it to arms to finally fight against this beast. 

He says something else just before you pull the blade back to strike it into your chest, and you curse for the third time in your mind: giants aren’t supposed to move that fast; they aren’t supposed to interfere in your last ritual. 

But the worst of it is that even when he finally subdues you, even as he wrestles the blade away from you, he ends up drawing a large gash on his forearm… As if he is trying his best to protect you from accidentally cutting yourself.

. . . 

You are brought to his tent, screaming. 

It’s not as big as a chieftain’s house; it’s barely the size of yours. But it is larger than the tents you saw when you got carried there: as a spitting, screeching, hissing package of what these brutes would no doubt consider a true barbarian woman with uncivilized manners and a fuckable cunt. They will talk about you around their campfires tonight: about you getting broken in by their true commander. It’s enough to satisfy them for now: to imagine their champion to fuck you bloody and sore. And who knows: perhaps they’ll receive the scraps if the Titan gets tired of you.

The precious dagger is somewhere in the mud, probably trampled there like it’s nothing but a piece of worthless metal. Your own trampling is only about to begin as the Giant marches into his abode and sends the men away, giving you uneasy looks in the process, perhaps checking if any of them had enough time to have a go at you. Luckily for him, you’re in the same condition as he left you: legs together, safe and pretty, because he bound them with a rope along with your hands. You are nothing but a delivery, thrown on the floor of dirt and a few animal skins. He just nods at you, happy to acknowledge that you are untouched by the others, as if it would somehow be worse for you to be raped by ten of those petite men than be raped by him: a cruel, bloodthirsty Giant with a giant cock. 

Your ankles and wrists get sore as you watch him doff his armour. He takes off the helmet, the belted straps, the segmented plates of his shoulder guards and the heavy Roman cuirass. The gods have truly favoured this man, not only gifting him tremendous height but insurmountable strength too. His muscles are large and lean and quiver with latent power as he moves; his back is so broad it almost competes with the wide mouth of the tent. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the cold either, but he keeps his mask on for whatever ghastly reason. Even if there is a monster under that mask, his body speaks of virility: he’s a man in his prime, a giant at his strongest, making you feel like an elf, a tiny little creature in the feet of this man who must be descended from titans indeed.

You continue to watch as he washes his hands in a small basin, cleans his mouth and neck, too. You reckon the water in that bowl is blood red and dark when he finally dries himself with a white cloth. He stands before you in nothing but his mask and the dark red tunic he had under the armour. He ties it from the waist with a simple leather belt, and it only now makes sense to you why Roman soldiers dye their clothes red: you’re pretty sure you can still see the darker spots on the hem of that tunic, the ones that used to be the lifeblood of your clansmen and kin.

He has the audacity to ask you - wordlessly - to clean his wound, the one you caused him. He sets you free from your bounds, and you are given fresh water and another cloth. He even opens a smallish wooden box of salve that has a familiar smell to it: pine tar and honey, used by your people to treat minor wounds and prevent bad spirits from getting into the wound. You wonder how he even knows about such a balm: is this warrior a Roman at all, or is he some odd creature hauled from the edges of the world to fight for them? You wonder if he has made the salve himself, extracted the tar from the pine and foraged the wax and honey himself, then cursed with his coarse language when he got stung by multiple bees…

You drive away the thoughts that threaten to make this brute human by snorting at his injury. The damage he gave to himself when he tried to guide the blade away from you at the price of his own blood. 

It still troubles you that he did it. Even a tiny wound like this can bring any man down if it starts to fester. The cold winds and rains of spring can easily get into the gash and make it rot. 

The idea of this giant being forced to his knees because of some filthy dagger wielded by a squirrel of a woman makes you smile inside. It would be a fitting fate for this man. But the vision also makes your heart sting. The thought of him dying of a simple flesh wound, alone and far away from his home, makes your heart grow kinder than it should. 

You decide there is nothing you can do but treat his arm, strong and scarred from previous battles. He sits down while you get to stay on the ground, and you try to ignore it that your face is now level with his groin. He sits with a wide spread in those powerful thighs, and you wonder if it's because the rumours about his cock are true. You keep your eyes everywhere else except the hem of that tunic and what's going on under there. He purrs at your touch, making it clear that it doesn't need much more than your soft fingertips to get him hard after a triumphant day on the field of battle. 

The wound is not deep, but you clean it carefully, trying to ignore the way his eyes seem to bore into you as you take care of him. Your hand is somewhat steady as you treat the damage with the nice-smelling salve, but you flinch as his hand suddenly meets your cheek. You look up at him, heart plummeting, thighs instinctively pressing together from the gentle way with which he cups your face.

“Schön,” he says, again with a tender voice and an adoring, almost worshipful stare. You don’t have a clue what he’s saying, but you know now for sure that it's not the tongue of the Romans he speaks. The scent of pines and bees lingers between you as he brushes a thumb over your lower lip. You are weak enough to give him a breath, a helpless, hot little exhale that meets his hand like a gift.

“Schön wie eine Fee,” he rumbles, sounding intoxicated or like he's under a spell of sleep.

“What the hell are you saying,” you whisper in your own tongue: just a meek little sputter, a tiny, horrified breath, but the giant’s eyes narrow with a smile.

“Sie redet,” he says happily, and your shoulders sink – you are on the verge of screaming from frustration alone. Whatever you do seems to only amuse this man, and you snap your mouth shut. Your cheeks heat up with recurring waves of odd fever. The ground beneath your shins is all but warm, and yet you feel warm all over: a dangerous sign, you know, and oddly tied to the peculiar bodings you have seen all week.

Because there have been many omens in the air lately. 

It’s just that none of them were portents of war. 

The cranes started to mate early this year, and you have found a lot of clams from the shore every day. Even your brother encountered a boar with nine piglets; everyone celebrated him as some holy man who had seen the Great Mother when he returned to the village that day. The wind started to blow from south soon after, and the moon has grown along with your womb: this morning, on the brink of war, you woke up wet and restless. 

All the omens speak of fertility, of growth, of a new cycle and of birth: of spring and life. There’s nothing about death and decay, nothing except what the people have told you about… him. The death himself. The war god.

“König,” he says as if he can hear your thoughts and wishes to correct them. You look up and see he’s pointing to himself, or rather, holding his hand over his heart. You fight the urge to scoff at the gesture. As if this beast had a heart…

“König,” he repeats the word and pats his chest, and you realize he’s trying to tell you his name. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, and he smiles. It’s easy to tell when he does, even with the cloth that covers his face: you can see the joy clearly from his eyes, the boyish grin that must be occurring under that mask.

“Du?” He points at you next, inquisitive. He has an odd way of pointing: with two fingers, slightly crooked, and you understand very well what he’s asking of you. You refuse to tell him your name, however, settling for pouting a lip at him next. The smile in his eyes only deepens.

“Fee,” he pokes you gently on the shoulder and leans back in his odd Roman chair, seemingly content with having now named you. 

And Mother was right: you are curious, so incredibly curious to know what this beast has chosen to call you and why. Are you a rat to him…? Some bird? Perhaps simply a girl?

He is so pleased with your conversation that he pours himself some wine and drinks the whole cup with one gulp. Great, you sigh inside your head, a beast and a drunkard. He pours another cup and tries to offer it to you, and when you don’t make a move to grab the clay mug, he brings it to your lips. You entertain him with a tiny sip: you’ve heard of wine and know that Romans are fond of it, but you have never tasted it yourself. 

The tart, bitter flavour almost makes you cough. You thought wine was supposed to be sweet: everyone always describes it as something like milk or honey or juice from an overripe apple. It very much is not, and you almost choke on it and then make a wry face at your captor. He - König - only laughs. It’s another thing that catches you off guard: first those boyish, sad eyes and now this hearty, grown man’s laugh. You have proved to be such an amusement to him that he doesn’t force you to drink any more wine and enjoys the rest of it himself. 

Then he rises and makes you shrink from him again, towers above you for a moment, and looks at you with that warm curiosity that makes your heart race.

“Müde?” 

He tilts his head, the bag of darkness shifts, the blue eyes behold you fondly, and for some reason, you whimper an answer to yet another question you can’t even understand. He takes your little squeak as a yes and falls to crouch before you, then raises a massive hand to the leather strings that keep your demure little dress up. 

To your horror, he pulls the knotted tangle open before you can stop him. Your dress falls from your shoulders and drops to pool around you, and you simply and verily stop breathing.

His eyes wash over you, he examines every little part of exposed skin like an entire treasure chest has suddenly opened before him. You pray to all the gods that he would find it in his heart to be gentle tonight. Your nipples perk up – from the cold or from his stare, you don’t know. 

The rough callous of his palm meets your breast and encloses it in warm support. He cups you, weighs you like he would a fruit, and then he squeezes you, rather hard, too: a deliberate attempt to make you squeal again. He replies to your pathetic mewl with an approving rumble, and you look up at him with all the helpless tenderness of the Mother, hoping that Her gentle pleas might persuade this man not to hurt you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, and his eyes dart to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your lips again. He immediately softens his touch. Then he lifts you from inside your poor dress, picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, and carries you to his broad bed, the sturdiest you have ever seen. 

This man feels like the strangest of fates, like a hopeless destiny, as he sets you on the skins and straw mattress, right next to your fluttering heart. Your insides ache as he undresses before you, entirely without shame. He’s hard under the tunic he rips off and tosses on the cold ground. Your eyes are glued to the legendary cock you’ve heard so much about, the cock that splits women apart: and it’s true that it's huge. It resembles the ones you’ve seen on horses, not on men, and your thighs are glued together as he comes next to you while that pale, monstrous cock sways long and heavy between his thighs. He moves you around a little, and you squeal from how weak you feel: weak as a mouse as he covers you with one of those rich furs he has in plenty on the bed. Then crawls under it too, right next to you.

Your heart almost wrenches itself out of your chest as a strong arm pulls you against him: the swell of your ass meets his thighs, solid and broad like treetrunks, and your lower back meets the hot, almost too hot horse cock. It starts to leak and throb against your skin the instant your flesh is pressed against his. You try not to whimper and moan as the Giant, König, curls around you like you two have always done this.

He takes a long, earnest inhale from your neck and hair, rumbles deeply and contently, and tightens his grip. Apparently, you smell and feel good… 

You wait and wait to be plundered and raped, but König only settles for holding you tightly, like you’re a children’s toy made of the softest straw and purest undyed wool. You relax slowly, and he purrs against your back, starts to fondle your breasts, ardently, until your body betrays you and you find yourself wet again; he squeezes and squishes your teats slowly, approvingly, then pinches your nipple once before finally falling into a heavy, deep sleep.

…

Please forgive your author for any historical inaccuracies and other silly things you find facepalmable <3 During this time König would've probably spoken some form of Old Saxon but since I'm not a TOLKIEN we have to settle for modern-day German here. I don't have a taglist for this fic so please check my pinned masterlist for future updates.

Translations

Nein, warte - No, wait

Schön - Beautiful 

Schön wie eine Fee - Beautiful as a fairy

Sie redet - She talks

Du? - You?

Müde? - Tired?

[thefallennightmare]

I know that you usually do the headcannons on Monday's and you were thinking of moving it to Tuesday, but I was wondering if you would consider do a special Mother's Day one for this coming Sunday with Noah? I would love to see how Noah and Kenji would surprise Angel on Mother's Day.

@thescarlettvvitch @mitchhbitch @missduffsblog @hayleylatour @sleepyomens @loeytuan98 @artificialbreezy @marvelousmal @bngurngheart @lma1986 @dsireland86 @wild-child-7747 @calleyx13 @illmakeyousaywow @jaded-and-hollow-souls @exitwoundsx @shayzillaaaa @lookwhatitcost @badomensls @princesspeach-00 @burning-outx @shadowseve @collective-heartbreak @klutzy-kay24 @sorrowsofsilence @sweetlittlekitsune @shilohrosechicken @itsafullmoon @toospooktocute @niicoleleigh @thatchickwiththecamera @hoe-for-daddywise @whenthesummerdies @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @thisbicc @sammyjoeee

Please enjoy this special edition Mother's Day headcannon! It takes place in the Miracle Universe!

"SHH!" Kenji's loud voice came from down the hall. "You're going to wake momma up!!"

Noah chuckled. "Buddy, your mom slept through a fire. She can sleep through us making her breakfast."

"Wait," your four-year-old blinked. "Momma was in a fire?"

"Shit," Noah muttered under his breath while running his hand through his hair.

Kenji was too young for the story of how your crazy long lost brother tried to kill you in a fire. And how Noah walked through literal fire to save you.

"Sorry, it's an expression," Noah said while flipping the pancakes.

"What's an expression?" Kenji asked while taking a finger and dragging it through the bowl of pancake mix.

Even though he was four, your son Kenji was smarter than he looked. He did take after Noah after all.

You awoke in bed just in time to see Noah and Kenji walk into the room with a tray full of food, Kenji trying to carry the cup filled to the brim with orange juice.

Your heart lept in your throat when you noticed they were wearing matching Bad Omens sweaters and they were sporting the same hairstyle.

Noah had grown out his hair again, along with Kenji, and they both had it pulled back into buns.

"Happy mofers Day!" He yelled when he saw you were awake.

"Thank you my loves," you sleepily smiled at them.

Noah kissed you before setting out the large spread of food in front of you, both of your boys taking their fair share.

You didn't mind. You never did.

"So," Noah popped a grape in his mouth. "What do you want to do for your special day angel?"

"Honestly? This sounds perfect. Laying in bed with you two," you admitted.

The thought of going out in public with large crowds made you nervous, especially now.

Bad Omens were even bigger than they were before Kenji was born. Every time the three of you went out, someone recognized you guys and there had been a few times where you caught people taking pictures of Kenji.

