#dodge and selene

[all-cf-me]

"All of them, always," Dodge answers flatly. Admittedly a little distracted, he hears Selene before seeing her, but her queue of insults is too numerous to be ignored... he equips a scowl and reluctantly approaches, hands jammed in his pockets, and settles in for an attempt at polite conversation. "If I watched someone sneeze into a councilor's coffee, I would fix them a new cup, and I'm not ashamed of that. Isn't that the decent thing to do anyway?"

SELENE SWALLOW ☆ DODGE RAMSAY

"I thought I could smell some self hatred from around the corner," Selene wrinkles her nose the moment her eyes lay on Dodge. "Which one of your little council members are you guarding today? Are they scared someone might sneeze in their morning instant coffee? I can picture it now: Council Bodyguard Jumps In Front Of Cougher Civilian To Protect Councilmen. Put it on the morning news."

@all-cf-me

[vaguely-concerned]

there's nothing quite like a dark souls game when you're really depressed. fromsoft places a hand on your shoulder and says "yeah no you're right. sometimes the whole world really is coming at you shrieking and flailing and trying to claw your face off and there is no hope in sight. what is left for us here but the deep sorrow of a magnificent beast doomed to a slow and possibly endless descent into ruin? here's a sword about it. go wild"

and then you stand there with tears in your eyes clutching your giant claymore to your chest like a lover and whisper "I. love my sword" and you do. you love that sword

[seekingskywhales]

Don’t think I ever posted this - but hey in honor of apparently my number one game this year!

Based off my favorite paperback paradise post lol

[heliosunny]

Part 4 of yandere Mydei plsss there's so little Yandere Mydei 🥲

Yandere!Mydei x Knight!Reader

[part 1]; [part 2]; [part 3]; [part 4]

You thought last night would be forgotten. A mistake, a haze, nothing more. But Mydei, he won’t let it go. And when he confronts you about it, he says three words you never expected.

"I’ll take responsibility."

You should have expected this. But you still weren’t ready when Mydei cornered you. It was just after the morning assembly, in a quiet corridor of the palace. You had hoped, or prayed—that he would let last night’s incident fade into nothing. But the second you turned the corner, he was already there. Leaning against the stone wall, golden eyes locked on you.

And worse—he was smirking. Like a hunter who had finally caught his prey.

"We need to talk, Y/n."

You tried to walk past him.

"No, we don’t."

But his arm shot out, blocking your path.

"You left a mark on me." His voice was smooth, almost amused. "I thought I should return the favor."

"It was an accident." You kept your tone flat. "I was drugged. Whatever happened wasn’t real."

"You seemed quite real when you begged me to stay."

"I don’t beg."

"You did last night."

Your fingers curled into a fist.

"Let it go, Mydei."

"Oh, but how can I?" He leaned in

"You made quite the spectacle of it. The court is already whispering."

He brushed his fingers over his throat, right where your teeth had sunk into his skin.

"You left a claim on me, dear knight." His golden eyes burned. "Should I not take responsibility for that?"

"Don’t be ridiculous" you snapped.

"Am I?" His voice was silk-wrapped steel. "You bit me in front of my gods, my ancestors, and every noble in this court."

"Did you want them to know I’m yours?"

Heat shot through you.

"You’re twisting this."

"Am I?" He stepped closer, crowding you against the wall.

"I’m saying I’ll take responsibility. I’m saying I’ll claim you back."

His fingers brushed against your chin- teasing.

"Unless… you regret it?"

"It wasn’t real" you hissed.

"Say that again."

You opened your mouth.

But your mind flashed back to last night. His warmth. His steady grip. The way he stiffened when your lips brushed his skin. The way his breathing faltered when you left that mark. Your body betrayed you. You hesitated.

Mydei chuckled softly.

"That’s what I thought."

His fingers slipped beneath your chin—tilting your gaze up.

