#children of hyperion

[kyleesarthell]

Children of Hyperion

[likethexan]

Kinda interesting that besides the former King Cronus and Queen Rhea, Theia and Hyperion are assumingly the only couple who were able to have a lineage mighty enough for their children to be the personification of the Sun, Moon, and Dawn respectively. Not to mention being able to KEEP that role despite no obvious alliance with Zeus during the Titanomachy. (Helios and Selene get semi-replaced by Apollo and Artemis but still maintain their positions enough that Helios has a role in Hephaestus, Demeter, and Heracles' stories) (also Zeus never seeks out a replacement for Eos as the goddess of Dawn which makes me think that they are amiable with each other)

Compare that to Iapetus' four sons getting fucked in four different directions, Coeus and Phoebe's only real relevance being Leto and their grandchildren by Zeus and being grandparents to Hecate, Oceanus and Tethys producing and losing Metis while their other numerous children play minor to adequate roles, and Crius' sons merely being "husbands" to more well-known deities (Eos, Styx, Asteria). (Astraios being the biggest research disappointment because you'd think the husband of the Goddess of Dawn would be the God of Dusk and have an active role during sunset but no, he's just a God of the stars sadly).

(Of course, there are also Themis' and Mnemosyne's daughters by Zeus, who are very important, but like Leto's case it helps that their children's father is the King of The Gods and Zeus x Titanesses is almost 99% guarantee they get good roles) (then there's Prometheus Bound where Prometheus' mother is Themis only which is cool but I mostly consider Clymene as his mother)

[godofstupidsentences]

Silly hp next gen thread to celebrate Halloween!

[rvengefulobster]

Remember kids, naughty children go on Santa's Tree of Thorns!

[infinitaregna]

Thrift store finds

[loveinthetimeofghosts]

me when I hear people saying Heath isn't a good character:

[thegirlwiththelantern]

More 2024 YA Fantasy Books

Our last foray into 2024 YA. Unfortunately not all of the books I’d planned to include feature here have been as some are published under the SMP umbrella. I am aware that the Readers for Accountability page has all but been deleted. However with no better source for how that’s going I’ve chosen to abide by it for the remainder of this year. Most of this selection were made with that in mind…

[ma7moudgaza2]

Time is running out

My campaign suffers from a severe slowness in obtaining this donations in light of the conditions of the League we live in Gaza from the siege, the high prices and the cold 🍉

As you know, my family of 22 members and I need about $100-150 today to live a fair life and meet our needs and the needs of our children, but unfortunately we get only $10 or 15 today, and this is not enough to withdraw it in the first place in light of the high taxes and the interest that is taken on the withdrawal of money due to the lack of liquidity in Gaza due to the closure of the crossings, so I appeal to you guys to share my campaign and donate to it if you can. In January we need at least $ 2000 but we have only got $2000 so far, time is running and I don’t know how I will feed our children and family next month if we are not provided with $ 2000 !!!!

Here is my campaign link through which you can donate and you can do that via PayPal also I will leave you the two links

It’s now $23,200 out of the short target for this month in order to feed my family and protect them from the cold $25,000

@timetravellingkitty @deathlonging @briarhips @dirhwangdaseul @mahoushojoe

@rhubarbspring @schoolhater @pcktknife @sawasawako @appsa

@strangeauthor @gabajoofs @irhabiya @wellwaterhysteria @tamamita

@deepspaceboytoy @post-brahminism @khanger @kibumkim @neechees

@kyra45-helping-others @7bitter @tortiefrancis @log6

@toiletpotato @fromjannah @omegaversereloaded @vague-humanoid @evillesbianvillain

@aristotels @komsomolka @xinakwans @heritageposts @transmutationisms

@amygdalae @ankle-beez @lonniemachin @dykesbat @charlott2n

@watermotif @mavigator @lacecap @yugiohz @vakarians-babe

@socalgal @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sivavakkiyar

@hyperions-fate @nabulsi @khizuo @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness @schoolhater

@werewolf-transgenderism @breadmp3 @sawasawako @cigaretteaunt @tartrazeen

[sirxaibs]

Bruce Wayne | Batman X Reader

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ You’re Weird ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

masterlist

Check it, Bruce sees you’re drowning and wants to make sure you’re ok. Gotham gazette has a few other ideas.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Your fingers curled around the warm ceramic mug, the heat soothing your skin. “It’s weird,” you mused, glancing around at the clean streets, the laughter of children in a nearby park, the general lack of sirens. “Being here makes Gotham feel like a fever dream. Like I blinked and woke up in a world that doesn’t smell like wet concrete and cigarette smoke.”

The scent of freshly ground coffee beans swirled in the crisp Metropolis air, rich and inviting. You sat across from Bruce Wayne at a quiet café tucked on the corner of Hyperion Avenue, the kind of place that prided itself on being “low key millennial vibe,” though the exposed brick walls and imported furniture suggested otherwise. Still, it was a breath of fresh air from Gotham’s perpetual gloom.

Bruce smiled over the rim of his espresso, the smallest curve of his lips. “I told you Metropolis would be good for you. A different pace. Safer.”

“Definitely safer,” you nodded, chuckling softly. “Though a little… unnerving? Like it’s too perfect. No edge.”

“You miss the unnerving…ness?”

“I feel like Gotham just might have more personality?” You grinned, teasing. “Besides, there’s no challenge in writing about Metropolis. They treat their criminals like punchlines.”

Bruce looked at you then. That quiet intensity in his eyes, the one you always caught glimpses of in rare, unguarded moments. “You like the challenge. That’s what makes you different.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Different?”

“Just different, you don’t have to think too hard on it”

You looked down, the compliment sinking into your chest a little deeper than you were prepared for. “ahhhh okok whatever mister cryptic. What are we doing in metropolis anyways? you havent even done any work while here”

A pause.

“thats true,” Bruce said softly. “Maybe I wanted to see what it’d be like. Sharing coffee somewhere bright for once.”

Your heart did a little pirouette in your chest. It was nothing nothing, right? Just a moment. A shared breath.

But before you could say anything, a familiar voice called out from the sidewalk.

“Bruce! Well, I’ll be damned!”

Bruce’s smile flattened like someone had stepped on it. You turned in your chair to see a tall man in glasses and a warm beige trench coat strolling up, the sun glinting off his dark hair. Clark Kent. You’d seen him in bylines, youre pretty sure youve seen him carrying a camera around. Mild mannered, curious, somehow always in the right place at the right time. And right now, he looked delighted.

“Clark,” Bruce greeted, standing only because etiquette demanded it. His handshake was brief. You noticed the way his jaw ticked as Clark’s gaze immediately shifted to you.

“And you must be the [Y/N] [L/N],” Clark said, eyes lighting up. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”

You blinked. “You… are?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. That piece you did on Clayface? Incredible. All your stories go into so much depth and extremely captivating.”

You felt yourself flush. “That means a lot. It’s mice to meet you.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, his cup suddenly very uninteresting as he picked it up for a sip he didn’t take.

Clark pulled out the empty chair beside you and sat before you could protest. “Oh! Im Clark by the way! I’ve always believed there’s more to every story than just the ‘bad guy’ angle. But the way you frame it, like… you make people care. You make them wonder if these villains could’ve been something else in a different world.”