Noah rubbed your back, working out the kinks of a restless night's sleep. "It's whatever you want, Y/N."

"Thank you," you rested your hand on his shoulder as his hand rubbed at your stomach; your ever-growing stomach.

Being nine months pregnant was another reason why you didn't want to go out.

It was a hot day in California and if there was a chance you could sit inside with air conditioning, you took it.

This pregnancy was a lot rougher than Kenji's. And with the previous miscarriages, you and Noah were taking a lot of extra precautions.

Your doctor ordered you on strict bed rest two months ago and Noah, who had tours and media planned, canceled it so he could stay home with you.

Something you tried to fight.

But even if Noah wasn't the one to cancel it, Matt would have because he didn't want anything to happen while they were on the road.

"So is my sister or broffer coming today?" Kenji asked once he finished scarfing down his pancakes.

Like he did every day since you told him six months ago.

"Soon bud," Noah ruffled his hair when Kenji squished himself between the two of you.

The three of you watched Bluey for a while until the baby in your womb began dancing around; right on your bladder.

You and Noah wanted to be surprised so didn't know the gender.

"I have to pee," you grunted while rolling out of bed.

Suddenly you stepped in something wet and when you glanced down, you felt your stomach drop.

"Did you spill something momma?" Kenji asked looking over the bed. "Momma peed!"

Noah immediately sat up in bed, his eyes locking on yours. "Did your-?"

You nodded. "My water just broke."

Less than thirty minutes later, Uncle Jesse and Uncle Jolly were at the house to watch Kenji while you and Noah rushed to the hospital.

You would have been perfectly fine with the gift of breakfast in bed for Mother's Day.

But eight hours later, as you lay in the hospital bed watching Noah do skin-to-skin with your daughter, you let out a lone tear.

"Best Mother's Day ever," you sighed.

Noah kissed your daughter's head. "I've got two angels now."

[bacchant-of-dionysus]

Dionysus Epithets, prayers and devotional activities

Βακχος/Bakkhos/Bacchus - frenzied - “Dionysus Bakkhos, lead me in frenzy” - have a rave or dance party in his honour.

Βρομιος/Bromios/Bromius - noisy - “Dionysus Bromios, make my voice heard.” - scream at the top of your lungs.

Μαινολης/Mainôles/Maenoles - raging - “Dionysus Mainôles, let me process my rage” - punch a punching bag or pillow.

Νυκτελιος/Nyktelios/Nyctelius - of the night - “Dionysus Nyktelios, lull me to sleep” - take a night time walk

Λαμπτηρος/Lamptêros/Lampterus - torch bearer - “Dionysus Lamptêros, guide me through the darkness.” - light a candle in his honour.

Ἑστιως/Hestiôs/Hestius - of the feast - “Dionysus Hestios, bless this meal” - make a meal in his honour.

Κωλωτης/Kôlôtês/Colotes - spotted gecko - use as a symbol of Dionysus

Αυξιτης/Auxitês/Auxites - giver of increase - “Dionysus Auxitês, increase my fortunes” - use this as a blessing when starting a new business or adventure.

Φαλλην/Phallên/Phallen - of the phallus - “Dionysus Phallên, make me fertile.” - use a phallic object during sex to promote fertility.

Ανδρογυνος/Androgynos/Androgynus - sexually androgynous (both tops and bottoms) - “Dionysus Androgynos, make me versatile in bed.” - explore dominance and submission in BDSM.

Σταφυλιτης/Staphylitês/Staphylites - of the grape - “Dionysus Staphylitês, allow me to grow like the vine.” - grow a grape plant.

Ληναιος/Lênaios/Lenaeus - of the wine press - “Dionysus Lênaios, bless this drink.” - say this before drinking wine.

Θεοινος/Theoinos/Theoenus - God of wine - “Dionysus Theoinos, I honour you.” - use as his title when regarding this aspect of his divinity.

Αγαθοσ Δαιμον/Agathos Daemon/Agathus Daemon - the good spirit - “Dionysus Agathos Daemon, bring good fortune upon this house.” - bless the house by hanging this message above the door or in your Lararium (if you practice more Roman traditions)

Προτρυγαιος/Protrygaois/Protrygaeus - first of the vintage - “Dionysus Protrygaois, I offer you the first sip of my wine.” - go wine tasting.

Οινοψ/Oinops/Oenops - wine dark - “Dionysus Oinops, protect our brothers and sisters of colour and welcome them into our faith.” - donate to an anti racist charity or buy from a Brown/Black/Blak owned business.

Κισσιος/Kissios/Cisseus - of the ivy - “Dionysus Kissios, May my faith grow like ivy on your walls.” - make an ivy crown.

Κιττοφορος/Kittophoros/Cittophorus - ivy bearer - “Dionysus Kittophoros, bless this ivy.” - Make a thyrsus.

Ανθιον/Anthion/Anthion - of the flowers - “Dionysus Anthion, may the world bloom in your colours.” - make a flower crown.

Κιστοφορος/Kistophoros/Cistophorus - basket bearer - “Dionysus Kistophoros, my my basket always be full.” - weave a basket

Ερεβινθινος/Erebinthinos/Erebinthius - of the chickpea - put chickpeas on your altar.

Διμητωρ/Dimêtôr/Dimetor - twice born - “Dionysus Dimêtôr, welcome me into this new part of my life” - study the tarot card “death”

Αιγοβολος/Aigobolos/Aegobolos - goat slayer - “Dionysus Aigobolos, I make this sacrifice in your honour.” - take part in the slaughter, butchering and consumption of a goat.

Βουφαγος/Bouphagos/Buphagus - cow eater - “Dionysus Bouphagus, bless this steak.” - eat a steak in his honour.

Ανθροπορραιστος/Anthroporraistos/Anthroporraestus - man slayer - “Dionysus Anthroporraistos, slayer of men, destroy those who would stand in my way” - burn a straw man on a bonfire.

Λυσιος/Lysios/Lysius - releasing - “Dionysus Lysios, free me from what is holding me down.” - get a massage to release tense muscles

Ελευθερευς/Eleuthereus/Eleuthereus - of liberation, freedom - “Dionysus Eleuthereus, free me from my chains” break a wooden board in half with your hand (look up how to do this safely)

Ψιλαξ/Psilax/Psilax - (lifted on) wings - “Dionysus Psilax, let me fly high enough to see the bigger picture” - collect feathers for his altar.

Σαωτης/Saôtês/Saotes - saviour - “Dionysus Saôtês, save me from myself.” - address him as this when in times of desperation.

Σωτηριος/Sôtêrios/Soterius - recovery (from madness) - “Dionysus Sôtêrios, enable me to recover from this dark episode of my illness.” - go to therapy in his honour.

Πατρωιος/Patrôios/Patroeus - paternal, ancestral - “Dionysus Patrôios, Divine Father, guide me with your wisdom.” - trace your family history/ do a dna test

Αισυμνητης/Aisymnêtês/Aesymnetes - dictator - “Dionysus Aisymnêtês, Divine Ruler, I trust your plan for me.” - make a big decision with your faith in mind.

Πολιτης/Politês/Polites - citizen - “Dionysus Pilotês, stand up for the rights of the common people.” - attend a rally or pride event

Αγυιευς/Agyieus/Agyieus - protector - “Dionysus Agyieus, protect my homeland from harm.” - make a ward around your home.

Μυστης/Mystês/Mystes - of the mysteries - “Dionysus Mystes, bless this party” - throw a bacchanal

Χθονιος/Khthonios/Cthonius - of the earth/cthonic - “Dionysus Khthonios, older than the earth.” - pray to him outside, on the ground.

Μελπομενος/Melpomenos/Melpomenus - performer (in Greek tragedy) - “Dionysus Melpomenos, mask my emotions.” - make a theatre mask of Dionysus.

This is the completed version! If you like this list I would appreciate a small tip or patreon subscription, as it took hours to put together :)

[thewritingisconsumingme]

sharing food

summary: kenshi visits kung lao

warnings: suggestive at the end :)

Kenshi breathed in the fresh air of Fengjian, the only sound being the rolling of the suitcase and Raiden’s voice. It was a much needed change of pace from the smoggy air of Los Angeles. He had flown into China a few days ago and taken a cab straight from the airport, but now he was exhausted and in much need of a nap and some good food. Raiden met him at the outskirts of their village, and they caught up as they walked along the unpaved roads underneath the sweltering sun until they both appeared in front of Kung Lao’s house. Raiden pat Kenshi’s back, told him good luck and to not worry, and left to go back to the White Lotus Academy to train the initiates. Kenshi and Raiden had been planning the surprise for a few days now, and Raiden had ensured that Kung Lao would take a break from work today so that Kenshi could show up and surprise him, take him out to dinner, woo him, and then confess his feelings.

Kenshi wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and raised his fist to knock on the door. Rapping three times on the door, Kenshi shoved his hand back into pant pocket and tried to look as nonchalant as possible when he heard Kung Lao open the door.

“Kenshi?! What are you doing here?” Kung Lao sounded very much surprised, and Kenshi could imagine how his eyebrows were raised in surprise.

“Surprise?” Kenshi smiled but internally smacked himself for saying such a cheesy line.

“Oh my god! Let me get your suitcase! Come in! Come in! Shoes off though.”

Kenshi just laughed at the comment and reached his hand out. Kung Lao took it and led the swordsman inside his home. Kenshi could hear Kung Lao kicking around some things on the floor to try and make a clearer path for the swordsman to walk around the home, and Kenshi could feel Kung Lao’s head grow warm and sweaty as though he was embarrassed.

“Sorry about the mess. Um, here, wait on the couch, I’ll bring something for you to eat. You must be starving!” Kung Lao led Kenshi to the couch, throwing something from the couch onto the floor, and made sure that the swordsman had sat down before sprinting over to the kitchen. Kenshi listened to Kung Lao running about the kitchen, opening and slamming the fridge door before opening it again because he forgot something in there. The swordsman breathed in the scent of Kung Lao’s home: it was an earthy smell with a small hint of something spicy. Kenshi couldn't stop himself from smiling. He had missed being around Kung Lao.

“Here, some fruit.” Kung Lao placed a hefty bowl into Kenshi’s lap and the swordsman raised an eyebrow at how large the bowl seemed. “So…why’re you here?”

Kenshi felt the other flop down right next to him and blushed when he felt their thighs squish against each other.

“Sorry, it’s a loveseat. Didn’t think I needed a bigger couch since I’m living alone.” Kung Lao explained, reaching into the fruit bowl in Kenshi’s lap and munching on something crisp. Kenshi gathered his thoughts, trying to ignore how his side was pressed flush against Kung Lao’s and how he could feel the definition of Kung Lao’s muscles through his thin shirt. It didn’t help that the two of them were quite large, and the loveseat was quite small.

“I got some time off and thought that I might come and visit you.” Kenshi replied, feeling around the food bowl and identifying slices of apples, slices of mandarins, and some grapes in the bowl. Kenshi popped a grape into his mouth to try and calm himself a bit more when he felt Kung Lao shift and put his arm on the back of the couch, his arm grazing the back of Kenshi’s neck.

“Oh! I mean- I’m glad you came to me, but, uh, why not Raiden? He’s got a…cleaner home.” Kung Lao’s voice dropped off at the end, and he shifted in his seat a bit uncomfortably.

“I wanted to see you.” Kenshi answered, hoping that the comment would placate Kung Lao and that his face didn’t betray his racing heart. The other man was silent, and Kenshi munched on an apple slice, hoping that the silence meant that Kung Lao was just a bit dumbstruck and not grossed-out.

“I was hoping to take you to Madam Bo’s?” Kenshi mumbled out the question, trying to fill in the silence of the room, but when Kung Lao didn’t answer, Kenshi felt his stomach drop. The swordsman passed the fruit bowl into Kung Lao’s lap and stood up.

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll just-” Kenshi reached for his cane and suitcase, intent on leaving and booking a ticket to go back to LA and drown himself in alcohol.

“Wait, wait! I’d love to go to Madam Bo’s with you! I mean-yeah, of course, why wouldn’t you want to come to Madam Bo’s with me? I’m just that cool, and um…yeah.” Kung Lao gripped onto Kenshi’s wrist and tugged him back onto the couch. Kenshi slowly sat down, a heat spreading across his face as Kung Lao pushed the fruit bowl back into Kenshi’s lap and leaned into the swordsman’s warmth.

Kenshi gripped the bowl tightly in his hands, grounding himself back into reality as the realization that he just scored a date with Kung Lao settled into his head. His mind felt buzzed, as if he had just drank a few shots, and Kenshi fully believed that if he wanted to, he could fly.

“So, um. I’ll take it that means you like me too?” Kung Lao asked in a meek voice. It was so quiet that Kenshi almost missed it. Too? Kung Lao liked him back? Forget flying, Kenshi could ascend to heaven right now.

Without answering, Kenshi turned to face Kung Lao. He placed his hand onto Kung Lao’s chest and felt the Shaolin’s heart pound underneath his fingertips. Gaining confidence when he heard Kung Lao’s breath hitch, Kenshi trailed his fingers up to trace Kung Lao’s neck and then cupped his face. The swordsman leaned in a little bit, a silent ask for permission. Kung Lao closed the distance, his hand flying up to cusp the back of Kenshi’s neck and bring them closer together. Kenshi’s heart was ablaze, like a fire burning in his chest. Kung Lao tasted sweet, like an oasis in the middle of a desert or the best pastry in the world. The Shaolin’s hands were holding onto the swordsman roughly, but his lips were soft and inviting. Kenshi could live like this forever, oxygen be damned. He deepened the kiss and brought his other hand up to hold Kung Lao in his arms.

Distantly, Kenshi heard something clatter to the floor and ignored it, but Kung Lao pulled away at the sound, Kenshi still leant forward to try and chase Kung Lao’s plush lips. He heard a shriek come from the man.