"I don’t mind waiting, Y/n." His voice dropped to a murmur. "You’ll accept it soon enough."

He finally stepped back, letting you breathe.

"In the meantime" he mused, "I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re mine."

"Don’t you dare—"

"Oops." His smirk was downright wicked. "Too late. The rumors have already begun."

And before you could react, before you could curse him to the depths of the abyss, he was already walking away.

Leaving you furious, flustered, and utterly doomed.

You thought you could escape him. With Selene’s help, you vanished from Mydei’s sight. For the first time, he couldn’t find you.

And for a while, things settled.

Until the news arrived.

Prince Mydei—gravely injured on the battlefield.

"Where have you been?"

Selene was waiting for you the second you slipped into your shared hideout.

"Don’t start." you muttered, shrugging off your cloak.

"Oh, I will start." She stepped closer, voice dropping. "Do you have any idea what kind of madness he’s causing?"

"I haven’t seen him in weeks."

"Exactly!" Selene threw up her hands. "And he’s been tearing through the palace trying to find you."

You already knew that. You had spent weeks dodging him, avoiding his reach.

With Selene’s help, Mydei couldn’t track you down.

Selene sighed, her expression growing serious.

"You heard it too, didn’t you?"

"Prince Mydei" she murmured. "Gravely injured on the battlefield."

You shouldn’t have cared. You should have let him bleed out where he fell. But even now, you couldn’t stop the way your breath caught.

"He did this to himself" Selene warned. "Don’t let him pull you back."

But it was too late. You had already made your choice.

You arrived at his chambers past midnight.

The guards let you through without a word, they had been expecting you.

And when you finally pushed the door open… Mydei was waiting.

Not unconscious. Not dying.

Just sitting on his bed, golden eyes glinting.

Smirking.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come, assassin."

He wasn’t dying.

He wasn’t even seriously injured.

He looked fine.

Perhaps a little pale, a bandage over his arm, but otherwise..completely unharmed.

"You—" Your voice shook with rage. "You tricked me."

His smirk only widened.

"Did I?"

"The rumors," you whispered. "The entire kingdom thinks you were gravely wounded—"

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.

"It worked, didn’t it?"

You stormed forward, grabbing his collar, yanking him closer.

"You played with war just to drag me back?"

"Would you have come otherwise?"

Your grip tightened.

"You’re insane."

"And you’re here." His voice dropped—low, triumphant. "That’s all that matters."

"Did you miss me?"

"No."

His lips brushed against your fingers, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss.

"Stay." His voice was a whisper, dangerous, pleading.

You took one step toward the door. And that was as far as you got.

Because before you could reach the handle, a hand clamped around your wrist.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

You turned, slowly just to see his fingers coiled tighter around your wrist.

"You just got here." His voice was too smooth, too calm. "Surely you don’t plan on leaving so soon?"

"Let go."

He didn’t. Instead, he stood, his height towering over you.

"Not yet" he murmured. "You owe me, don’t you?"

"I owe you nothing."

"Oh?" He tilted his head, mocking. "You disappeared for weeks. I could have died."

"You didn’t."

"But I could have." His voice was teasing. "And whose fault would that have been?"

He was toying with you like usual.

You yanked at your wrist. He didn’t budge.

"Mydei."

"Say it again."

Your jaw clenched.

"Let. Me. Go."

His grip loosened—just barely. But then, his other hand lifted to brush a loose strand of hair from your face.

"What if I don’t want to?"

His fingers trailed lower, ghosting over your cheek, your jaw.

"What are you doing?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago."

And then, he leaned in. You braced yourself. For a threat, a taunt, for him to force you back. But instead, his lips brushed against your temple.

"Stay."

You tried to pull away. But his hands were already on you, one still gripping your wrist, the other curling against your back, firm and unmoving.

"You’re mine, Y/n" he murmured against your skin.

Your heart pounded.

"You’re delusional"

He only chuckled.