You smiled, glowing under the praise. “That’s exactly what I try to do. Gotham’s complicated. Everyone wants to point fingers, but no one wants to understand the systems that failed them.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Clark nodded. “You ever think of working in Metropolis?”

Bruce’s cup hit the table a little harder than necessary.

“I like Gotham,” you said, glancing at Bruce. “It’s home. And having a indepth understanding makes for good copy.”

Clark laughed. “Fair enough. Still, if you ever need a second pair of eyes or someone to bounce drafts off, I’d be happy to.”

Bruce cleared his throat.

You turned to see him leaning back in his chair, expression unreadable, but his fingers were drumming a silent rhythm on the armrest.

“So, Clark,” Bruce said coolly, “I’m sure the Daily Planet is keeping you busy.”

“Oh, always,” Clark chuckled. “But it’s not every day I bump into old friends… and get to meet such impressive company.”

You smiled politely, but you couldn’t miss the faint twitch in Bruce’s brow. For the first time since you’d met him, he looked rattled. It was almost adorable.

“So, Bruce,” you teased, turning your gaze back to him, “you were telling me about that time you nearly got arrested in Paris for what was it again?”

Bruce straightened. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Clark’s eyebrows rose, amused. “Arrested? Now this sounds like a story.”

“No,” Bruce said flatly.

You laughed and shook your head, the tension easing around the edges. But beneath the surface, you could feel it. Something had shifted. Bruce had invited you to Metropolis under the guise of research, but his eyes said more than that. His gaze lingered when Clark made you laugh, and his mouth set into a thin line every time you and Clark found common ground. You weren’t sure what to do with that yet. But you knew one thing for certain… You kind of liked it.

And Bruce? He looked like he was very much not enjoying sharing the spotlight not when it came to you. Especially not with someone like Clark Kent.

The conversation had drifted into the realm of old journalism war stories. Clark was on his third anecdote about chasing down Luthor’s motorcade on foot in attempt to get an interview completely glossing over how that was physically possible and you were laughing, your eyes crinkled with amusement.

Bruce, meanwhile, was over it.

He had tried. Really, he had. Tried to play nice, tried to keep the conversation moving without outright snarling, tried not to look like a man seconds away from flipping the café table over. But watching you laugh, that genuine, radiant smile that he didn’t get nearly enough of not when you were in Gotham, buried in crime reports and late night stakeouts and watching Clark soak it in like it was sunshine?

It was starting to itch beneath his skin. So, Bruce did what he did best. He weaponized polite.

“You know, Clark,” Bruce said, smoothly interrupting whatever story he was about to launch into next, “as fascinating as your insight is, I’m sure the Daily Planet is wondering where their star reporter has wandered off to.”

Clark blinked. “Oh I’ve got the rest of the day off. Lois has it covered.”

“Of course,” Bruce replied, tone light but laced with something sharper. “But I imagine someone like you never really stops working. Especially with… so many rooftops to jump between.”

There was a beat. Clark’s smile faltered for just a second, and you blinked, confused at the oddly specific phrasing.

Bruce leaned forward, resting an arm casually on the table, expression carved from cool stone. “Besides, I’m sure [Y/N] wouldn’t want to be distracted from the purpose of her visit. Research, remember?”

Clark chuckled, though this time it came out tight. “Right. I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

You arched a brow. Something was going on between them something that felt like more than old friends catching up. A subtle chess game you weren’t meant to notice. But you did notice. Especially when Clark stood with an exaggerated sigh and adjusted his coat.

“Well,” he said, flashing you another warm smile, “it really was a pleasure meeting you, [Y/N]. Let’s chat sometime professional to professional.”

“Definitely,” you said, nodding.

He gave Bruce a weird glance. “Always a pleasure, Bruce.”

“Likewise,” Bruce said, not even pretending to mean it.

Once Clark was gone, Bruce leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly like the air was finally breathable again. His jaw relaxed. His shoulders dropped an inch. He reached for his espresso and finally took the sip he’d been pretending to take all afternoon.

You watched him with an amused smirk.

“Well, well,” you said, folding your arms over the table. “I wasn’t expecting Gotham’s golden boy to be so antsy.”

Bruce didn’t look at you right away, choosing instead to swirl the contents of his cup. “I’m not antsy.”

“You absolutely are,” you said, grinning now. “Clark was lovely, by the way. Very sweet. You could learn something from him.”

“I’d rather not,” Bruce said flatly.

You laughed, tilting your head at him. “rich boy your spoiledness is coming out.”

He finally met your eyes. There it was again that quiet, smoldering honesty buried beneath the billionaire’s mask.

“I just don’t like sharing good coffee,” he said coolly. “Especially when I invited you here.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was electric.

You leaned in just a little, your voice softer now. “Then maybe you shouldn’t hide behind excuses like ‘research.�� Maybe next time, just say you want my attention.”

Bruce’s lips curved ever so slightly. Not a smirk, not quite a smile something just for you.

“ill hold you too it”

And this time, it was your heart doing pirouettes.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

Wayne Tower loomed as it always did, cold steel and glass slicing through Gotham’s ashen sky like a blade. Rain tapped against the windows in soft percussion, blurring the gray city below, but Bruce barely registered it. He sat alone in his office, the lights low, his chair turned just slightly away from the sprawling skyline.

He hadn’t moved in the last ten minutes. Not since that morning paper landed on his desk.

The Gotham Gazette, bold font screaming at him like a damn siren:

“WAYNE WINES AND DINES MYSTERY REPORTER IN METROPOLIS”

Right beneath the headline was a photo of you laughing at something Clark said, sunlight catching in your hair, your posture turned comfortably toward Bruce. Another photo showed the two of you walking side by side, your elbow lightly brushing against his as you reached for your coffee. And, of course, the pièce de résistance: a wide shot of the table, Bruce leaning forward, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Goddammit,” he muttered.

It wasn’t the paparazzi he was used to them, expected them. It was Metropolis that caught him off guard. He thought, stupidly, that the clean air and cheerful streets made people less nosy. Less likely to shove a camera lens into his business.

Clearly, he had underestimated how rabid Gotham media could be. Even there, even with you.

And you.

You hadn’t brought it up. Hadn’t mentioned the paper or the photos or the wild headlines speculating you were Gotham’s newest It Girl, or that the elusive Bruce Wayne had finally found someone to tame him.

That was what was killing him. Not the photos. Not the gossip. Not even the implication that the two of you were something more. It was the not knowing how you felt about it.

Bruce rose from his desk, the chair scraping quietly behind him. He paced the room like a caged animal, the newspaper still clutched in one hand, wrinkled from how tightly he’d been gripping it.

He read the headline again and immediately hated himself for how warm it made him feel. Wayne Wines and Dines. He could hear your voice in his head, laughing. God, Bruce, that sounds like a sleazy rom com title.

He wanted you.

He wanted you in the most undignified, unbillionaire like way possible. Wanted to kiss you until the words stopped working in his brain. Wanted to sit next to you again in some sunshine drenched café and actually enjoy your laugh instead of being consumed by it.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing faster now. He hated this. Hated that he was in a thousand meetings a week with CEOs and board members and city officials, but the second you walked into a room or in this case, a newspaper he felt like a goddamn teenage girl.