“The fruit!” Kung Lao immediately jumped from Kenshi’s lap, and the swordsman immediately missed the warmth. He could hear Kung Lao pick up the fruit on the ground, before running off to the kitchen and turning on the faucet, presumably washing the fruit of the dust of the ground. Kenshi leaned back onto the couch, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyelids as he tried to calm his beating heart. If it beat any faster, he was going to have a heart attack. 

Kung Lao cleaned the fruit and the floor like a mad man, but when Kung Lao was done. Kenshi felt the Shaolin settle into Kenshi’s lap, the swordsman’s hands going to Kung Lao’s waist instinctually. He squeezed at Kung Lao’s waist, still amazed at how slim it was, and Kung Lao yelped, slapping at the swordsman’s chest.

“Don’t do that…please.” Kung Lao weakly protested, but Kenshi had heard the small whimper that had escaped the Shaolin. The swordsmans smiled wickedly and squeezed Kung Lao’s waist again, causing him to let out a small whine and grind down onto Kenshi’s lap.

“How about we skip Madam Bo’s and go straight to dessert?” Kenshi pulled down Kung Lao’s head for another kiss, and the Shaolin melted into the swordsman’s lap.

When Kung Lao came into the academy the next day, his hand interlaced with Kenshi’s and walking a bit funny, Raiden just smiled and clapped Kung Lao on his back.

[fatguarddog]

You’re a grape farmer for a winery, spending your days mostly alone and tending to the fields.

The god Dionysus takes a liking you you, such a plump figure taking such good care of one of his domains. How could he resist you? How could you resist him? The god of wine and pleasure, mesmerizing eyes and wandering hands undressing you in your fields. The smell of sticky sweet grape juice as he enters your cunt, bigger than any partner you’ve ever dared have and hitting your most sensitive areas with every thrust. Fucking you from behind, onto the ground as the heat takes over. He moans into your shoulder as he cums inside of you, you feel slightly taut from the size of his load.

Lord Dionysus is also a god of fertility after all, and as he pulls out and caresses your body you can already feel yourself changing. The seed he left inside of you fertilized and sprouting, growing rapidly in your womb.

You begin to moan again as the tendrils of a plant twist inside of you, growing longer and thicker with every moment. Not only filling the space they’ve been given, unfurling and expanding until you can see your belly growing to make room. Other tendrils- perhaps roots?- make their way down your cunt towards your entrance, getting thicker and thicker as they go.

The roots of a curling vine push out of you, and you can see past your growing stomach that they must each be a centimeter in length and only getting bigger, beginning to stretch your hole as they reach for soil.

Your lord has been stroking your body this whole while, watching the effect of his seed on such a faithful follower. He picks up your swelling body effortlessly, and you moan as all of the plant life inside you shifts with gravity. The roots dangle out of you, stretching your entrance to the size of a fist… but now displaced from the soil they were seeking. They hang heavy from you as your Lord walks off with you, the two of you disappearing to *his* garden for your vines to grow and root you into the soil. And so, of course, he can enjoy what his new pet grape boy will produce for him….

(No harm done, but not a fan of something aimed at me including references to a womb! Nowadays that language is a bit uncomfy for me and prefer just a vague kind of 'inside you' type thing)

Ooooo, turning into Dionysus' personal grape boy sounds wonderful~ Especially the idea of being rooted down through my cunt like damn... the stretch and writhing of those roots would feel amazing i bet, and I can only imagine what would happen to my body once I have been properly rooted

Would I swell overall huge and juicy like a perfectly flavorful grape? Or would I just become pleasantly swollen with big tits that leak wine and my belly still pushed out from all the vines inside me? Either way, what a blissful existence tended to under Dionysus' care

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Can I please get a Daemon and your daughter from "a princess is born" in which to her father's pride and her mother's utter despair, she claims a wild dragon? (just a Dad!Daemon with some fluffy and maybe kinda funny)

I hope this satisfies!

A dragon is not a slave

Pairing: Daemon x Fem. Reader (Summer Isles wifey) x Baela (their daughter.)

Summary: Baela, yours and Daemon’s child, has reached a point in her life where she can finally claim a dragon. However, it is not the type of dragon everyone would have expected her to claim.

Warnings: Aegon being a loathsome cad (bigly, I might add) | Drinking | Drunkenness

Themes: Some minor angst | Soft | Fluff

Author’s notes: I’ve used Gods of the freehold for deities in this story, not the Seven. Also, in this entire line of stories, Aemond never lost his eye to Lucerys, but there is constant conflict between him and his brother Aegon, and unlike their father and uncle, there is no love between them.

Word count: 4.2K words

Want to be tagged? Want to know the reader request rules? Read all here

If you like this, please consider giving it a reblog.

It began as all such tales begin.

With a stormy night and a story.

Viserys, king of all Westeros, visited Dragonstone, to spend time with his daughter, his brother, and their families.

The king was frail now, close to meeting his makers. Viserys had to be taken about in a special wheel chair, and the journey to Dragonstone tired him. Still, he insisted on it, as everyone believed he would not live for long and he wanted to spend time with his brother and daughter before Balerion claimed the king’s soul for his own.

It was after supper, and the children all asked their grandsire to talk to them about the dragons, and how they were finally moved to the Stepstones.

"It was the Maesters, you see," Viserys said, as the rest gathered around in a circle and listened. "They came up with the idea of the dragon pits, as the dragons would grow weak and stunted when denied unfettered freedom. They wanted to weaken our family, to rid Westeros of magic and--"

Joff cut his grandfather off with, "But why would they want to do that? Rid the realm of magic?"

"Because magic eludes them, refuses to heed their calls," said Daemon, on his brother’s behalf. "They envy our dragon riders and our dragon dreamers, they envy the Northerners for their green seers and wargs. They claim to seek magic, but they don’t respect it, and as such, magic always eludes their grasp."

You were content to sit next to Daemon on the sofa. "Is this why you moved the dragons to the Stepstones?"

"Yes, good sister," Viserys said, taking a careful sip of his drink, which contained herbs to relieve his pain. "After the last hatchling grew no bigger than a misshapen dog, I had my spies dig around and find out what the Maesters were upto. All the eggs and the remaining dragons were moved to the Stepstones, and now, the keepers tell me, they are all thriving."

"What about the wild dragons, uncle?" asked Baela. "Are they still here?"

"Still here and keeping to themselves, thank the Gods," said Viserys. "Well, sheep stealer and grey ghost no one would mind, but Cannibal…"

Rhaenyra had to stop Joff and Visenya from throwing grapes at each other. "He turned fifty, didn’t he?"

"And killed twelve would-be dragon riders during those fifty years," Viserys mumbled. "Twelve victims. Brave souls all of them, thinking they could subdue the beast. And your father," he turned to Baela, "Would have been thirteenth because of m--"

"My recklessness to prove myself to the others," Daemon cut him off quickly.

Viserys turned to him, his eyes glistening. "You shouldn’t have to do it," he said, still ashamed that his recklessness nearly ended his brother’s life.

Daemon held no malice or anger for what happened. It was a decision he’d gladly make again, for anyone he loved. "I want to. Let us leave it at that, eh?"

The rest looked at them both, thoroughly confused. You held your tongue, for it was not your tale to tell. No one besides you knew the truth of what happened, how Viserys went looking for Cannibal, how Daemon had to pull him out of the way before being burned himself. You promised to let Daemon take this secret to the grave, in order to protect his brother.

Baela came over to her father, making herself comfortable on the armrest next to him.  "But why won’t Cannibal yield, aba? They say he was born in the pits before flying off after trying to kill his first rider, so why won’t he accept one?"

Daemon brushed back his daughter’s hair. "Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor. And besides, sometimes a dragon will wait till they find a rider worthy of them. At least, that’s how some of the stories go."

"Which is why they must be treated with the utmost respect, yes?" Viserys looked into the eyes of everyone who had gathered. "Dragons are not lap dogs, is that understood?"

A grape flew in a perfect arc and hit Laenor neatly on the nose. "My boys are all grown men," he said, rolling his eyes when Joff looked at him and giggled. "And with families of their own, yet they still insist on acting like children."

"What are children for, papa, but to test their parents?" Jacaerys said with a mischievous grin.

"Gods save us," Laenor said as he stood up and clapped his hands. "Right. It’s late, and we all need to rest. Big day tomorrow."

You and Daemon looked at Baela and smiled. On the morrow, she would turn thirteen, and after that, she would be allowed to claim a dragon for her own.

…………

Baela opened her eyes long before the sun had risen.

She carefully dressed herself and tiptoed her way to the kitchens.

Baela looked around to make sure no one was up and about. The cooks and maids were rubbing the sleep out of their eyes and had all sat down to their breakfast. Their attention was elsewhere, and Baela took her chance.

She scurried over to the butcher’s larder, and carefully picked out a few cuts of meat that were kept aside for the dragons. Even dragons, despite their fearful nature, liked their treats, and their riders would often indulge them with the castoffs.

Baela chucked everything into a large bag before tiptoeing again, this time out of the fortress.

The island was shrouded in mist, and cold. So very cold. Baela, determined as ever, pulled her cloak tight and walked to the far side of the island, where the wild dragons nested. The Dragon Mound.

After listening to her uncle’s tales, Baela was curious to see if she could claim a wild dragon for herself, instead of waiting for years for a tame dragon to form a proper bond with her. She had to be careful, for while her father might tolerate such a scheme, her mother, on the other hand, would not.

She couldn’t blame you, as you had grown up on tales of the freehold and what happened when Valyrians tried to claim wild dragons that refused to yield. Still, she was determined to see this through. After all, she was your daughter as well as her father's. She would not let either side down by giving in so easily. Baela fought back her growing fear and exhaustion and pushed on. 

The hike was hard, and the climb down to the caves was just as hard. Baela took great care to avoid cutting herself and giving the game away. The bag grew heavy and started to smell. Baela still pressed on until she found a cave that had bones scattered all over the entrance.

They were all too charred and burned to be distinguished as human or beast. It could not be human, she decided, as the keepers would have warned the others if people started to go missing. This must be the cave of Sheep Steeler, or the shy Grey Ghost. Baela, relieved, set her bag down, upending it and emptying it of all contents. She then walked backward and turned away from the entrance.

At first, she heard nothing, felt nothing. The minutes passed, and the sun started to rise. Baela would have to leave soon, before her absence was noticed and someone came looking for her.

The seconds ticked away, and then there was a deep thump.

Then, another deep thump.

The air grew warmer, and she heard a deep huff. Baela gulped and kept perfectly still. She heard gravel crunching, of bones splintering and shattering. She heard another huff, a snarl, this time in her direction. She gulped again, but kept perfectly still, not wanting to startle the beast with sudden movements.

The air suddenly grew cool again, and when Baela turned, she saw that her offering of meat had been accepted. Gingerly, she tiptoed her way to the cave entrance. There was nothing there, but she was sure a dragon was deep within the cave, watching her while shrouded in darkness. Not wanting to test her luck, Baela picked up her bag and walked away again.

When she did, a pair of large eyes flew open from within the cave and gleamed wickedly in the darkness.

…………

The feast went ahead as planned.

The mood was somewhat dampened, of course, when Viserys’ children turned up. Sweet-natured Helaena was always welcomed, and her brothers—well, that was another prospect altogether.

Aemond was always angry with his brother, and Aegon reciprocated his brother’s feelings. The two of them could never be left alone for long before they started to tear chunks out of each other. Still, everyone tried to keep the brothers apart for this day, for Baela’s sake.

While Baela and her cousins tried to be nice to Aemond, Aegon was another prospect altogether, and the others made it a point to keep her and Visenya well away from him. For once, however, Aegon behaved, but everyone kept a watchful eye on him.

That night’s revelry went ahead without incident, although Aegon was determined to drink himself into a stupor. You leaned over to Daemon and whispered in the language of your people, "Do you think we should cut him off?"

And Daemon, who had become fluent in your people's language after learning it, replied, "You'll have an easier time bonding with Vermithor than any of us would in stopping the future king. Leave him be, darling. Perhaps if he drinks enough, he won’t be a bother to anyone."

You sighed but accepted your husband’s counsel. And Daemon was right. You’d have an easier time bonding with the Bronze Fury than getting Aegon to stop drinking.

Daemon and you both gave toasts in honour of your daughter’s thirteenth birthday. "To the next dragon rider!" Daemon said cheerfully, and the rest roared in approval.

Laenor looked up from his meal. "Have you decided yet on what dragon to claim?"

Baela kept her tone perfectly neutral. She wanted no one to find out she was trying to claim a wild dragon. "I haven’t yet, uncle." She turned to her food, her hands trembling when she remembered the long trek, the bones crunching, and the beast sniffing at her back. "To be honest, I cannot actually make up my mind."

Five healthy dragons have hatched, and two more were waiting for riders. "You have plenty of time, sweetheart," you said over your wine. "Take all the time you need to decide."

Baela speared a new potato and smiled like anything. She had already decided, but she was certain no one was going to like it once the truth came out. Aegon replied by burping loudly and falling back into his chair, his mouth half open in an ugly snore. "And the green will yield to the purple,” Helaena mumbled to no one in particular.

Aegon nearly fell out of his chair and had to be physically carried to bed, but at least he was out and not creating a scene. Everyone relaxed, and conversation flowed more freely.  

"I hear you are to wed, uncle?" Visenya addressed her uncle. "Who is the lucky woman?"

"A Baratheon," mumbled Aemond. "Her name is Alys."

You arched a brow. "This does not make you happy?"

"No, princess y/n," Aemond moderated his tone after catching his uncle's warning glare. "She is not what I would have chosen for a bride, but alas, everyone else insists. I must wed the lady before the moon is out."