"You say that, yet you’re here."

"Because you lied" you spat.

"And yet you still came."

He was too close. The warmth of his breath, the faintest scent of blood and steel clinging to his skin—all of it suffocating.

"Tell me." His fingers tightened against your back. "Would you have run to anyone else’s side the way you ran to mine?"

You opened your mouth, ready to retort but nothing came.

"I thought so."

"Let me go, Mydei."

"No."

"You can’t keep me here."

"Can’t I?" He tilted his head, mocking. "What will you do, assassin? Kill me?"

"You wouldn’t." His smirk only grew. "Because if you could, you would have done it a long time ago."

"I don’t need to kill you to leave."

"Then leave."

His fingers unraveled from your wrist, your back.

Your muscles coiled—preparing to bolt for the door.

But before you could take a single step, Mydei moved.

Faster than you expected, faster than you had ever seen him.

His arms caged around you, forcing you against the wall.

A startled gasp tore from your lips.

"Do you really think," he whispered, voice low, dangerous, "that I would let you go so easily?"

"You can’t do this."

"I can." His breath ghosted against your skin. "And I will."

You twisted in his grasp, nails digging into his wrist, shoving at his shoulders—but it was useless. His arms were like iron bars, pinning you to the wall.

"Are you done?" Mydei’s voice was silken, patient.

You glared.

"Not even close."

And then—you lunged. Your leg swung up, aiming for his side, but he caught it effortlessly, smirking.

"Predictable" he murmured.

"You think you can run from me, love?" His fingers traced down your arm—slow, possessive. "After everything? You're mine after all"

You bit the inside of your cheek.

"I don’t belong to you, Mydei."

"But you do."

His hand trailed lower, down your wrist, over your fingers. You snatched your hand away.

"I won’t play this game."

"Oh, but you already have." His smirk deepened. "From the moment you let me touch you. From the moment you came running back to me."

"I had no choice."

"You always have a choice." His fingers ghosted over your jaw. "You just keep choosing me."

A sharp knock suddenly broke the tension.

"Your Highness?"

Your blood ran cold.

Before you could even speak, the door opened.

A young servant stepped in, eyes wide with shock as she took in the scene.

Mydei towering over you.

Your wrists pinned in his grip.

The servant’s face blanched.

"I— I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—"

"Out!" Mydei ordered, voice cold, sharp.

The girl hesitated—then turned to you.

"D-Do you need help?"

A chance. This was your chance.

But the second you opened your mouth, Mydei moved. His grip shifted, wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"She’s fine" he said smoothly. "Aren’t you, love?"

His fingers dug in—warning you.

"I… I’m fine" you forced out.

The servant faltered. But Mydei’s gaze was a silent command. So she bowed quickly—then fled, shutting the door behind her.

The second she was gone, you shoved at his chest.

"That was low" you hissed.

"I told you" he murmured, smirking. "You’re not leaving."

His grip tightened.

"Not now. Not ever."

The rumors started the next morning.

Hushed whispers in the halls. Stolen glances in the corridors. Servants whispering about the Prince’s secret lover—his knight, a former assasin, held captive in his chambers.

About the way he pinned you against the wall.

The way his golden eyes gleamed with possession.

The way he held you—like you belonged to him.

"Did you hear? She didn’t even fight back."

"Maybe she likes it, being trapped in his bed."

You heard every word.

And so did Selene.

A soft knock echoed at your window.

Your heart leapt.

Selene.

Without hesitation, you unlatched the window, letting her slip inside.

"Took you long enough" you whispered.

She grinned, mischief gleaming in her very eyes.

"Had to take the long way in" she murmured. "Your dear Prince seems to think locking doors will keep me out."

She wasn’t wrong.

After last night, Mydei had tightened security around his chambers.

Extra guards. Double patrols.

You weren’t just trapped.

You were caged.

"I heard the rumors" Selene said, her smirk faltering. "I’m getting you out" she said, voice firm, final.