What if you didn’t want people thinking you were involved with him?

That’s what haunted him. Not the story. Not the photos. You. Would you hate it? Would you laugh it off? Would you roll your eyes and say, “God, Bruce, you’re so dramatic”?

Or worse would you tell him it was all a misunderstanding, that you didn’t see him that way? The thought made him pause mid step, one hand on the window frame, staring at his own reflection in the glass. His jaw was tense. His eyes darker than usual.

He hadn’t felt this unsure of himself in years. Batman never hesitated. But Bruce Wayne? He was a mess. He looked back at the paper. Back at you.

Back at the way you looked when you laughed, when your eyes crinkled, when you let your guard down just enough for him to wonder what it’d be like to really have you.

He sighed, resting his forehead against the glass.

“Get it together.”

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

it started out very simple. He became fascinated with you. It had been one of those Gotham nights long, bone tired, the kind of quiet that was never actually silent. Just… tired. The flicker of neon through you ur tiny apartment windows painted the walls in restless color, but inside, it was dim, peaceful.

You were curled up on the couch, oversized hoodie swallowing your form, mug of something warm and sweet nestled in your hands. Bruce sat across from you in an armchair, undone just enough to tell you he wasn’t working anymore tie loosened, cuffs rolled. He was watching you. He always watched you. Not in a creepy way but in fascination.

“You ever get that feeling like everything’s just… pressing in all at once?” you asked, voice quieter than usual.

Bruce blinked. “All the time.”

You gave him a weak smile. “Right. Stupid question.”

“It’s not stupid,” he said immediately. “You’ve been burning the candle at both ends. I’ve noticed.”

You looked away, exhaling through your nose. “Yeah, well. Work’s getting heavy. Not just deadlines or research like, the stories themselves. I think its hard knowing so much about someone’s hurt. Its addicting I cant stop. I know I’m good at telling those stories. I know it matters. But lately, I feel like I’m drowning in it.”

Bruce didn’t respond right away. You weren’t sure you wanted him to not with solutions. You pressed the edge of your mug to your lips, then lowered it without drinking. “And Gotham never stops, you know? Never lets you breathe. I love it. But sometimes, I think it’s eating me alive.”

The silence between you stretched. Then Bruce leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, voice gentle.

“I’m going on a trip.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Business,” he clarified. “Metropolis. Just a few days. Meetings, some board schmoozing. Normally I wouldn’t bring anyone but” He paused, almost like it hurt to admit. “I don’t want to go alone. And I think you need a break.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “You… want me to come with you?”

He nodded once, deliberately. “You need sunlight. Coffee that isn’t brewed by a street vendor in the Narrows. Air that doesn’t taste like exhaust. And I think…” He hesitated again, then met your eyes. “I think it’d be good for both of us.”

You stared at him. “You’re sure this is a work trip?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Mostly.”

You snorted softly, your lips twitching upward. “What, you trying to whisk me away like some overworked intern in a workplace romance?”

“Do you want to be whisked?” he asked, and you knew he was being dry, but the way his eyes softened made it an excellent argument.

You set your mug down, heart thudding a little faster than you were ready for. “Okay.”

He tilted his head.

“I’ll go,” you said, quieter now. “To Metropolis. Maybe a change of pace will help.”

His gaze lingered. “Good.”

You nodded, your smile ghosting. “Good.”

the city outside could rage and howl all it wanted but inside your apartment it was quiet.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

There was no such thing as privacy in the Gotham Gazette bullpen. Not when your desk was sandwiched between the copy editor who played music a little too loud and the sports columnist who smelled like energy drinks and cheap cologne. Not when cubicles had walls barely higher than your shoulders. And definitely not when you’d just come back from a suspiciously timed “business trip” with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor.

You hadn’t even set your bag down before the vultures descended.

“So?” came a voice before you even logged into your computer.

You blinked. “So… what?”

“Oh, come on,” groaned Jamie from Features, leaning over your cubicle wall like a hungry hyena. “You and Bruce Wayne disappear to Metropolis for a weekend, and you come back looking relaxed. In Gotham. What did he do, buy you a new nervous system?”

You rolled your eyes. “It was a work trip. You know those things some of us actually do?”

“Honey, you haven’t even opened your email,” Jamie said. “I opened your email. You’re in the email. You’re trending.”

You stopped, staring at him. “What?”

“You haven’t seen the photos?” asked Liz from Editorial, practically hopping in place as she slid around the corner, tablet in hand. “You two at the hotel. At the gala. At the rooftop bar. Looking suspiciously cozy. Very hands on.”

Your blood ran cold. “There were photographers?”

“Babe, there are always photographers. Bruce Wayne doesn’t sneeze without a hundred flashbulbs going off,” Liz said, flipping the tablet around so you could see the image in question.

And there it was.

You and Bruce, laughing at something you couldn’t remember now. His hand was on the small of your back. Yours lingered on his arm like it belonged there. The skyline glittered behind you like it was painted in.

It looked… intimate. Too intimate.

“Great,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s just great.”

“You’re front page gossip,” Jamie sang. “You made Page Six, babe! That’s legacy status!”

You slumped into your chair, praying for spontaneous combustion.

But the hits kept coming.

“Did he fly you out first class or private?”

“Is he as brooding behind closed doors as he is on TV?”

“Do you think he’s going to propose?”

“Oh my God, please shut up!” you snapped.

That earned a few snickers, but also a hush. You didn’t snap often. You never snapped. Which was why every nosy reporter in hearing range immediately began whispering twice as loud.

You opened your inbox to find a stack of notifications you didn’t want: tabloid alerts, social media mentions, subject lines like BRUCE WAYNE: WHO’S THE GIRL? and MYSTERY WRITER GETS WAYNE’S ATTENTION.

Someone even sent a meme of the two of you photoshopped in wedding attire. Wedding attire.

You nearly threw your monitor out the window.

And to make matters worse someone literally just took a picture of you. You turned so fast your chair creaked.

“Did you just?”

“Noooo,” muttered one of the interns, tucking their phone away and walking very quickly in the opposite direction.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “This is a nightmare.”

Liz leaned closer. “Okay, but like… is anything happening?”

You peeked at her through your fingers. “Do you really think Bruce Wayne would date someone whose cubicle doesn’t even have walls?”

Liz paused. “You make a fair point. Still. You’d be the first tabloid rumor I’d actually root for.”

You sighed. It was hard to tell if that made you feel better or worse.

The truth? You didn’t know what was happening between you and Bruce. Not really. There had been stolen glances. Quiet words. An almost moment by the elevator that hadn’t turned into a kiss only because you’d chickened out.

And now this circus.

You opened a blank document, willing yourself to work.

But your mind wasn’t on the story. It was on Bruce on how quiet he’d gone since the trip. On how he hadn’t returned your last message.

You were halfway through typing a sentence that didn’t make sense when the crowd got worse.

“I swear, if another person breathes in my direction”

“Hey, superstar!”

You winced.