"I hear Alys is very nice." Baela and Visenya had been debating what to have for dessert. Candied almonds or sugar plums? In the end, they settled on a little bit of both. "Like Helaena," added Visenya. "So she can’t be all that bad."

Aemond snorted. "I doubt it."

Baela exchanged a look with her cousin but chose not to respond. You leaned over to Daemon, switching to your native language again. "What was that all about?"

Daemon had already formed some suspicions over the years, and Alicent's insisting her second son marry and leave the nest served to strengthen them. "I’ll tell you when we're in bed."

You nodded and listened as Laenor changed the subject. The rest of the feast went on pleasantly for everyone.

…………

Baela woke up the next morning, as early as the day before, and got started on her new ritual.

She would sneak off into the kitchens, and then sneak out again with cast-off cuts of cooked meat. She would make the trek to the other side of the island, carefully making her way down to the caves, not stopping until she found the one she was looking for. Baela would take a few steps back and turn away from the cave, leaving the meat where it was the day before.

And like yesterday, she would hear one deep thump, then another. The air would grow warm. Something would sniff at the meat, then eat it. That same something would then sniff and snarl at her.

And so it went on, day after day after day, until Baela walked out of the kitchens one morning, certain that no one would notice, only to run into her father.

Daemon simply stood there, arms across his chest. "And what, pray tell, are you up to?"

"I…" Baela dropped the bag, embarrassed with herself for getting caught. "I’m off for a walk, aba."

"Hmmph." Daemon went over to her bag and opened it. His nose crinkled a little at the smell, and his eyes went wide when he recognized what the contents were. "Treats for dragons, yes?" He gave her a questioning look. "But you don't have a dragon, at least not yet. And all the unclaimed dragons are on the Stepstones. So, why would you need this meat?"

Baela gulped, tried to come up with an excuse. "I…. I…"

Daemon’s lips quirked up, his eyes lighting up with wicked humour. "Offerings to the old gods?"

"I… I..."

"You do know the Gods of Valyria demand live sacrifices, yes?"

Baela sputtered.

"Preferably unblemished sheep, or goat. Even chicken would do in a pinch." Daemon tried hard to look serious. "But I suppose day-old cooked beef would do."

Baela groaned in defeat.

"Sheep Steeler?"

She shook her head, but refused to raise it. Daemon curled a finger under his daughter’s chin and tilted it up. "Grey Ghost then?"

Baela managed a meek yes, much to her father’s relief. "Alright. I won’t tell your mother about this. But you must come to me if you want to go further than feeding Grey Ghost. Do you understand me?"

"I will." Baela threw her arms around her father in gratitude. "Thank you, aba."

Daemon chuckled, but waited till his daughter had walked far enough before following her. He kept out of sight, impressed by the paths his child took, how she carefully climbed down to the caves. He tried to peer over the stones, but the dragon, whatever it was, was hidden by surrounding boulders. Daemon wouldn’t budge until Baela picked up her bag to leave.

And one fine day, she heard no low snarl.

She would only hear the dragon take a deep sniff, and huff in her direction. She’d try talking to it, all while keeping her back to it. Baela swore it listened.

Once, she thought she heard what sounded like a gentle purr. She rushed back home, to talk to her father about it.

Daemon, having heard it himself after having followed her yet again, was wondering how long it would take for this to happen. "He likes you," he said, pleased as punch. If everything went according to plan, his child would be the first in their family’s entire history to claim a wild dragon. "Dragons only purr if they’re attached to one person, bonded to them, and if a wild dragon does that, then it means—"

"It means what?"

Daemon quickly stood up. "Sweetheart," he said as you stood there, eyes wide and mouth half open in surprise. "We…"

"Are talking about a wild dragon, yes?" you turned to your daughter, who in turn had looked away. "Really, bee? A wild dragon?" You turn on Daemon next. "How could you?"

Daemon tried to reason with you. "Sweetheart, we--"

"A wild dragon, husband!" you said in despair. "How can you even encourage such a thing?"

Daemon gestured for Baela to leave, and she did, wasting no time to quit the room.

"Sweetheart," Daemon guided you to a chair, urged you to sit. "Please, listen to me. Baela has been careful."

"I--" Daemon held up a hand to cut you off.

"Our daughter knows what she's doing," he said as he crouched in front of you, taking your hands in his. "I’ve been following her, and I think she may have successfully formed a bond with Grey Ghost. He’s purring. I’ve heard it. That’s a very good sign."

You still thought it was a very bad idea. "She’s our child," you sniffled as tears pooled around your eyes. "Our baby, and if anything happens to her, I…"

"Sweetheart, Baela, is tougher and smarter than the both of us." Daemon wiped your eyes, not wanting to show that he too was secretly worried. "She will be fine, I’m sure of it. No harm has come to her so far. She will be fine. Our daughter will be fine."

You managed a smile for him, your heart feeling like it was being squeezed the entire time.

And as for Baela, she went for a walk with her cousin to clear her head and to try and stamp out the guilt she was feeling, for going against your wishes to not bond with a wild dragon.

They had been talking of Visenya’s own plans for her sixteenth birthday, when Aegon came upon them near a cliff on the far side of the island, close to the Dragon Mound, and the caves beneath it. He was surly this morning, and bored. He looked at them as if they were fresh prey. And his feared uncle was nowhere in sight.

"Ladies," he crooned cloyingly sweet. "How are we this morning?"

"Fine, my prince," Baela mumbled as she and Visenya dipped to curtsy. "And how are you? Are you enjoying life on the island so far?"

Aegon was bored out of his wits, and he said so. Dragonstone was dreary, even though it was his seat as crown prince. The air was always cold and damp and salty, the company wanting. And there were no pleasure houses in sight. "Have either of you been? To a pleasure house, I mean?"

Visenya slipped her hand into her cousin’s, wondering if someone would hear if one of them screamed. "No, my prince," she said. "I’ve heard my brother’s talk, but that was from a time before they were wed."

"Yes," Aegon sneered. "Your mother raised three bores for sons. Perhaps I should take the both of you, when you next visit the Red Keep."

Baela stiffened. "That is not necessary, my prince. Besides," she swallowed, her eyes darting towards the fortress. "It would be most improper, for ladies to visit a pleasure house."

"Scandalous, yes?" Aegon sneered again, only this time in a way that made both girls very uncomfortable. "But you needn’t worry. I will take you. The both of you."

"You cannot."

"I am the crown prince! I can do what I like.!Now come. I could do with some company."

"Actually," both Baela and Visenya hesitated. They remembered the warnings, to not be alone around the crown prince. "We would stay here, my prince." Baela could feel fear burning a hole in her gut. She cursed herself, for not asking Jace or Luke to accompany them.

When Aegon took a step towards them, the girls took a step back. "Come with me," he hissed at them, his eyes blazing with fury. "That’s an order."

Visenya shook her head. "No, your grace."

"Come with me, you pathetic chits!" Aegon took another step toward them. "Now!"

Thump.

The cliff face shook, as if something big was scaling it. Aegon blanched. "What fuck is going on?"

Thump.

This time, they all jumped, and backed away from the edge of the cliff. There was a snarl, followed by something rumbling. The cliff face kept shaking, as whatever it was that snarled was making its way closer to them. The air warmed up like a warm summer day. It grew warmer and warmer, and the source of all of it made its presence known.

Gods be good, thought Baela, as she pulled her cousin back with her. It’s him.

A body that was as black as the darkest pits and green eyes that seemed to spit fire appeared before them. The beast opened its terrifying maw, its roar threatening to break the very earth they stood on. It unfurled its wings and roared again, making them shrink from it. Its hot breath felt like a furnace, and they huddled in fear, cowering before it. And then, the beast went silent and inched forward, sniffing at the air around them.

It snarled around Aegon, as if in warning. It then turned its head toward the girls, sniffing and sniffing. Visenya it ignored, and Baela?

She was rewarded with a soft huff, something that almost sounded like a purr. Visenya’s eyes went wide in awe. "He likes you," she whispered. "Cannibal actually likes you."

And he was the one she had been feeding all this time, not Grey Ghost. Oh, her mother was going to lose it, Baela was certain.

But there was nothing you or anyone could have done, at any rate. A bond had already been formed, and if the tales were true, a bond could never be broken, not until the dragon or rider died. "You must ride." Visenya pushed her cousin forward. "Do it. The first flight seals the bond."

Baela looked at her cousin like she had sprouted a thousand eyes all at once. "Do it," Visenya urged, when they heard raised voices. Others were rushing towards them. "Claim him, or you might never get another chance if he flies off again."

Baela took a deep breath and said the first command that came to mind. Cannibal had once heard commands in the pit, but will he heed them after so many decades of running wild? "Māzīs," she said, inching forward.

The dragon tilted his head, as if listening. This time, Baela put steel in her voice. Dragons could smell fear and disrespect and would never respond to either. "Māzīs," she said more firmly.

This time, the dragon inched his way towards her, lowering his head as if to show he was no threat. When voices grew louder, he turned to the keepers rushing towards him and roared, forcing them back.

"Lykirī," Baela said sharply, and Cannibal turned his attention back to her. "Dohaerās, Cannibal."

Cannibal looked at her, studying her. What he did next shocked everyone. He lowered a shoulder to the ground, painfully and uncomfortably low for him, but low enough so Baela could climb him easily. When she struggled to reach his neck, he rolled his shoulders to push her up. She had to hold on with a squeal. Baela then came up with the next command. "Sōvētēs."

He took one fast step after another, building momentum. Baela had to grab onto one of his neck horns for more support. The edge of the cliff neared, and when his wings unfurled, she closed her eyes, thinking that this was the end.

Only it was not.

Daemon reached the cliff edge, a smile tugging at his lips, his chest filling with pride as dragon and rider soared overhead. Cannibal circled the fortress once, then twice, then dipped to the harbour, causing terrified workers and sailors to duck in fright when his shadow loomed over their ships. He took off into the clouds next, and Baela was sorely tempted to let go, to see if she could touch one. The lack of a proper saddle and reins stopped her from doing it.

Her thighs ached and her palms bled from holding so tight. Still she endured, believing the price was worth it. When they came back to the cliffs, Baela had been both laughing and crying at the same time, so overawed was she by the experience. When Cannibal landed, he lowered his shoulder to the earth again, so she could get off. "You've ruined horses for me,” she mumbled as she tried to catch her breath. “Did you know that?"

The dragon’s chest rumbled, as if he understood.

Baela gulped when her father walked towards her, and she steeled herself for the inevitable scolding. Oh, Daemon was nothing but fiercely proud, but he still had to chide his daughter for giving him such a fright. And as for you?

You lectured your daughter thoroughly for her recklessness, but secretly, you were proud too. Of course, you wanted your daughter to stew a little before you finally admitted to it. Daemon told his brother, and Viserys broke out into the biggest smile he had ever seen. "So he has finally come back to us," Viserys was as proud as his brother. "And it took your daughter to make it happen."  

Translations:

Māzīs – Come

Lykirī :Calm

Dohaerās: Serve

Sōvētēs – Fly

[changingplumbob]

Honey, I'm home!

TLDR: I'm back. Incoming reblogs. Normal posting resumes 21st at 9am NZDT (GMT+13).

My cat summary, tales of travel woe and random trip tidbits below.

Cat! The cat survived the cattery. Apparently she wasn't eating too much and just stayed in her cage area (I say cage but it was a neat two level set up, she had an individual food bowl, litter tray and cat bed). She's lost a bit of weight so she'll be getting bigger feeds the next few days. She's periodically patrolling the house and hiding in my bed which is fair.

Travel! So our first bus was running late. Trying to make up for it the bus sped over the hill. Imagine sitting sideways on a bus with a large suitcase as the bus quickly drives a winding downhill road. So fun right (sarcasm is heavy here). We made the train but halfway through the trip it stopped and sat for 10 minutes because of an "incident" (yeah I'm curious to). Bus from train station to airport was fine but the baggage check in went down just as we reached it. Then the plane was delayed by about half and hour. Fast forward to this morning. Checking in at the airport early to discover our 8:15am flight was cancelled because the aircraft was damaged overnight. They put us in a van for a nice hour and a half trip along a sometimes empty, sometimes standstill motorway. At the new airport we checked in fine, but what do you know the plane home was delayed. Hour delay this time. Eventually back home, took the airport bus to the train station no problem. What do you know, the train line was having errors and replacement buses were running instead. At the home train station we just gave up and got a taxi to the vets, and then home.

Wedding! It was nice, my cousin and his bride were so damn happy. It was in a place called the Tree Church where the structure is actually made out of shrubs so it's like getting married in a church made out of nature. The sun was shining and she walked down the isle to an instrumental of Taylor Swift - Wildest Dreams. Her dress was gorgeous, their vows were sweet and I was sitting in an aisle seat so got to throw flower petals over them as they walked up the aisle together. Then (remember I'm in summer people) they had an ice cream truck after a champagne toast and they had vegan ice cream!!!

Reception! It was at a vineyard and half the area had trellises with grapes growing above you. There was so much food, and some vegan stuff! Because my cousin has a large family (lots of aunts and uncles) I was the only cousin from our branch. But you know when the band started playing ABBA I had to get up and dance with my aunts because how can you not dance to Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (Man After Midnight)? I sang along, loudest to Love Story obviously.

Tea Ceremony! So my cousin's wife (is she my cousin in law now? IDK), her parents are Chinese and came to NZ before she was born. She had lots of family fly over from China and Canada and they brought her and my cousin these beautiful red robes for a tea ceremony. Basically it allows the married couple to honour their elders by serving them tea. The couple also get money and jewellery from elders. Apparently all the Cantonese speaking relatives told them they hoped to see a grandchild next year, no pressure cousin.

Internet! As some of you probably realised the air bnb had wifi so I was able to keep up on some people's posts. But because I'm an overthinker I wanted to keep my post about going away near the top of my blog. I'm now going to blog some things I wanted to reblog during the 5 days which you may well have already seen but I want to reblog anyway to show support.