It was this random guy from Politics loud, nosy, and the worst kind of gossip. He strutted into the bullpen like he owned it, carrying a mug that read ‘World’s Best Journalist’ (he bought it for himself, no one doubted it). Behind him trailed two junior reporters and someone from the digital team, all of them making a beeline for your desk.

“I’m not doing this,” you muttered under your breath.

“Come on, just a few words!” Mark leaned against the edge of your cubicle, grinning like the devil himself. “You know the public’s eating it up Wayne’s mystery date turns out to be a journalist?”

“I didn’t agree to be anyone’s date.”

“That’s not what the pictures say,” someone behind him chimed in.

“I hate the pictures,” you snapped. “And I hate this office.”

“You say that every Monday,” Liz said, now openly eating popcorn like this was her entertainment for the day.

Mark held up a recorder. “I’m just saying, give me the exclusive before the others twist your words. I can paint you as the brilliant writer who stole Gotham’s most eligible bachelor.”

“I didn’t steal anything.”

“Fine, borrowed.”

You stared at him. “Mark, put that recorder down or I’ll throw it in your coffee.”

“I’ll fish it out,” he said without hesitation.

“Oh my God”

Before you could finish, two interns popped up on either side of you like synchronized jack in the boxes.

“Do you like him?”

“What was he like off camera?”

“Did he smell rich?”

“Can you get him to donate to our fundraiser?”

“I’m stopping all of you right there” you said, spinning in your chair and standing, your hands up in surrender. “I’m not answering questions. I’m not giving an exclusive. And I’m not I repeat, not dating Bruce Wayne.”

“But you went with him to Metropolis”

“And it was work! Professional! Boring!”

Liz muttered, “You don’t look like someone who had a boring weekend.”

You grabbed your half finished coffee and nearly spilled it as you tried to retreat.

Mark followed. “Look, I get it, privacy and all, but you’re sitting on a gold mine. Just one quote. Something classy. Like ‘He’s not what I expected’ or ‘Billionaires they’re just like us.’”

You whipped around so fast Mark almost tripped over himself.

“If I give you a quote, will you leave me alone?”

He perked up instantly. “Depends on the quote.”

You leaned in, voice low.

“Here it is: ‘I’d rather be trapped in Arkham with the Joker than give you an interview.’ Print that, Mark.”

The entire bullpen howled. Even Liz nearly choked on her popcorn. Mark gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine. No quote. But if he shows up at the office, I’m interviewing him.”

You sat back down, muttering to yourself. “Not unless I strangle him first.”

And then, as if on cue because the universe had a sense of humor you did not appreciate your phone buzzed.

One name. One message.

Bruce Wayne: “Are you free for lunch?”

You groaned. Loudly.

Liz leaned over again, peeking at your screen. “So…nothing happened eh?”

Your phone buzzed again before you could finish your dramatic groan.

Bruce Wayne: “Already here. Back entrance.”

Your heart did a little flip.

You looked up. Mark was still hovering. Liz was now showing your photo to someone from the tech team, pointing directly at your face and whispering like you were a zoo animal. Someone in the far corner had definitely just snapped another picture of you, and the interns were forming a human wall.

You slid your phone into your pocket, stood up quietly, grabbed your jacket, and turned to Liz. “Tell them I died.”

Liz blinked. “Wait, wha”

You were already moving. Fast. Ducking behind cubicles, practically army crawling past the coffee station, then booking it down the hallway like a fugitive. when you finally slipped out the back entrance of the Gotham Gazette into the cool alley behind the building, there he was.

Bruce Wayne.

Leaning against a sleek black car, sleeves rolled up, looking wildly out of place in the grime of downtown Gotham. He looked up the moment the door opened, concern flickering across his features the second he saw your expression.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You crossed your arms. “You didn’t have to come all the way here. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he said gently. “You looked like you are going to strangle someone.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was just Mark.”

“Should I be worried about Mark?”

“Only if you want to see a grown man cry because I didn’t give him a quote about your cologne.”

Bruce huffed a quiet laugh and opened the passenger door for you. You hesitated.

“This isn’t a ‘kidnap the journalist’ situation, right?”

“Not unless you want it to be,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

You shot him a look, but the tension eased just a bit. You slid into the seat.

He climbed in next to you. The car was quiet. Luxuriously quiet, compared to the zoo you’d just escaped. It smelled like leather and some subtle, expensive cologne that did make you want to punch Mark for being right.

Bruce glanced over at you. “I really just wanted to check in. I didn’t mean to… make your day worse.”

“You didn’t,” you said, voice softer than expected. “It’s not you. It’s them. People. Eyes. Phones. I feel like I can’t move without being… watched.”

“I know the feeling.”

You turned slightly to look at him. There was something in his tone that made you pause like he meant it more than most.

“You get used to it,” he added. “Eventually.”

You didn’t respond right away. The silence wasn’t awkward, though. It was still, almost warm.

“I didn’t expect you to actually check in,” you admitted after a moment. “Most people would’ve just texted a thumbs up and disappeared.”

He looked at you then, eyes searching. “I’m not most people.”

You were about to respond, something snarky on your tongue to break the intensity but then it happened.

Click.

It was faint, but unmistakable. A camera shutter. Right outside the alley.

Your head fell back against the seat with a loud groan.

Bruce sighed. “is it ok for you to be out of work?.”

“I told Liz to say I died,” you muttered.

“Not sure that’s going to help now.”

You closed your eyes. “God, I’m going to be on some gossip site by noon.”

He hesitated, then reached over and gently touched your hand where it rested on your knee. Just a soft brush of fingers.

“You want me to drive around for a bit?” he asked. “No press. No phones. Just quiet.”

You looked down at where his hand had been, the ghost of the touch lingering.

“…Yeah,” you said quietly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

And with no more words, he pulled the car out of the alley, away from the flashing camera, and into a city that for once felt just a little quieter.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

The city passed in a blur of gray and gold as Bruce drove. He didn’t put on music. He didn’t speak. He just let the silence stretch, calm and easy, giving you room to breathe. The engine was barely a hum beneath your feet, and the windows were tinted enough that no one could see you inside. For once, you weren’t on display.

You leaned back against the seat, letting your eyes drift toward the city you loved and cursed in equal measure.

“I used to think about leaving,” you said finally, your voice barely above the sound of tires on pavement. “When I was younger. Before I really understood Gotham. Before I knew I couldn’t.”

Bruce glanced over at you. “Why couldn’t you?”

You smiled faintly. “Because people like us don’t get to run. Not when we know how broken the system is. Not when we can do something about it. We stay. We try.”

He didn’t answer right away. You saw his grip tighten slightly on the steering wheel, like he understood more than you knew.

Then, casually almost too casually he said, “And what if you weren’t trying alone?”

You blinked, turning your head toward him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I mean… all of well… this. The gossip. The whispers. The headlines. What if it didn’t have to be something to run from? What if it wasn’t such a bad idea?”

You blinked again.

It took you a second to process what he was saying. Then your heart stuttered. Oh.

“Bruce,” you said slowly, cautiously, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

He faltered. You didn’t need to see his face to feel it. The way his jaw tightened just a fraction. The way the next turn came a little too fast.

And maybe that was what made you soften.

“I would,” you added quietly. “God, I would. I would love it. So much.”

You felt him glance your way again.

“But my whole life… I believed I needed to tell people’s stories. I thought I was supposed to keep myself out of them. Be the one behind the scenes. Not the subject.”

You looked down at your hands in your lap. “I don’t know if I’m ready to be in the public eye like that. I don’t know how to be that kind of person.”

Another beat of silence.

Then his voice, low and steady: “I can be quiet.”

You looked up.

He kept his eyes on the road, but his voice stayed soft, sincere. “I don’t need headlines. I don’t need public. I just need you. However you’ll let me have you.”

It was a crazy thing, the way your heart reacted. Quick and eager and warm. You swallowed down the lump in your throat, caught between laughing and crying.

“That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said.

The car slowed to a red light. He finally turned to look at you, and the honesty in his gaze hit you like a punch to the ribs. There was no pressure. No expectations. Just him, offering.

“I can wait,” he said. “I’ve waited longer for less.”

You didn’t know what to say.

So you reached out and put your hand over his on the gearshift, quiet and certain.

“I’ll get there,” you said.

You watched his profile as the light turned green again. Something about him had shifted softer now, more open. You’d never seen Bruce Wayne so weird. The suit was stripped away, even if the one he wore now was more expensive than your rent.

And then, slowly, a grin curled at the edge of your lips as a realization hit.

“Oh my god,” you said, trying not to laugh. “You were jealous.”

His brows lifted, but he didn’t deny it.

You let out a small laugh, more delighted than you expected. “Clark. That’s what that was about, wasn’t it? You were so sulky that I was talking to him”

Bruce didn’t answer.

“You’re such a child,” you said, but it was affectionate. “Sulking in your tower, giving moody interviews, and then crashing the Gotham Gazette like a bat out of hell…. wait a second…”

You turned in your seat, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re weird. You vanish without notice. And God you could be Batman with how weird you are.”

Silence.

Your laugh trailed off. You stared at him.

“…Wait.”

Bruce didn’t look at you.

He didn’t say anything.

“Bruce?” Your voice dropped into something halfway between suspicion and awe. “You aren’t Batman. Right?”

Still nothing.

You squinted. “Oh my god.”

“Let’s not do this here,” he said finally, quietly.

You opened your mouth to fire off something a question, a scream, anything but he cut in, almost abruptly.

“Why don’t you write about heroes?”

You blinked at the sudden change in tone. “What?”

“In your pieces,” he clarified. “You always follow the criminals. The corruption. Why not write about the ones stopping it?”

You leaned back in your seat, chewing on the thought. “Because that’s not my job.”

“That sounds like a choice.”

“It is,” you said honestly. “Heroes don’t need a microphone. It feels like they feed off it. They’re already being celebrated, idolized, plastered across news stations and cereal boxes. But the ones slipping between the cracks the ones getting hurt, the ones no one’s looking at they need a voice. The ones who don’t make it out. The ones who get silenced.”

You paused, watching the streets pass.

“The heroes are doing the saving. I’m doing the remembering.”

He didn’t interrupt. So you kept going.

“And besides,” you added, your voice softening, “most of the heroes I’ve met… they don’t feel real. They feel like gods pretending to be human. Or humans pretending to be something else.”

Another beat passed.

“But Batman…” you murmured.

Bruce’s hand flexed on the steering wheel.

“I don’t know. He feels different. Gritty. Angry. Sad. The city chews him up and spits him out just like the rest of us, but he stays. Every night, he stays. I think…” you trailed off, trying to find the words.

“I think Batman might be the only hero I really like.”

You looked over at him.

“He feels the most human.”

And that’s when Bruce Wayne flawless billionaire, effortless playboy, Gotham’s golden son turned his head just slightly. The streetlights hit his jaw, shadowing his eyes. And in the flicker of the red glow, he looked haunted.

Bruce turned down a quiet side street, one that wound along Gotham’s upper overlook, where the city glittered like it belonged to someone else. He didn’t say a word as he parked the car.

The engine cut off. The silence wrapped around you like a heavy coat.

You turned to him, half expecting a denial. A smirk. Something to backpedal the idea that he might actually be.

“I’m not going to deny it,” he said quietly. “Not to you.”

Your breath caught.

He looked over at you, eyes tired but so present not a billionaire mask, not a cowl, just a man. And you could see it now, clear as the sky wasn’t: the bruised silence, the late nights, the way he disappeared.

“I meant what I said,” he added, voice low. “I love the way you… make a difference.”

Your brows rose, skeptical. “By being a little shit to the richest man in Gotham?”

He let out a breath of a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he kept going.

“The way you dig in, ask the questions no one wants to answer. The way you walk into a room like you don’t care if you don’t belong like you’re going to own it anyway. You’re stubborn.”

You raised a brow. “You’re doing a terrible job at complimenting me.”

Bruce half smiled, glancing down, then back up. There was a flush of pink at his neck, almost like embarrassment.

“And since that gala,” he continued, “when you showed up in a dress that didnt match you at all and tried to sneak out after five minutes…” He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t know. I saw you and… I felt it.”

“Felt what?” you asked quietly.

“That pull. That connection.” He stumbled a little, like the word sat wrong in his mouth. “I’m not good at… this.”

“No shit.”

“I mean it,” he said, tone a little sharper. “I don’t talk about things. I work. I disappear. I do what I have to. And maybe it’s selfish, but I just”

His jaw tensed. You could see him trying to make the words work.

“I want to,” he said finally. “I want to try. With you.”

You sat there, frozen, heart thudding like thunder against your ribs. The man next to you was Batman. And somehow, more terrifyingly, he was Bruce. Vulnerable. Honest. Looking at you like you were the only person in the city worth telling the truth to.

The silence stretched long between you. The kind that didn’t beg to be filled.

You stared ahead for a while, letting the lights of Gotham blur at the edges of your vision. Your heart hadn’t calmed down since the moment he parked the car, and now it was beating so loud you were almost sure he could hear it.

Finally, you tilted your head toward him, the corner of your mouth tugging up.

“So… as much as you basically just called me a little shit…” you murmured, trying to ease the tension with a smirk. “I’ll try. With you.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, something soft blooming there.

You added, quieter now, “But it has to be secret. Just let me keep some part of me mine.”

There was no hesitation.

Bruce reached out slowly, his hand closing gently over yours like he was afraid you’d pull away. And then, without a word, he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

It was soft. Earnest. You swallowed thickly, eyes locked on his. Something warm and unfamiliar settled in your chest.

“…You really are weird, you know that?” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t let go. And he didn’t disagree.

You: “Bruce, you’re emotionally constipated.”

Bruce: “That is absolutely not true.”

You: “Then say one feeling.”

Bruce: ”…Vengeance.”

You: ”…Try again, but like, a normal human.”

Bruce: ”…Mild affection…?”

You: ”…You’re lucky you’re rich and weirdly hot.”