Me! This whole thing has been about me but anyway, I am very sleep deprived. I was not sleeping well before we left. The house we were staying was so creeky I barely slept while we were there. So I'm going to do extra rambles because that's what happens when I'm tired. Thank you for a couple of sunflowers today, with my travel chaos I needed them. I keep them in my inbox for low days but appreciate it beyond measure. I'm going to try get to my asks today but sleep may claim me first. The favourite facts are coming I promise! Lastly check out this puzzle that I was fiddling with intermittently for 3 days. I can't believe I eventually solved it!

[miramis248]

My Au - Updating, Introducing OC'S and plot divergence

Heh

Hey, how ya'll doing? It's been a while... My work schedule is unforgiving at the moment 🙃

So, i've been working on my Au for the past few weeks whenever I had the opportunity. It is inspired by multiple fanfictions that I've read, and here's how it's going so far:

Jake Sully

When Jake arrived, he was taken aback by how things were being run at Hells gate, lower Ranked workers were being overworked and underpaid, he also heard through the grape vine that many were being threatened and blackmailed into silence by superiors and SEC-OPS about shandy stuff that had been happening, such as the deviation of funds from the mining safety regulation programs towards more poaching equipment, weapons and bigger equipment for intensive mining, as well as lining the pockets of superior assets to the company, he was less than pleased, but what strengthen his resolve was watching how the scientists were being treated by Selfridge, he hates the guy, especially after the accident...

When Jake was in the Avatar for the first time, he had a "seizure", at least that's what the science guys told him, and his human body went into a comatose, almost dead like state, while his mind was stuck in the Avatar, most likely permanently...Selfridge immediately goes into self-preservation mode and tries to make excuses, half-assed apologies, and then just straight-up blames Jake

"You read the contract. You knew the risks. This is all on you."

Now Jake reeeeeeeally wants to screw this guy over, and hopefully find a way to help the other workers and scientists along the way as well, so he starts hatching a plan, he talks to Grace and promises her he'll help them "get out" if they want to, he's leaving, but that doesn't mean he'll leave them high and dry, Grace and the other scientists are apprehensive of the idea, but decide to give Jake a set of Comns for safety and updates on how well his plan will work out.

He stays for around 3 months, getting a feel for his new body, working out, preparing himself...a few days before leaving, Trudy came to him with a serious request. She overhead him speaking to Max and Grace and needed help for a friend. She promised to keep his escape plans a secret.

Trudy took him to a room, there he finds Paz Socorro, an exhauted looking woman, who begs for him to help her, she has an health condition that only seems to be getting worse and she has another problem, Spider...

Spider is born a hybrid, the first human baby on pandora, born with a kuro and faded stripes along his body, covered in light freckles with the cutest little nose and pointy ears, Jake is as shocked as he is smitten by the little guy...how that happened...Paz saw the fruit growing outside, and her cravings got the best of her, they supposedly weren't dangerous for humans... Paz tells him that she might not survive because the human resources and insurance assholes that work for Selfridge keep making excuses as not to help pay for the surgery or having it at all on base, Paz has a heart condition discovered during her pregnancy, without proper help she will get sicker and most likely die, but they rather take their chances and send her back to earth even though she could also die in cryo and Spider would be left parentless, she's also worried about her son, selfridge knows about Spiders "condition" and she scared of what might happen to him.

She begs Jake to take her son, he can breath pandoran air, so he'll be fine, Jake is a bit worried about this decision but Paz tells him this might be the only way to keep her baby safe, he can't say no to that little face,so he accepts and is surprised when Paz pull out official papers

(Paz "His father is a dangerous man, he refused to sign the birth certificate, but I need to be sure he can't get him through any loopholes"

Jake "You're...adoption papers!? Paz, are you sure? Isn't it better to make me like a babysitter guardian guy or whatever? I mean we just met, and you asking me to take your kid, you dont know me!..."

Paz "No, this needs to be ironclad, I need this to be official. He will never get his hands on my baby boy, and I KNOW enough Sully, I know you offered others help to get out, so here i am accepting on the behalf of my son"

Jake "Ok!...ok, just...Jesus..."

Paz "i might not see either of you again...with the way things are going for me..."

Jake "I will take care of him...i promise you this, this kid is gonna be the happiest little guy"

Paz "You better you dumbass, or my spirit will haunt your blue ass")

(SPIDER DESERVES ALL THE LOVE, HE IS BABY)

And so, with the help of Truddy, Jake steals a bunch of supplies, including weapons and ammo, Grace helps cover up for him during their trip to look for samples. From there, with little Spider hidden in his backpack, he slowly shys away into the forest where he starts their new journey...

Still working out how he'll end up stumbling into Omatikaya territory...

So far, I've also been working on some of my Human OC'S that will be relevant to the AU, like the Viperwolf Hunters, we now also have

Maya Aguillar

Maya is an Avatar Driver, she worked in the labs, delved into Bioengineering, making prosthetics for both human nd na'vi alike, along with other medical devices built with Unobtainium, her search was defunded however because Harding's poaching was more profitable and she didn't exactly have the power to protest this decision, with her research on hold, she was then given the job of outside maintenance on her base(she only met Harding and Mercer once when she arrived, she she was tranfered to a lab a bit far out from the main base), Maya was sick and tired of all the excuses for not being able to fund her research, the mistreatment by higher ups and just the overall work conditions, when news of Jake Sullys escape and disappearance got out, aswell as learning that many others started leaving too, including some old friends, she made a risky decision and bounced, she had knowledge of a long abandoned mobile link inside a mountains wall far way, she took a jeep, hid her avatar in it and waited for nightfall, then she was gone... But that just the beginning because what she didn't realise is that the mobile link is very close to the Aranahe Clan, who didn't take long to notice their new neighbour...

(Had the time to doodle her)

John Maverick

Basically, it's a cowboy that came to Pandora, and now drives an Avatar.

Veterinary, big and small port animals, Pandoran Fauna and Flora enthusiast/expert, he was on animal care in a projet to study Pandoran animals, had to restrain himself from finding and strangling both Harding and Mercer after seeing the conditions in which the animals were being kept...he found a way to leave, as a human first, then busting open the gates on the back of an angstik he named Bluebell (like the cow he raised back home has a kid, his best friend), middle fingers up for the cameras with more than 15 heads of Catle and three funny and charismatic Pa'li that love to nip his ears... this man disapears, he finds a place(thank god thes people just abandon mobile links everywhere) where he can safely use the link unit, now he roams the plains with his herd of animals, he keeps them happy and safe, totally decked out in Cowboy fashion, hat and all (I imagine this man looping a rope on one of the bulls because they panic or something, throws himself on top of them rodeo style, lets them tire out and then just spends time sitting there calming this huge creature down with pats on their back and treats till the convince them to join the herd again) he's living his best life...in Zeswa lands...guess he thought the kites where just pretty decorations...(still working on drawing him)

That's it for now, but I'm still working in these OC'S, I'll don't more indept backgrounds for them later on.

There's also my concept of humans adapting to Pandora with Eywa's help. Basically, the Great Mother is loving and mischievous, and she'll use her children to guide these humans who long for a new life, for example, my take on humans being able to breath and eat and LIVE on Pandora will be because she'll use her Atokirina, or maybe animals to guide humans to flowers, moss or fungi, that when exposed to without a mask, changes their biology. Maybe they fall and break their mask and breath in spores or polen, maybe the animal suddenly pulls the mask from their face(A human guided by this nice, cute Syaksyuk getting their mask ripped of and face shoved into a flower) and then boom, they breath and eat from Pandora with no trouble!

Eywa will take to making humans See and learn, but also learn from them and adapt, so that everyone is happy 😊

There, that my Au so far, see ya'll later!

[jennyandvastraflint]

Xena Reactions S2Ep18

Xena wants foooood!

Gabrielle wants to go shoppinggggg XD

Oh they'll kidnap Gabrielle aren't they

She bought a scarf for two dinars

AAAAH. THEY KIDNAPPED GABRIELLE

Gabrielle 🤝 Jenny Getting kidnapped :(

"Because I killed her, Xena" OI DON'T MAKE HER THAT ANGRY

Xena is ready for a fightttt

Who even is this guy... Am I supposed to know him? He seems to know about Draco and Callisto

Dude, stop damaging the stalls. You're gonna pay for all that

"What did you do with Gabrielle" Attack dog

He's delusional

"You got thirty seconds to tell me where she is"

Oh this guy is fucking annoying. Stab his guts. Slice open his balls.

OH SHIT. IS SHE ALLERGIC TO THE OIL.

I wish this show had no men in it

NOOOO XENA WANTS HER WIFEY BACKKKKK

uhhhh... Why is there a portrait of Gabrielle...

Ew this is disgusting. DON'T SELL WOMEN TO GROSS MEN.

Ahdhdhdhd SHE LOOKS AT THE COCK OF THE STATUE

URGH FFS... Can dudes stop being like that to women

"I don't respond well to threats. However, I find pain quite persuasive..." 😂

SHIT IS SHE GOING BLIND. Yup

Key between the boobs 👀

"No but I'm in a hurry and you'll be my eyes"

"And she's not going to like this forced marriage thing"

STOP INSULTING HER!???

"I CAN'T I WON'T" "Hungry, my queen?" "Oh a few grapes..." XD

Well... Blind for life? I mean, Gabrielle can be her eyes

"That must be one friend..." 🏳️‍🌈💕

"You commanded respect" "No, I commanded fear"

Oh no...

"Lady Gabrielle" THE GUY COMING OUT-

Boobrielle- did they push her boobs to be bigger?

Her braid and hair looks pretty tho

Hmmmmm I don't like this

Oh they'll fall

XENA. SHE JUST DROPPED HERSELF

She's fine(ish)

Urgh this dude is getting on my nerves

PLS HER WRIST GOING LIMP. GAY

Yeah they're really pushing her boobs...

"Have you ever been in love?"

"a certain someone" oh he's queer isn't he.

"Now you know how I feel" XENA.

"Those aren't pleasant memories for me" SHE'S HAVING PTSD MOMENTS MY BABYGIRL

Gabrielle my love

"Cold hands" he's dead.

"Because all the men I get serious about end up dead" shfhshss

THEY WANT HER TO FUCKING DIE??? URGHHH

Xena climbing a wall blind ✌️

SHE TOSSED THE SHAKRAM

"Is your friend really worth all this?" "I'd die for her" Average lesbian relationship idk what you mean

Yea he's trying to pull the alpha male shit

Shfdhdhd the propped up king

Ough and Gabrielle tied up

"Give us a sign" Blergh. Xena will fucking murder him

"Your deadness"

Urgh leave Gabrielle ALOOONEEEEE

"You're right, this place is crawling with guards"

UARGHHHH!!! STOPPPPP

"She and the king are to be cremated" NUGHH Xena is so worried for her gf

Noooo, the guy realised she can't see

She's fighting by ear...

ARGH SOMEONE HELP GABRIELLE

"GABRIELLE HANG ON" "xena" STOPPPPPP

"GABRIELLE GABRIELLE GABRIELLE"

THEY'RE HUGGING AND CRYING

"I have that growing in my garden" shdhfd

GABRIELLE GENTLY TILTING HER FACE AND CLEARING HER EYES

"now that's a sight for sore eyes"

From a disability rep point I'd appreciate them not treating blindness as a THE MOST HORRIBLE FATE EVER

Awww he actually learned something...

"I think I'm gonna PRETEND to be good for a while"

AHAHAHAAA I CALLED THE GUY IS GAYYYY XDDD

"Can you courtesy?" 😂 I mean she learned for pretending to be Diana, didn't she

"I hate you. In a good way" 🏳️‍🌈

[thewidowsghost]

Daughter of the Sea (Annabeth Chase x Jackson!Reader) - Chapter 5

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Once (Y/n) gets over the fact that her brother's former Latin teacher was a horse, they have a nice tour, though she is careful not to walk behind him. She and Percy had done the pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times, and she did not trust Chiron's back end the way I trusted his front.

The two pass the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudge each other; one of them points to the Minotaur horn (Y/n) is carrying. Another says, "That's her!"

Most of the campers were older than (Y/n). Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. (Y/n) wasn't normally shy, but the way they stared at her makes her uncomfortable. (Y/n) feels like they are expecting her to do a flip or something.

(Y/n) looks back at the farmhouse. It's bigger than she expected, about four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. (Y/n) is looking at the brass eagle weather vane on top when something catches her eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and (Y/n) gets the distinct impression she is being watched.

"What's up there?" (Y/n) asks Chiron.

He looks where I am pointing, and his smile fades. "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives up there?" (Y/n) asks curiously.

"No," he says with finality. "Not a single living thing."

(Y/n) gets the feeling that he's being truthful. But she is also sure that something had moved the curtain.

"Come along, (Y/n)," Chiron says, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."

They walked through the strawberry fields, where campers are picking bushels of berries while a satyr plays a tune on a reed pipe.

Chiron tells (Y/n) that the camp grows a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount

Olympus. "It pays our expenses," he explains. "And the strawberries take almost no effort." He also explains now Mr. D - sir (Y/n) thinks with an eye-roll - made fruit-bearing plants: they grow like crazy when he is around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. Dis restricted from growing those, so they grow strawberries instead. \

(Y/n) watches the saytr playing his pipe. His music is causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. (Y/n) wonders if Grover could do the same kind of magic with his music; then she wonders if Grover is still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.

"Grover won't be in too much trouble, will he?" (Y/n) asks Chiron. "I mean, he was a good protecto -" her voice trails off.

Chiron sighs, shedding his tweed jacket and drapes it over his back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, (Y/n). Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing them safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he -"

Chiron sighs again. "It is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost Per- your brother in New York. Then there's the unfortunate . . . ah . . . fate of your mother and brother. Also the fact that Grover was unconscious when you dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."