[the-astral-archives]

Ἡλιος - Helios

" And now, O Muse Calliope, daughter of Zeus, begin to sing of glowing Helios whom mild-eyed Euryphaessa, the far- shining one, bare to the Son of Earth and starry Heaven. For Hyperion wedded glorious Euryphaessa, his own sister, who bare him lovely children, rosy-armed Eos and rich-tressed Selene and tireless Helios who is like the deathless gods. As he rides in his chariot, he shines upon men and deathless gods, and piercingly he gazes with his eyes from his golden helmet. Bright rays beam dazzlingly from him, and his bright locks streaming form the temples of his head gracefully enclose his far-seen face: a rich, fine-spun garment glows upon his body and flutters in the wind: and stallions carry him. Then, when he has stayed his golden-yoked chariot and horses, he rests there upon the highest point of heaven, until he marvellously drives them down again through heaven to Ocean. Hail to you, lord! Freely bestow on me substance that cheers the heart. And now that I have begun with you, I will celebrate the race of mortal men half-divine whose deeds the Muses have showed to mankind."

Homeric hymns from theoi / Images from pinterest.

[muppet-facts]

Muppet Fact #1342

The character of Don Music was retired because of "complaints about his alarming tendencies toward self-inflicted punishment." The character was known for banging his head on his piano when he was frustrated, and apparently, children began imitating this behavior.

Source:

Borgenicht, David. Sesame Street Unpaved. Hyperion Books , 1998.

[maisakr]

Hello Humans

I'm Maisa a mother of three innocent children from 🍉 Please, Support our new fundraiser on PayPal to Save my Family

It has only 20 days before it's closed 🥺

With the recent closure of the crossing reaching over 75 days now, so we need to raise funds to obtain food which is all priced exorbitantly due to the closing of the crossing. This closure has ceased the delivery of food, medicine and supplies into the Gaza strip. As a result, my daughter Lana has developed a serious case of Anemia. Due to the lack of healthy food in Gaza, my son Adam developed malnutrition which later evolved into Anemia. Fares is also malnourished, and the children often get ill because of the contaminated water and lack of healthy food, and the detrimental environment. The goal of our fundraiser which is 10,000€ will cover the expenses of food and healthcare, and also our daily needs, and supplies. Please, please support me and my husband Raed as we try and survive this dire and frightening time with our children, Thank you.

Regards,

Maisa

@a-shade-of-blue @xxx-sparkydemon-xxx @90-ghost @ot3 @8-bitfiction @8pxl @animusrox @anxietyproblem @ankle-beez @applebunch @apas-95 @apparently-artless @theinconvenientlifestyle @thatdiabolicalfeminist @tokyostreetphoto @tmi-tv-show-news @tbyto @tni-tamamonomae @tigerisout @tibby-art @tinytaylor08 @tubapun @atueimente @turquoisewavesstitch @tryna-sleep @traumatas @treesbian @rtilrtil @error-core-animations @error84744838 @wetheurban @wellwaterhysteria @waackery @qattdraws @jasontodddiedonmybirthday @sar-soor @dykesbat @cyonkodhc @cyorck @vyodka @hxh @hotvampireadjacent @hundsrose @hyperions-fate @gaza-giving-tree @gothhabiba @good-old-gossip @gooseworx @guineapigwitch @guineapiggies @f

@90-ghost @a-shade-of-blue @xxx-sparkydemon-xxx @ot3 @ragingbullmode @glitterdyke @jvsta-girl @jmadorran @zone0neko @saint-vagrant @sar-soor @sayruq @satsea77 @satellaalien @belgafanboi @buggachat @bcoutitre @biggest-gaudiest-patronuses @boyingray @borrelia @bold-baddie @gaza-giving-tree @gazavetters @gazagfmboost @gender-euphowrya @gaysebastianvael @gae-bolg-alternative-dot-exe @harley-angel @junglejim4322 @kaeveeoh @katerinaaqu @lao47 @mar64ds @maykitz @maester-cressen @maetersart @mayoiayasep @maidthings @naeemaabdulrahman @nature-nerd-sarah @narraboths @nanihirunkits @naevys-sims @batmanisagatewaydrug @barabones @baeddel @baena-moodboards @batricity @batsarebetterthanpeople @vague-humanoid @vao

[likethexan]

Kinda funny how Hades canon makes Hera the daughter of Hyperion and Theia and sister to Helios and Selene when in reality, Hera Selene and Helios are more bound as foster children of Tethys and Oceanus

[giuliettagaltieri]

Footsteps in the Snow

Pairing: Dad!Coriolanus Snow x Mom!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Heir

Warning: parenthood

Word Count: 3133

7 of 7

When one has everything, the only foe left to face seems to be nothing else but time.

Coriolanus watched his son Aurelius Hyperion, or Harper grow.  The little boy seemed to become more and more like him with every passing day.  And Coriolanus is conflicted about how he feels about that fact as it seems his son grows farther and farther away from him.

You often reassure him that it is simply a part of growing up, that children will have to learn how to become independent.  It was easy for you to say.  You did not have the same crisis as him. 

Harper would seek your company and still cuddles close to you despite him being seven years older since you have given birth to him.

It wounds Coriolanus deeply when he catches Harper laughing with you but his back straightens and the glee in his face fades to indifference when he is nearby.  Coriolanus found it difficult to bond with a child so similar to him.

Without you, he fears Harper would have long left the manor.

“Harper, is there something you would like to tell your father?”  You ask over breakfast, your voice light and cheery, a juxtaposition to the frigid atmosphere.

Coriolanus sets the newspaper down to give his son his undivided attention.  It was something you taught him.  To make Harper feel seen and heard.  And he is thankful that you initiated an interaction between them.  They felt nothing more than strangers living under the same roof.

The little boy glances at his father before he sets his fork down and wipes his lips with the napkin.  Coriolanus waits patiently as the boy sips his water and clears his throat.  He is stalling but Coriolanus will not let him get away from this.

“Yes?”  He asks when Harper chooses to fix his cravat instead of talking.

You smile at your son when he looks at you for support.  ‘Go on.’  You mouth at him.

Harper straightens his back and meets his father’s gaze with his unwavering ones.

“I was the top of my class, father.”  He says proudly.  “I also just learned a new piece on the violin.”

Coriolanus smiles genuinely, proud of his little boy.

“That is good.”

Harper looks at his father with his eyes mirroring the same happiness and for just a moment they stare at each other.  Coriolanus watches how his joy seeps out again.

Coriolanus receives a kick to his shin and he looks at you with accusation but you are too busy buttering your bread.

“I would love to hear you play.”  He tries to add but Harper only nods.  “What piece was it?”

Harper sighs and Coriolanus purses his lips.  “Paganini’s 24th Caprice.”

You sip your tea, quietly enjoying the wonderstruck expression in your husband’s face before he recovers quickly.

“And what does Grandma’am have to say about that?”  Coriolanus asks gently, a soft smile on his lips, one that Harper returns.

“She doesn’t know.”  Harper said mischievously.  Grandma’am would have pulled his ear had she known.

“Let us keep it that way.”  Coriolanus nods as he picks his newspaper again.  “But will you play for me when you find time?”

Harper glances at you before nodding.

“Harper is coming to work with us today.”  You tell Coriolanus who looks at you with mild interest, to ensure that Harper does not take it negatively but he was in truth asking you what you are planning.  Again.

“It has been quite a long time since his last visit.”  You say after pushing a fruit parfait in your son’s direction.

“Indeed, it has.”  Coriolanus agrees as he picks up where he left off in the newspaper.

Your son knew that something might be wrong when you were smiling too much the moment all three of you entered his father’s office.  Coriolanus was fixing the documents in his desks when you sat on the plush sofa, your heavy belly more prominent.  You would have gone to your own office usually.

Harper sits on the other sofa across you, watching how his little sister sent kicks through your belly, making the fabric shift ever so slightly.

“Oh, dear me!”  You suddenly gasp and both boys look at you with concern.  “Vipsania Sickle’s afternoon tea, it’s tomorrow.”

Coriolanus raises a brow.  “She hosts afternoon tea all the time, my love.  There is no need to trouble yourself.”

“But I do not have a dress.”  You argue as you attempt to stand with great difficulty.  “And she claims this afternoon tea will best the recent one the Flickermans hosted, and mind you, that was pretty eccentric.”

Harper stands abruptly when you get off the couch. 

“Oh, no, Honey.”  You smile at your sweet boy, your hand brushing his golden head to keep it neater.  “I will have to go alone.  I would not want to burden you with scanning for dresses the entire day.”

He looks desperately at you, turns his back to his father and mouths pleas but you only smile cheekily and kiss his nose.

“I will see you later.  Have a great day with your father.”  You pat his cheek lightly.  Coriolanus comes to kiss you, although a frown is in his brows.

“Be careful, I already sent for the chauffeur.”  He tells you and you nod.

Coriolanus and Harper stand side by side to watch you leave and when the door shuts, they remain standing there staring at the door.  Eventually they glance at each other but Harper quickly evades his eyes and circles back to the sofa where you previously sat, missing you already.

“I promise I will not be a bother.”  He tells his father who has his arms crossed in his chest, looking at the boy who grabbed a high-end real estate magazine.

“Thinking of buying a property?”  Coriolanus asks as he returns to his desk.

Harper lowers the magazine to peek at his father who is now working at his desk.  “When I get old enough.”  He taps his shoes together.  “I’ll invite mother to come live there too.”

Coriolanus looks up from the document he is working with.  “What about me?”

Not expecting such a question, Harper was a bit hesitant and he stared up at the ceiling before answering his father.  “You can come too”

They minded their own business after that.

Coriolanus welcomed the silence as he got through his job without disturbances.

It was lunch time when the silence was broken.

A service trolley is being wheeled in and Harper perks up at the scent.

He gets up to greet the person who pushes the trolley and the old man dressed in a crisp suit smiles at the young boy warmly.  The man takes his leave after telling them what was under the cloches.

Coriolanus sits with Harper in the lounge as they share the hearty lunch.

“Did you get a lot of work done?”  Harper asks politely. 

You told your husband that your son is only starting to learn how to make small talks and that he should be encouraged when he attempts to start one.

“I did.”  Coriolanus nods.  “Almost done for the day.”

Harper looks at his father in astonishment.

“But it is only lunch?”

Coriolanus nods.  “I was surprised too.  But then again, I stayed up late last night.”

“You did?”  Harper raises a brow.  “Mother slept alone last night?”

The fork stills in Coriolanus’ plate and he purses his lips.  “Your mother understands.”  He clears his throat.  “And this does not happen often.”

Harper continues his lunch, not liking the subject anymore.

“How are your fencing lessons?”  Coriolanus tries to open another topic.

“I excel at it.”

“That is good.”

“Yes.”

This was much harder than Coriolanus anticipated.

He needed a topic, something that would pique his son’s interest.  Something to banish the suffocating formal atmosphere.  They are father and son, for heaven’s sake.  They are acting more like business partners, even the men Coriolanus meets do not act so awkward around him.

“When I was younger, there was this shop I often go to.”  Coriolanus says as he wipes his mouth with the napkin.  “They had the best gelato.”

Harper sets his glass of water down to listen to his father.

“The gelato that our chefs make does not even compare.”  He continues, making his voice light and playful.

Coriolanus laughs at the skeptical look on his son.

“Our chefs make the best desserts,”  Harper argues.

Harper watches as Coriolanus heads to the closet and pulls out a couple of white polo shirts.  They were identical, only differing in size.

“I use these for golfing but I figured they would work fine.”

“Work fine for what?”  Harper walks over to his father.

Coriolanus hands him the clothing with a determined smile as he places a hat atop his head.  “We’re going out.” 

Sneaking out of the mansion undetected was close to an impossibility if it were anybody else but Coriolanus was glad that the staff pretended to have seen nothing.  Harper excitedly walked close to Coriolanus as they strolled around the Capitol.  He only got to see things from the car window and everything looks so different when he treads the sidewalks.

Harper was astonished how people were simply walking past him, not even sparing him a glance.

“They don’t recognize us.”  He whispered giddily to his father who glanced at him with a grin.

Coriolanus placed a hand on Harper’s back as they entered the small shop.  It was not like the ones that Harper usually sees.  It was incredibly small, but its business was doing fairly well.  Harper saw another boy waiting for his cone, and he was almost bouncing on his heels.

Harper frowns, is this all it takes for that kid to be happy?  Even that sailboat he got from the Plinths did not make him smile that widely.

“You’re next in line.”  Coriolanus gently pushes him forward.

A wrinkly grandma is by the counter, she was wearing a pink dress, and her ears adorned by large golden hoops.  “What flavor would you want, young man?”

Harper turns to his dad, not knowing what to get.  He was just used to food being served to him, he never had to make an order before.  Coriolanus points at the options just beside the cash register and Harper bends his head back to see from under his hat.

There’s chocolate and vanilla.  Lemon and hazelnut.

“I will have the caramel, please.”  Harper says politely and the old lady nods before turning to Coriolanus.

“And a pistachio.”  Coriolanus says as he pretends to look at his wallet to avoid looking at the woman.  He was incredibly popular, he would not want to risk people recognizing him.

When Harper receives the crisp golden cone that had two enormous scoops of caramel gelato, he cannot contain his excitement and takes a bite.  Coriolanus snickers when Harper’s lips tighten as his blonde brows raise while his eyes are closed.

“You okay?” 

Harper blinks rapidly as he clutches his head. 

“I am fine…uhm okay.  I’m okay.”  He glances at the sweet old lady, wondering if his formal tone gave anything away but she appears to not have heard it.  “Thank you.  It is delicious.”

Coriolanus pays and he steps out of the shop with Harper focused on his cone, determined to keep up with the melting scoops.  Coriolanus decided to take him to the park he donated and they took a slower pace as they walked through the pathways with enormous trees lining it.

“You’re right.  This is better.”  Harper tells his father.  “I wonder if I can get them to sell their recipe.”

Coriolanus smiles discreetly, a victory.

Harper glances around the greenery, admiring the roses and the pigeons.  One decided to follow him though.  Harper looks at it from the corner of his eyes, trying not to make a sudden move that could agitate the bird.

It was persistent.

The boy quickens his steps and the pigeon hops and hops, using its wings to propel it forward.  When it tries to peck his foot, Harper sprints to Coriolanus.  “Dad!”  He grabs hold of his father’s hand and clings close.