"He'll get a second chance, won't he?"

Chiron winces. "I'm afraid that was Grover's second chance, (Y/n). The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He's still so small for his age . . ."

"How old is he?" (Y/n) asks.

"Oh, twenty-eight."

"What!" (Y/n) looks at the centaur, eyes wide. "And he's in sixth grade?"

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, (Y/n). Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."

"That's horrible."

"Quite," Chiron agrees. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career . . ."

"That's not fair," (Y/n) replies. "What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?"

Chiron looks away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"

"Chiron?" (Y/n) asks after a moment of silence. "If the gods and Olympus are real . . ."

"Yes, child?"

"Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?"

Chiron's expression darkens. "Yes, child." He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully. "Tehre is a place where spirits go after death. But for now . . . until we know more . . . I would urge you to put tha out of your mind."

"What do you mean, 'until we know more'?"

"Come, (Y/n). Let's see the woods."

As they move closer, (Y/n) realizes how huge the forest is. It takes up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron says, "The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but go armed.

"Stocked with what?" (Y/n) asks. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"

"My own-"

"No," Chiron says. "I don't suppose you do. I think a size five will do. I'll visit the armory later."

(Y/n) wants to ask what kind of summer camp has an armory, but there is too much else to think about, so the tour continues. (Y/n) sees the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables - which Chiron didn't seem to like very much - the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the area where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" (Y/n) asks.

"Cabin challenges and all that," he explains. "Not lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall." Chiron points to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian column on a hill overlooking the sea. There are a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls.

"What do you do when it rains?" (Y/n) asks.

Chiron looks at her as if she'd gone a little weird. "We still have to eat, don't we?"

(Y/n) decides to drop the subject.

Finally, he shows (Y/n) the cabins. There are twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They are arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they are without a doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings (Y/n) had ever seen.

Except for the fact that each has a brass number on the door - odds on the left, evens on the right - they look absolutely nothing alike. Number Nine has smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number Four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be nade of solid gold, which gleams so much in teh sunlight it is almost impossible to look at. They all face a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops - which was more (Y/n)'s speed.

In the center of the field is a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it is a warm afternoon, the hearth smolders. A girl about nine years old is tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick. The girl looks up, meeting (Y/n)'s gaze, and (Y/n)'s waves, smiling slightly.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, look like his-and-hers

mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin One is the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmers like a hologram, so that from different angles, lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin Two is more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls are carved with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" (Y/n) guesses.

"Correct," Chiron replies.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of them are. That's true. No one ever stays in One or Two."

Okay. So each cabin has a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?

(Y/n) stops in front of the first cabin on the left, Cabin Three.

It isn't high and mighty like Cabin One, but long, low, and solid. The outer walls are of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral, as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor. (Y/n) peeks in the open doorway and Chiron says, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he can pull (Y/n) back, she catches the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. There are six empty bunk beds with silken sheets turned down. But there is no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place feels so sad and lonely, (Y/n) is glad when Chiron puts a gentle hand on her shoulder and says, "Come along, (Y/n)."

Most of the other cabins are crowded with campers.

Number Five is bright rad - a really nasty paint job, as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof is lined with barbed wire; a stuffed wild boar's head hangs over the doorway, it's eyes seeming to follow (Y/n). Inside she can see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both boys and girls, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blares. The loudest is a girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen. She wears a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD t-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroes in on (Y/n) and gives her an evil sneer. She reminds (Y/n) of how Percy had described Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl seems much bigger and tougher than Percy had described, and her hair is long and stringy, and brown instead of red.

(Y/n) keeps walking, trying to stay clear of Chiron's hooves. "We haven't seen any other centaurs," (Y/n) observes.

"No," says Chiron sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might

encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won't see any here."

"You said your name was Chiron. Are you really . . . "

He smiles down at me.

"The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? 

"Yes, (Y/n), I am."

"So are you . . . immortal?" (Y/n) asks.

Chiron looks at (Y/n), before he nods. "Sort of. You see, the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish . . . and I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed."

"Doesn't it ever get boring?"

"No, no," he replies. "Horribly depressing at times, but never boring."

"Why depressing?"

Chiron seems to turn hard of hearing again. "Oh look," he says. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

. . .

The blonde girl (Y/n) had met at the Big House is reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, Number Eleven."

When (Y/n) and Chiron reach her, she looks over (Y/n) critically, as if she is still thinking about how much (Y/n) drooled.

(Y/n) tries to see what she's reading, but she can't make out the title. (Y/n) thinks that her dyslexia is acting up; then (Y/n) realizes that the title isn't even English. The letters look Greek to (Y/n). Like, literally Greek. There are pictures of temples and statues and different types of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron says, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take (Y/n) from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin Eleven," Chiron tells me, gesturing towards the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, Eleven looks the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold is worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway is a caduceus - a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it.

Inside, it is packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags are spread all over the floor. It looks like gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron doesn't go in; the door is too low for him. But when the campers see him, they all stand and bow respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron says. "Good luck (Y/n), I'll see you at dinner."

He gallops away towards the archery range.

(Y/n) stands at the doorway, looking at the kids. She smiles shyly, and one of the kids, a tall boy with curly brown hair, waves in reply.

Annabeth announces, "(Y/n) Jackson, meet Cabin Eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" someone asks.

(Y/n) doesn't know what to say, but Annabeth replies, "Undetermined."

Everyone groans, and (Y/n) shifts uncomfortably.

A guy who is a little older than the rest comes forward. "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, (Y/n). You can have that spot on the floor, right over there."

The guy is about nineteen. He is tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He is wearing an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different-colored clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance is a thick white scar that runs from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

"This is Luke," Annabeth says, her voice sounding different somehow. (Y/n) glances over and she swears Annabeth is blushing. Annabeth sees (Y/n) looking, and her expression hardens again. "He's your counselor for now."

"Until I'm claimed?" (Y/n)'s voice is questioning, and Luke nods, looking impressed.

"You're undetermined," Luke explains. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin Eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

(Y/n) glances around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing her as if they are waiting for a chance to pick her pockets.

"Come on," Annabeth rests a hand on (Y/n)'s upper arm. "I'll show you the volleyball court," her tone is gentle.

. . .

"Monsters don't die, (Y/n). They can be killed. But they don't die."

(Y/n) nods, thinking quickly. "So they're immortal too?"

Annabeth nods. "They don't have souls, like you and me. You can dispel them for a while, maybe even for a whole lifetime if you're lucky. But they are primal forces. Chiron calls them archetypes. Eventually, they re-form."

(Y/n) thinks about the dream she'd had about Percy stabbing the demon. "So if you stabbed one with a sword -"

"The Fur . . . I mean, your brother's math teacher. That's right. She's still out there. He just made her very mad."

"How'd you know about that?" (Y/n) asks.

"You talk in your sleep," Annabeth replies and (Y/n) flushes.

"You almost called her something. A Fury? They're Hades' tortures, right?

Annabeth glances nervously at the ground, as if she expects it to open up and swallow her. "You shouldn't call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones, if we have to speak of them at all."

(Y/n) goes silent for a moment. "Why do I have to stay in Cabin Eleven?"

"It depends on who your parents are," Annabeth replies. "Or . . . your parent." She stares at her, waiting for (Y/n) to get it.

"My mom i - was Sally Jackson," (Y/n) replies. "She worked at the candy store in Grand Central Station."

"I'm sorry about your mom, (Y/n). But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about your other parent. Your dad."

"He's dead. I never knew him," (Y/n) replies.

Annabeth sighs, but she doesn't look angry. Clearly she'd had the conversion with other kids. "Your father's not dead, (Y/n)."

"He's a god?" (Y/n) guesses.

Before Annabeth can reply, a husky voice yells, "Well! A newbie!"

(Y/n) looks over. The big girl from the red cabin is sauntering towards us. She has three other girls behind her, all big and ugly and mean looking like her, all wearing camo jackets.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighs. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the big girl says. "So I can run you through with it Friday night."

(Y/n) raises an eyebrow.

"Erre es korakas!" Annabeth says, which (Y/n) somehow understands is Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though she has a feeling it is worse than it sounds. "You don't stand a chance."

"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse says, but her eye twitches. Perhaps Clarisse isn't sure she can follow through on the threat. She then turns towards (Y/n). "Who's this little runt?"

"(Y/n) Jackson," Annabeth says, "meet Clarisse, daughter of Ares."

(Y/n) blinks. "The war god?" (Y/n) replies.

Clarisse sneers. "You got a problem with that?" she questions.

"No," (Y/n) replies, recovering her wits. "It just explains the bad smell."

Clarisse grows. "We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, (Mean/Nickname)."

"(Y/n)," she replies coldly.

"Whatever. Come on, I'll show you."

"Clarisse -" Annabeth tries to say.

"Stay out of it, wise girl."

Annabeth looks pained, but she does stay out of it, and (Y/n) doesn't really want her help. She was the new kid. She needed to earn her own rep.

(Y/n) hands Annabeth the Minotaur horn and rises to her feet.

The next thing she knows, Clarisse had grabbed (Y/n) by the neck and is dragging her towards a cinder-block building that she immediately guesses is the bathroom.

(Y/n) goes limp, remembering how dead weight was harder to carry, but Clarisse has hands like iron. She drags (Y/n) into the girls' bathroom. There are a line of toilets on one side and a line of shower stalls on the other. It smells just like any other public bathroom, and (Y/n) is thinking - as much as she could with Clarisse ripping out her hair - is that if this place belonged to the gods, they should be able to afford a classier bathroom.

Clarisse's friends are laughing and (Y/n) tries to find the strength she'd used to fight the Minotaur, but it isn't there.

"Like she's 'Big Three' material," Clarisse says as she pushes (Y/n) toward one of the toilets. "Yeah, right. Minotaur probably fell over laughing, he was so stupid looking." Clarisse's friends snicker.

Annabeth stands in the corner, watching through her fingers.

Clarisse bends me over on my knees and starts pushing (Y/n)'s head towards the toilet bowl. It reeks like rusted pipes and sewage; she strains to keep her head up. (Y/n) is looking at the scummy water, thinking, I won't go in there. I won't.

Then something happens. (Y/n) feels a tugging in the pit of her stomach. Plumbing rumbles, the pipes shudder. Clarisse's grip on my hair loosens. Water shoots out of the toilet, making a arc straight over her head, and the next thing (Y/n) knows, she's sprawled on the bathroom tile with Clarisse screaming behind her.

(Y/n) turns just as water blasts out of the toilet again, hitting Clarisse straight in the face to hard it pushes her down onto her butt. The water stays on her like the spray from a fire hose, pushing her backwards into a shower stall. Clarisse struggles, gasping, and her friends start coming towards her. But then, the other toilets explode too, and six more streams of toilet water blasts them back. The showers act up, too, and together, the fixtures spray the camouflage girls right out of the bathroom, spinning around them like pieces of garbage being washed away.

As soon as they are out the door, (Y/n) feels the tug in her gut lessen, and the water shuts off as quickly as it had started.

The entire bathroom is flooded; Annabeth hadn't been spared. She is dripping wet, but she hadn't been pushed out the door. She is standing in exactly the same place, staring at (Y/n) in shock.

(Y/n) looks down and realizes that she is sitting in the only dry spot in the whole room. There is a circle of dry floor around her. She doesn't have one drop of water on her clothes. Nothing. She stands up, her legs shaking.

"How did you . . ." Annabeth falters.

"I don't know," (Y/n) replies, staring around at the we bathroom.

They walk out the door. Outside, Clarisse and her friends are sprawled in the mud, and a bunch of other campers had gathered around to gawk. Clarisse's hair is flattened across her face. Her camouflage jacket is sopping and she smells like sewage. She gives (Y/n) a look of absolute hatred. "You are dead, new girl. You are totally dead."

"Maybe you should watch your mouth," (Y/n) replies steadily, meeting the Ares camper's gaze. "Unless you'd like to gargle toilet water again."

Her friends have to hold her back. They drag her towards Cabin Five, while teh other campers make way to avoid her flailing feet.

Annabeth stares at (Y/n); and (Y/n) can't tell whether Annabeth is just grossed out or angry at (Y/n) for dousing her.

"What?" (Y/n) asks. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," she replies, "that I want you on my team for Capture the Flag."

. . .

Word of the bathroom incident spreads immediately. Wherever (Y/n) goes, campers point at her and murmur something about toilet water. Or maybe they are just staring at Annabeth, who is still dripping wet.

Annabeth shows (Y/n) a few more places: the metal shop, the arts-and-crafts room, and teh climbing wall, which actually consists of two facing walls that shake violently, dropped boulders, sprayed lava and clashed together if you didn't get to the top fast enough.

Finally, they reach the canoeing lake, where the trail leads back to the cabins.

"I've got training to do," Annabeth says flatly. "Dinner's at seven thirty. Just follow your cabin to the mess hall."

"Annabeth, I'm sorry about the toilets," (Y/n) says.

"Whatever," the blonde replies.

"I didn't do it on purpose," (Y/n) says, and had come to the conclusion that this had been her fault, though she hadn't known how she'd become one with the plumbing.

"You need to talk to the Orcale," Annabeth says.

"Who?" (Y/n) asks.

"Not who. What. The Oracle. I'll ask Chiron."

(Y/n) stares into the lake, wishing somebody would give her a straight answer for once. She isn't expecting for anybody to be looking back at her from the bottom, so (Y/n)'s heart skips a beat when she notices two teenage girls sitting cross-legged at the base of the pier, about five meters below. They are wearing blue jeans and shimmering green t-shirts, and their brown hair floats loose around their shoulders as minnows dart in and out. They smile and wave as if (Y/n) is a long-lost friend.

"Don't encourage them," Annabeth warns. "Naiads are terrible flirts."

"Naiads," (Y/n) repeats, feeling completely overwhelmed.

Annabeth watches as (Y/n) visibly sags against the pier railing, the (H/c) haired girl crossing her arms and leaning against the railing.

"(Y/n)," Annabeth says, and (Y/n) looks over at the blonde. "This is the only safe place on earth for kids like us."

"You mean, mentally disturbed kids?" (Y/n) replies.

"I mean not human. Not totally human, anyway. Half-human."

"Demigods," (Y/n) guesses.

Annabeth nods. "Your father isn't dead, (Y/n). He's one of the Olympians."

"Who's your parent?" (Y/n) asks vaguely, but Annabeth seems to understand.

"Cabin Six. Athena. Goddess of Wisdom and Battle."

"And my dad?" (Y/n) questions, though she knew the answer.

"Undeterminded," Annabeth replies, "like I told you. Nobody knows."

"My mother knew," (Y/n) says, turning her head to look back over the lake.

Annabeth gives her a cautious look, as though she didn't want to burst (Y/n)'s bubble. "Maybe you're right. Maybe he'll send a sign. That's the only way to know for sure: your father has to send you a sign claiming you as his daughter. Sometimes it happens."

"And sometimes it doesn't?" (Y/n) guesses.

Annabeth runs her palm along the rail. "The gods are busy. They have a lot of kids and they don't always... Well, sometimes they don't care about us, (Y/n). They ignore us."

(Y/n) thinks about some of the kids she'd seen in the Hermes cabin, teenagers who looked sullen and depressed, as if they were waiting for a call that would never come.

"So I'm stuck here," (Y/n) says. "That's it? For the rest of my life?"

"It depends," Annabeth replies. "Some campers only stay the summer. If you're a child of Aphrodite or Demeter, you're probably not a real powerful force. The monsters might ignore you, so you can get by with a few months of summer training and live in the mortal world the rest of the year. But for some of us, it's too dangerous to leave. We're year-rounders. In the mortal world, we attract monsters. They sense us. They come to challenge us. Most of the time, they'll ignore us until we're old enough to cause trouble – about ten or eleven years old – but after that most demigods either make their way here, or they get killed off. A few manage to survive in the outside world and become famous. Believe me, if I told you the names, you'd know them. Some don't even realize they're demigods. But very, very few are like that."

"So monsters can't get in here?" (Y/n) asks.

Annabeth shakes her head. "Not unless they're intentionally stocked in the woods or specially summoned by somebody on the inside."

"Why would anyone want to summon a monster?" (Y/n) questions.

"Practice fights. Practical jokes."

"Practical jokes?" (Y/n) echoes.

"The point is, the borders are sealed to keep mortals and monsters out. From the outside, mortals look into the valley and see nothing unusual, just a strawberry farm."

"So . . . you're a year-rounder?" (Y/n) asks.

Annabeth nods; from under the collar of her T-shirt she pulls a leather necklace with five clay beads of different colors. It is just like Luke's, except Annabeth's also has a big gold ring strung on it, like a college ring.

"I've been here since I was seven," Annabeth says. "Every August, on the last day of summer session, you get a bead for surviving another year. I've been here longer than most of the counselors, and they're all in college."

"Why'd you come so young?" (Y/n) wonders aloud.

Annabeth twists the ring on her necklace. "None of your business," Annabeth says harshly, but she softens when (Y/n) flinches at the harsh tone.

"So . . ." (Y/n) changes the subject, "I could just walk out of here right now if I wanted to?"

"It would be suicide, but you could, with Mr. D's or Chiron's permission. But they wouldn't give permission until the end of the summer session unless . . .

"Unless?" (Y/n) asks.

"You were granted a quest. But that hardly ever happens. The last time . . ." Her voice trails off, and (Y/n) can tell from her tone that the last time hadn't gone well.

"Back in the sick room," (Y?n) says. "When you were feeding me that stuff -"

"Ambrosia."

"Yeah," (Y/n) continues. "You asked me something about the summer solstice."

Annabeth's shoulders tense. "So you do know something?"

"Well . . . no," (Y/n) replies. "Um, I had a dream. My brother, Percy, overheard Grover and Chriron talking about it. Grover mentioned the summer solstice. He said something about running out of time, because of the deadline. What did that mean? Was the dream real?"

Annabeth nods. "Demigods have dreams that are usually true. I wish I knew what it meant. Chiron and the satyrs, they know, but they won't ell me. Something is wrong in Olympus, something pretty major. Last time I was there, everything seemed so normal."

"You've been to Olympus?" (Y/n) asks.

"Some of us year-rounders - Luke, Clarisse, I and a few others - we took a field trip during winter solstice. That's when the gods have their big annual council."

"But . . . how do you get there?"

"The Long Island Railroad, of course. You get off at Penn Station, Empire State Building, special elevator to the six-hundredth floor." She looks at (Y/n) like she is sure that (Y/n) should know this already. "You are a New Yorker, right?"

"Oh, sure." As far as (Y/n) knows, there are only a hundred and two floors in the Empire State Building, but she decides not to point that out.

"Right after we visited," Annabeth continues, "the weather got weird, as if the gods had started fighting. A couple of times since, I've overheard satyrs talking. The best I can figure out is that something important was stolen. And if it isn't returned by summer solstice, there's going to be trouble. When you came, I was hoping... I mean – Athena can get along with just about anybody, except for Ares. And of course she's got the rivalry with Poseidon. But, I mean, aside from that, I thought we could work together. I thought you might know something."

(Y/n) shakes her head. "I'm sorry I don't know more."

Annabeth looks surprised at (Y/n)'s genuine apology.

Barbecue smoke is coming from somewhere nearby. Annabeth must've heard (Y/n)'s stomach growl. She tells (Y/n) to go on, she'd catch her later. (Y/n) leaves the daughter of Athena on the pier, tracing her finger across the rail as if drawing up a battle plan.

Word Count: 5098 words

[merakiui]

I like your word funny writer (both joking and serious)

I can see Azul doing all of it..

also funfact:

The dream of the fisherman's wife painting is actually of an consensual devils tango than tentacle grape (without the g)

There's a translated version of the story and what it was inspired on in Wikipedia...cause I don't wanna spoil it too much

Anyways azul is a big boi..i thought he would be shorter than me but he's taller than me like my childhood friend who's like 6'f+

....... actually how big is he in his merman form... (>_>) cause if he's like 12f long or longer then i would loose my shit all over him..tho if he's like the irl version of octopi then he would be a small guy...just big enough to fit my palm...(would be such a cutie)...tho if he's like irl version....his mom would be a big momma and idk if i can hold back..(i just have a really intense size kink, not a mommy or daddy kink mind you)

I would really be that holding back horny meme...

Last thing before I'm off:

Your view of moray eels may be ruined by the twins...but i? It was the goddamn rhyme/meme (this was before twisted came about)

'if an eel bites your thighs, then you bleed out and die, that's a moray'

Now ever since i got introduce to the twins....it doesn't help my horny ass mind... cause is the twins know of that rhyme then i......( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I read the translated version of the story, and now that I think about it the twins would definitely bully Idia into adding them into the art commission once they learn of it. They will pay him two times what Azul's paying, and even though Idia doesn't truly need the money he takes it and does it anyway because the Leech twins are terrifying. (Idia doesn't dare tell them he needs a reference, but if he did they would definitely make Idia watch them fuck you so that he can see the anatomy of eel mer and human in real time. farewell Idia's sanity; he can't get away from 3D fish porn.) Azul is given his version of the commission, which is just him and his darling in the same situation as Tako to Ama. And the twins are given the version with them and you. Wait until Azul finds it hanging in a nice frame in their dorm room and he's like, "Who made this???? Why are you slimy fools with my beloved?????? And why is it in that exact situation????????" Another L for tako... orz

The trio are all so tall!!! Azul is 176 cm and the twins are 190 and 191 cm respectively. And they're even larger in their mer forms. orz I think the exact size of Jade and Floyd in their eel forms was mentioned once, but I could be wrong. I do know that Azul is much larger than both of them combined (I feel like Floyd pointed this fact out at some point in the story?). Either way, Azul and his mother are definitely bigger than eel mers. I feel like size kink works well with any merfolk because they're probably all much larger than humans.

Tiny Azul is cute to consider!! Make him Ponyo-sized. :D Omg imagine Ponyo-sized Azul who you rescue from drying out and you care for him until he's ready to be released, but by some terrible luck you find him stuck on the shore again. And so you take him in once more and nurse him back to health before releasing him, only for you to find him back on the shore the following week. Again and again it happens, until you realize he's deliberately trying to stay with you. So you keep him in the bathtub for now. Months turn to years and you and Azul mature and he grows much larger than you thought he ever would, and all those times you would lightheartedly tease him for being so small and cute are gone. Now he gets to tease you. >:D

Oh, I have never heard it before, but that's a fun rhyme!!! Even when I read it I can picture the twins hehe. Octavinelle is just engraved into my mind. There's no escaping the mermafia. T_T

[syngoniums]

An unfamiliar grape I found at a cemetery. Mustang grapes (Vitis mustangensis) dominate this region, but they are very obviously different; larger in every way, with bigger clusters of fruit, and the backs of the leaves are white. The black grapes are also very tart and sting your mouth thanks to high quantities of oxalates. In contrast, the few edible-looking grapes on this vine were red and glaucous and quite mild and sweet, even though I don't think they were fully ripe. This offers us some constraints: extremely heat- and drought resistant, back of leaf not tomentose and same color as the front, smaller, palatable fruit, one large seed per fruit (collected three, 5-6mm long), grows on alkaline soil. There were other things I should have paid attention to, like the color of the bark and exact dimensions, and I should have collected a leaf for closer inspection of any small hairs, but I didn't.

I am very much not a Vitis expert, and admittedly haven't been paying much attention to them in general. There are a number of species in the area, including some Edwards Plateau endemics. The interesting thing about grapes, in contrast to the vast majority of plants, is that viticulture has neurotically picked over and assessed every North American species and natural hybrid for agricultural potential, no matter how obscure. You can find incredibly detailed charts for distinguishing one named cultivar from another. Theoretically this should make identification rather easy, but I'm still not certain. The five-lobed leaves suggest aestivalis, but the soil does not. Rotundifolia also excluded by alkalinity as well as the large size of its fruit. Berlandieri aka cinerea var. helleri seems like the most likely option, though I cannot find any indication it assumes a 5 lobed form. I suppose I can't eliminate Vitis monticola, but the same issue applies. It could be a hybrid with mustangensis, which does have an elaborately lobed form. It could be some manmade escapee. I'll go back at some point and take a better look.

[thefaestolemyname]

Part 1/?

iNaturalist adventures at the Pinery!

First observation was a bunch of Sand Cherries (Prunus Pumila) in the dunes

Hauntingly beautiful blossoms.

A Sand Cherry was one of the 4 native plants I bought and planted recently. Mine is having a hard time right now, and it was so lovely seeing a wild one flourishing, and thinking about what that would look like in my garden.

Next, Field Sagewort (Artemisia campestris)

According to Wikipedia there are 10 known subspecies but I wouldn't even know where to begin figuring out which one this guy is. However, one of the last names of the researchers who discovered the subspecies glutinosa is "Gay" and I think that's notable.

Fragrant Sumac (Rhus aromatica)

She is literally everywhere at the Pinery, ringing most campsites and hanging around much of the trails. I was told she was poison ivy growing up, and only learned this year - taking this photo - that she's harmless. She does look quite similar to Poison Ivy, but you can tell she's not by the bottom of the middle leaf in each trio, in addition to size of leaf in adult plants, and how tall she can get (Over six feet). This is great news for me, because it means poison ivy is that much less prevalent, that much less tall, and the world is that much less scary of a place. Unrelated, for being named "fragrant" sumac, I've never detected a fragrance around her. Perhaps leaves must be crushed, or wood burned?

Choke Cherry (Prunus virginiana)

Another native cherry? In Canada? Another native cherry. In Canada. Her cherries are smaller than Sand Cherry's though, despite Chokecherry being a far larger plant. These photos are of two separate groups of Chokecherry, and I totally thought they were different species! I'm still half expecting somebody to re-ID one of them as something different, because the second one's leaves were all smaller and curved, while the first one's leaves were all larger and flat. They did live in vastly different environmental conditions though, so that probably accounts for it.

Eastern Redcedar (Juniperus virginiana)

Beautiful tree, and when those pastel berries come out like flowers, it is a grand sight to behold indeed. I just love the shade of green on these guys, and it goes so well with the shade of grey that their bark is. I thought they were a juniper though, but they're called a cedar, but their scientific name has "juniper" in it? I'm really confused. These guys were by far one of the most common trees to meet there.

Riverbank Grape (Vitis riparia)

I don't know about where y'all live, but in my province, this fella is in parks, backyards, gardens, everywhere. I've always been told they were "Wild Grapes", so its nice to have a little more detail. I hear that their grapes do the job, but that foreign grape species give bigger, sweeter grapes that make better wine. I've never tried their grapes myself, but they usually have little sprouts that you can chew on, and those taste pretty good.

Some sort of Sedge?

Did not match well any of iNaturalist's suggestions. They are a mystery to me. I can only pray that one day they will reveal their secrets to me. Key characteristics are that the leaves all start from the bottom instead of periodically branching off of a stem, long hairs at the base but not anywhere else, and a faint purple stripe on each leaf.

[mmkin]

A Most Willing Queen (Hades x Persephone)

New chapter up for my H and P story. Link to AO3 here, also under the cut.

V

o0o0o0o

Persephone had heard enough about the Underworld to imagine what a gloomy and dark place it was. Mother said that even just being near one of the entrances to the dark kingdom filled her with unease. Persephone braced herself for it and was pleasantly surprised at how… neutral it felt.