Coriolanus halts his step and as Harper warily stares at the pigeon who flew away in fright, Coriolanus had his eyes on his little boy, who just called him ‘Dad’.

To Harper’s surprise, Coriolanus scoops him up just like how he did when he was still a toddler.  They both look at each other, a million words spoken in one eye contact.

With stomachs satiated, they walk the halls of the Presidential mansion hand in hand.

“Why do we not live here?”  Harper asks curiously.  “Most Presidents live here.”

Coriolanus rubs his chin.  “I prefer to keep my family and work separate.”

Harper nods but he pulls Coriolanus when he sees a gigantic oil painting of someone he knew. 

Coriolanus stands next to him to gaze up at the painting.

“Crassus Xanthos Snow.  Your grandfather.”  Coriolanus tells him.

“I know.  We studied his biography at school.”  Harper says as his soft small hand tightens its hold around his father’s much larger hand.  “Everybody thought it was unfair as he was my grandfather but it’s not like I knew him personally.”

Coriolanus looks at the tall painting, meeting his father’s gaze as the cold unmoving eyes stare down at him.

“I didn’t know him very well either.”  He tells Harper.  “I was very young when he died.”

Harper shifts uncomfortably, not knowing what to say.  He settles with a gentle pat to his father’s hand.  Coriolanus smiles at his boy, appreciating the attempt to console him.

“You know, even after his passing, I still felt him lingering.  His legacy was very great and it is difficult to live under his shadow.”  His smile became sad.

“I might know how that feels, dad.”  Harper slips his hand from his.  “I mean…Father.”

Coriolanus looks away from the painting to look at Harper.  “What do you mean?”

The kid sighs as he glances at him.  “You’re so perfect.  You make the best decisions.  Everybody respects you.  You are the great leader of Panem, you and mother.”

Where were you when he needed you?

“I wasn’t always like this.”  Coriolanus tells him.  “I used to make mistakes, great mistakes.  People did not respect me, they respected my name.”

Harper shrugs.  “Which makes it harder for me because even after all that, Snow landed on top.  If I fail, even after everything I have, I will be a disgrace.”

“You will not be a disgrace.”  Coriolanus grins.  “You dominate every class they put you in.  You learned Paganini’s piece and not everybody can say that.”

Scoffing, Harper scuffs his shoe against the carpet.  “But I did not mentor nor did I become a scholar under Dr. Gaul.”

“I can help you.”  Coriolanus assures him by placing a hand on his shoulder, one that Harper slaps away.

“I hate nepotism.”

This forces an amused laugh from Coriolanus.  “You don’t need it.  You are only seven and you already know words such as ‘nepotism’.”  Harper frowns at his father.  “What I am trying to say is, I can teach you.  My father was not there for me so I have no references as to how fatherhood should be but I am willing to guide you.”

“Like a mentor?”  Harper raises a brow.

“If you want, yes.”  Coriolanus pulls his hat off to ruffle his hair, Harper scrunches his nose as his hair falls to his face.  “And you can keep on calling me ‘Dad’.”

Harper grimaces.  “Only in private.”

Coriolanus laughs.  “Alright, I’ll take it.”

When you arrived later that day, Harper was fast asleep on the couch, the coat Coriolanus wore prior that day was draped over your boy to keep him warm.

“Ah, there she is.”  Coriolanus grins as you walk in with shopping bags in your arms.

You carefully set them down as you waddle to the sofa.  Coriolanus follows after you and proceeds to take your shoes off.  You sigh in contentment as he massages your tired feet.

“And how was it?”  You ask as you place a bowl of dried fruits on top of your round belly.  “Did you get to bond?”

“We did.”  Coriolanus nods.  “We snuck out.”

“You what?”  You nearly pull your foot but he tightens his hold on your toe.  “Corio, that’s dangerous.”

Coriolanus smirks at you.  “The most dangerous thing that happened was a pigeon chasing after him.”

You stifle a laugh.   Oh, you would have wanted to see that.  Strolling around the Capitol like a normal family and free from prying eyes sounds really nice.  A pout forms on your lips.

“I’m jealous now.”

Your husband caresses your calf and leans over to place a kiss on your belly.

“Perhaps when our little princess is born, we can go on more vacations.”

Nodding, you pop a dried strawberry to your mouth as you watch the smile stay on your husband’s face.  His face is glowing, eyes no longer holding a storm inside it.

“Corio, are you happy?”

His fingers still their movement as he raises a brow at you.

“When you asked me to marry you, you said a life with me might be a shot to happiness.”  You continue and he gently lifts your feet off to come sit closer to you.

“Y/N, I have made many decisions in my life and marrying you still remains to be the best one.”  He places a kiss on your nose and your eyes flutter shut, tickling your plump cheeks with your eyelashes.  “You gave me love and two wonderful children.”

You both glance at Harper as he places a warm hand on your belly.

“Everything I am today is because of you.”

“No, Corio.  You cannot give me all the credit-”

He shakes his head.  “Everything I am today is because of you.”

You feel a sting in your eyes and your eyesight gets blurry from the onslaught of tears.

“All I did was scheme.”  You laugh through your tears which he kisses away.

“And look where those schemes brought us.”  He sits tall and looks at his office.  “You brought us on top.”

Happiness was something Coriolanus thought to have been fleeting and sacrificed when in search for glory.  But it was not.  It was the culmination of everything that a person can achieve.

Money, Power, Glory.

They are something he sought for when he was young and naïve, but all three boils down to happiness.

And he was glad you stood by him.  You made him feel things he thought he had no right to.

Coriolanus is happy.  And he is loved.

And he will stain the world red to protect this life you created with him.

Quest for Happiness

[medusaspeach]

Selene 🌙 Goddess of the Moon

Selene was the titan goddess of the moon personified. While there are quite a few other goddesses associated with the moon, only Selene was represented by the old Greek poets as the moon incarnate.

She was one of the three shining children that Theia, titan goddess of sight and the shining blue sky, bore to her husband Hyperion, a titan god of heavenly light. Her two other siblings being Eos and Helios.

This was heavily inspired by scenes from the 2014 animated film - Song of the Sea (if u know u know), and was kind of a study in that respect. It covers some Irish mythology and is an absolutely stunning film, so if you haven't seen it yet I highly recommend it.

[ Patreon ]

[wisteria-lodge]

Here's a fun one, if Draco and Harry had children, what do you think their names would be?

I think that if Harry and Draco are having kids, that means that they 1) have have successfully processed the war 2) are so far past caring what ANYONE thinks.

Also... in canon they're both out here creating problems on purpose with "Albus Severus" and "Scorpius Hyperion." And if they're together... they're just going encourage that aspect of each other.

So uh,

Alohomora (Draco likes the symbolism)

Golden-Snitch (Harry likes the symbolism)

Dittany

Asphodel

Alchemy (they both think this one is badass)

Wolfsbane (badass AND raising awareness)

Nimbus

Fidelius

Erised

Lumos & Nox (twins)

Phoenix

Hedwig

Thestral (Harry thinks it sounds pretty)

Ignotus (Potter family name that Draco signs off on)

Armand (Malfoy family name that Harry signs off on)

Dobby (Clear political statement)

.... yeah :D