Yeah, there was no life here. It really was the world of the dead, but she didn’t feel scared, not with Hades at her side. His hand was warm on her shoulder even though she wore a cloak, a deep dark green with various colors woven along the edges.

Though she was able to imagine a bit of what the Underworld might be like, nothing could have prepared her for the stark majesty of a place so opposite the one that the rest of the gods lived in. Was it dark and gloomy? Well, yes. But it was also beautiful in its way. Perhaps it was just the novelty of it, but she was finding a certain charm around the place. The rivers, the palace, and even the three-headed dog.

The pit of souls… not so much. She looked at it with mixed feelings. The souls didn’t seem to be suffering, but she pondered what awaited at the end of life. Here was the answer, staring her in the face.

“I get that the spinning can be hypnotic but you don't want to stare at that for too long," Hades said as he nudged her away. "There, you've seen the Underworld. Peachy, isn't it?" he asked dryly as he led her back to the throne room, pulling her into his lap.

“It has potential,” she said.

“Did I hear that right, babe? Potential? This is a dead-end job, in all senses of the word.” His tone was disbelieving but she was certain she saw a glimmer of intrigued curiosity in his eyes.

“This is your kingdom, right? To do with as you please?” she asked.

“As long as the souls are contained, I suppose. Though as you know, nothing can grow down here. No sun or moon hangs in the sky. Yada, yada.”

“Yeah. You don’t have as much to work with as the other gods do,” she observed with some sympathy, thinking of her mother’s world, and how full of life it was. And the heavens, and the seas… all tied together in the circle of life. And then there was the Underworld, separate from the rest, so cut off from life itself that its ruler was brought to despair.

“But I think, if you work within the rules of this place, you could make something out of it. You already have a few servants and guardians, right? Is it possible to employ more?"

“Yeah, but bigger staff means more problems. Then I have to be the boss everyone hates.”

“Yeah, I gotcha.” She reached up to cup the side of his face, and the pleased expression on his face reminded her of a cat having its cheek rubbed. “Well, it’s your kingdom, and I’m just trying to help you. At least, if you want it, I don’t want to be overstepping my bounds…”

He regarded her with a thoughtful expression. “One could say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but what do I do if I’m already there?” he asked, gesturing to their surroundings with a wave of his arm. He gave out a small scoff before placing his hand over hers.

“Of course, you’re the one little slice of heaven in this place,” he added. She smiled at that.

o0o0o0o

He’d been nervous about showing Persephone around, but he didn’t see scorn, disdain, or pity on her face. Only curiosity. It was the first time he hadn’t felt diminished on the rare occasions that a god from Olympus deigned to come down here.

Nonetheless, he was relieved to have their next date on the surface world, letting her feed him grapes while they relaxed under the shade of a tree. She even let him put his head in her lap. Sometimes he wondered if she was fully aware of the effects of her actions. She knew he wanted her, and had admitted that she wanted him too.

So having his head resting on her while her fingers ran through the flames on his head… why, it skated on the edge of maddening. He wasn’t sure if her genuine affection was provoking these urges… or tempering them. Perhaps an unholy combination of both.

Their respective duties took a fair amount of their time, but they found time to sneak away on these dates, enjoying one another’s company.

“So, last time, you said you thought the Underworld had potential. Have you given thought to that?” he asked. Who knows, maybe she would have a good idea, and it’d be far more helpful than anything his brothers or anyone else could ever suggest.

“Well, the souls are dead, right? But there are more definitions to life than the strict biological term."

“… Eh?” Hades asked with perplexity before she smiled and fed him another grape.

“I mean, if you reward some souls with a place where they could have a peaceful afterlife, then you'd have a kingdom that was more lively… in a manner of speaking. Philosophers, artists, scholars, kings, and even peasants who led good lives. They'd have you to thank for a comfortable afterlife. Imagine all the wisdom and creativity you'd have at your fingertips. No matter who they served in life, they end up in your hands."

“You know… I really wish I had thought of that eons ago when Zeus handed me this little pocket in the great big cosmos.” A scowl passed across his features.

“I get that. But this place still belongs in the cosmos. It serves a purpose, even if most deem it unpleasant.” She stroked her chin. “I know you had this place foisted on you, but it doesn’t mean that you can’t find a way to better it for yourself.”

“You know babe, I think you might be on to something there. You know what they say, sometimes it takes a fresh pair of eyes…”

Persephone giggled quietly at that, and a contented smile settled itself onto his face as he took another grape from her dainty hand.

o0o0o0o

Pain and Panic fluttered close by in the guise of birds, flying in a circle overhead before landing nearby and twittering cheerfully. Persephone turned to them and smiled.

“So what brings you here?” she asked, idly braiding some daisies into a rope.

“Our mighty lord asks if the next full moon is good,” Pain said, ruffling his feathers and looking quite adorable. Persephone smiled and lowered her hand, offering a finger for him to jump on. The full moon was in a couple of days. Fantastic. He probably had a moonlit stroll in mind… but sometimes a cliché could work quite well.

“Tell him I’ll be looking forward to it,” she said as she lightly petted Pain’s head. Panic fluttered to her knee, fluffing out his chest feathers, in a not-so-subtle display for attention. She laughed softly at that and petted the other bird as well.

Demons they might be, and more used to causing mischief than bringing joy, neither of them would object to a bit of kindness from their boss’s inamorata. They knew how vital it was to avoid Demeter’s notice, so they took extra care when they were deployed to the surface world for something related to Persephone. That was made all the easier when the goddess in question covered for them and even gave them treats.

Oh, she was a keeper. And it looked like Hades knew that, because it’d been over a year now and the relationship was still going strong, even if the couple still had to be quite discreet about it. There was no mistaking the joy and contentment in Hades’s eyes when his girlfriend was around. And if Persephone also happened to be nice to her boyfriend’s demon servants, all the better.

They fluttered around for a bit, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine, and simply being able to relax for a little before Persephone quickly shooed them away.

“Mom’s coming. I can feel it.”

Pain and Panic needed no further explanation.

o0o0o0o

It warmed Demeter’s heart to see Persephone in the field, braiding a rope out of daisies as she often did when she was little. She sat next to her daughter as she looked around. As far as she could tell, her daughter hadn’t been up to mischief, but she couldn’t help but get a feeling sometimes that her daughter was hiding something from her.

“Did anything happen when I was gone?” Demeter asked, picking up several locks of her daughter’s long hair and starting to braid it, something else she had also done when her daughter was little.

“Frolicked with the nymphs. Made sure the flowers were blooming in season. Did some spinning and weaving?” Persephone asked.

“No trips to Olympus? Sneaking off to see a boy, perhaps?” she asked hopefully. She would have liked her daughter to remain a virgin goddess, and have the company of Athena, Hestia, and Artemis – women Demeter approved as role models. But on the other hand, if she had just the right son-in-law, the advantages of that were undeniable. Apollo. Triton. Even Ares.

“Mom!” Persephone said with a small laugh. “Apollo’s a meat-head.”

“True, but he is the God of the Sun and is a powerful natural force. You could keep him wrapped around your finger.”

Persephone laughed at that, and Demeter laughed with her.

o0o0o0o

It’d been a while since she saw Hades, so she was especially happy to see him, practically glomping him as he materialized out of the ether.

“Hey, babe,” Hades said with a grin as he looked down at her. “Someone seems quite glad to see me.”

“Am I that obvious?” she shot back teasingly.

“Hey, no complaints here. Being God of the Dead usually means that people aren’t happy to see me. And out of all the people that could be happy to see me, I’m glad it’s you.”

“Ah, you’re a sweet-talker,” she replied with a soft giggle. He smirked at that.

“I have one I am certain you will like,” Hades said, seeming quite confident in himself as he looked down at her. “You know what they say, chivalry is dead. I’m the God of the Dead, so I’d say I got chivalry in spades.”

She raised an eyebrow and let out a hum of appreciation. “Oh, that is a good one. The best one so far, I think. So since you have spades of it, will you bury me in chivalry?”

“What did you have in mind? A knight in shining armor? A troubadour strumming my lyre under your window? Saving you from a dragon?”

“Are you suggesting roleplay ideas?” she asked quietly, a playful lilt in her voice. He grinned at her and wiggled his eyebrows.

“I'm game if you are, sweetheart," he replied with a soft purr. She looked up at him, cupping the side of his face. The moonlight shone down on them, casting an ethereal glow that only served to enhance the mood.

She’d been having these little trysts with him, sneaking away with him when they could find the time away from their jobs, schedules, and prying eyes. A lot easier said than done given their opposing spheres of influence.

But these moments with Hades were totally worth it. She saw a side of him that no one else did, and it flattered her to know that he was sweet for her. He could be smarmy about it, but hey, she liked that bad-boy charm. Some of his lines could be quite amusing, or watching him deal with Zeus or the other gods when he was in a more feisty mood. Was he someone she could see a future with? She wasn't certain at first, but there was no denying that her feelings for him had intensified.

It would be an odd alliance. The God of the Dead and the Goddess of Spring. There would be plenty of gossip and speculation over that. But right now, she didn’t need to think of that, for there were more pressing matters. She looked at Hades, feeling his hand squeeze hers.

“Let’s pin that as something we’ll definitely try later,” she promised. Hades’s blue flames took on an edge of gold, and she smirked to herself. Despite all his flirting, innuendo, and teasing, he respected her boundaries. But oh, enforcing these boundaries was an ever-increasing struggle for her. “But for now…” Her hands slid up his arm. “what I want is you, Hades, mighty lord of the Underworld.”

“You have me,” he said, spreading out his hands in a welcoming gesture, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I'm glad to hear it because I intend to make good use of that," she said with a grin.

“You mean…”

“Oh, yes. I’m ready.”

At that, Hades’s flames burst high, becoming white-hot.

o0o0o0o

“Was it good for you?” Hades asked, doing his best to not sound too anxious when he asked that. He’d done his best to ensure her enjoyment, but there had been times he’d lost himself in his passion. It was damn impossible to not lose his mind over her.

“It was amazing,” she whispered as she tilted her face up to kiss his cheek, wrapping an arm around his middle reassuringly. “Trust me, I’m going to be wanting more of that.”

“All you have to do is ask.” His himation was draped across them both, and he pulled up the hem, tucking it around her shoulder to make sure she was warm. She gave out a contented hum and nestled her head against his shoulder. He buried his face in her hair, smelling like life itself. Sun-warmed earth, various flowers, and her natural scent, all rolled up in one delectable perfume. He hugged her closely, never wanting to let go.

After she cuddled with him for a bit, she started to wiggle against him firmly. A toothy grin spread across his face as he looked down at her. She batted her eyes at him.

“You’re such a minx,” he whispered hotly.

“Only for you.”

He ensured that she was well-rewarded for it.

o0o0o0o

In the Underworld, a place known for being devoid of life, a pomegranate tree appeared behind the palace.

“The heck?” Panic asked in surprise when he came across it on one of his rounds. It was so unexpected that for a moment, he wondered if he’d stumbled into the upper world somehow. But nope. It was a tree, in the Underworld.

“Are these safe to eat?” Pain asked as he looked up at the large, ripe fruits.

“They do look pretty damn tasty, though.”

“Should probably inform the boss first, though,” Pain pointed out. How Hades would react would be anybody’s guess, though. Nothing was ever supposed to grow in the Underworld, as Pain and Panic could attest through their centuries of service to Hades. The real question was whether or not Hades would see this as a good or bad thing.

[leighrobertsreads]

The (next) Leader of the Encanto

I have a tendency to write Abuela, aka Doña Alma (Lady Alma), a lot like Lady Catherine de Bourgh from “Pride and Prejudice”, meddling in her villagers’ and relatives’ lives, and Padre Flores far too much like William Collins, her rather sycophantic priest. I work to curb this.

The de facto leader of the Encanto has much bigger fish to fry, especially in the early years.

As it’s been cut off from the world for decades, the Encanto has to be self-sufficient. Her middle child might be able to provide irrigation at just the right time (but not those first few years), and now her eldest granddaughter might even be able to grow crops on demand (not sure how nutritious magically-formed plants are), but there is still a lot of labor to organize to harvest and process them. No one really *wants* to harvest and shuck corn all day for a couple of weeks, but unless most of the villagers are willing to, there’s going to be a problem. Alma, like any wise noble, organizes lots of celebrations, and ensures that her family is seen pulling their weight. Also prudently, they also don’t seem to be consuming more than their share of the resources - the big-deal engagement dinner didn’t have a giant roast or other signs of luxury aside from wine, which is a common enough product in even the poorest rural communities anywhere European Catholic colonists go - celebrating a valid Mass requires hosts (Communion wafers) made of wheat and water, and grape wine.

The leader of the Encanto also needs to oversee (or even make) hard decisions about what to grow and what to make, and who should be doing what. Much of Colombia has rich mineral deposits, so light mining might supply enough metal for the plows those refugees running with what they could carry on their backs did not bring with them, but someone still needs to smelt and work the metal, and provide the wood or coal to do so.

A newly-arrived blacksmith would naturally step up to continue his useful trade, but a lawyer?

Mirabel is hopefully going to be learning the ins and outs of how her village gets enough to eat without making the people who need to do that work angry enough about it to be vulnerable to a loud man who offers alternatives that sound good to enough people to get him into power but turn out worse for the most vulnerable.

And learning how to get along with the village priest well enough to head off trouble together before it threatens to drag their little corner of paradise into the hell that is scattered across the rest of Colombia in the 1950s (and frankly, throughout much of Colombia's post-Conquest history).

Alma sure took a bit of a risk with how she attempted to handle the Madrigals’ immediate problem in “Under the Sacred Canopy,” didn’t she? Bruno is not exactly an obvious choice for a diplomat.