"Selene—"

"No arguments. I’m not letting you stay in a gilded cage just because he wants to keep you."

She reached out—gripping your hand.

"Do you trust me?"

"Always."

"Then let’s go."

But before you could move, the door swung open.

And there stood Mydei.

"Going somewhere, love?"

Selene moved first. A dagger flashed, aiming straight for Mydei’s throat. But he was faster. He caught her wrist, twisting it just enough to force her to drop the blade.

"You have a habit of sneaking into places you don’t belong" Mydei murmured.

"And you have a habit of keeping things that aren’t yours," she shot back.

"Oh? But Y/n is still here."

Selene’s grip tightened around your wrist.

"We’re leaving."

"No" Mydei said simply.

His hand reached out, curling around your waist.

"You bastard—"

"Your lovely friend could have left anytime." His golden gaze flickered to you. "But Y/n is still here. Ask yourself why."

Selene turned to you—eyes searching yours.

"Tell me you want to leave" she urged.

Deep down you knew.

If you ran, he would find you.

Your silence was all the answer Selene needed.

Her jaw clenched.

"You’re a fool" she muttered—before slipping out the window and vanishing into the night.

Leaving you alone.

With him.

"You made the right choice" he murmured, lips brushing against your temple.

You exhaled shakily.

But you didn’t move.

Because no matter how much you wanted to deny it, somehow, somewhere along the way, you had stopped running.

[sunlight-shunlight]

i got this dialogue with prometheus in a chaos trial, so i'm incorporating this theory into my worldview

Chaos is infiltrated by Time, aren't they. The redesign isn't a coincidence, and their involvement can't be reduced to mistakes or their inability to predict results, as they claim, can it.

First, there was the thing with the Fates. Now they amit they released Typhon as an "experiment" that exceeded their expectations in its thirst for destruction.

Then, Chronos bragged that he outsmarted the gods in the way he released Typhon. Sadly, he didn't tell me how he achieved it on 2 consecutive encounters, and I don't know when that thread of dialogue continues for me (roguelite woes).

Still. It's 2 nickels for times Chronos has used Chaos and Chaos's innocent play pretend is getting more and more sus.

[shaysplanet]

le cœur interdit de la dame

may you have a wonderful social season.

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

channeled songs that fit the vibe

bitter by palace, love you to death by type o negative, & I hate everything about you by three days grace

DEAREST READERS,

it seems society’s most intriguing figure this season is none other than lady selene basset, sister to the duke of hastings. the young lady, daughter of the late duke and duchess of hastings, was notably absent from the ton for several years — a disappearance that many assumed to be the result of scandal. yet, whispers now reveal that lady selene had instead chosen to pursue a most unusual path . . . that of a field nurse, tending to the wounded far from the comforts of mayfair.

now returned to the fold, our little dove finds herself thrust into the role of this season’s diamond, following a rather unexpected turn of events at one of her majesty’s grandest balls. and if the murmurs are to be believed, there is far more to this story than meets the eye. for it would seem that the ever-dutiful viscount bridgerton has taken a particular interest in the young lady — and not without reason. sources confirm that the duke of hastings and the viscount have struck a most curious arrangement . . . one that hinges on lady selene’s future.

though lady selene basset is ever composed, it seems her choice in company reveals a far more intriguing side. her close friendship with miss eloise bridgerton — who spends more time dodging suitors than entertaining them — has not gone unnoticed. still, lady selene appears quite content to remain at her side, no doubt enjoying the young lady’s endless commentary on society's absurdities. equally curious is her association with sir henry granville, a most gifted artist whose work has captivated many — though whispers persist regarding certain . . . preferences that cast a shadow over his reputation. and don’t get me started on the viscount. lord bridgerton, ever the embodiment of control and propriety, seems locked in a most curious dance with lady selene basset — one that has left society both baffled and endlessly entertained. the pair are rarely seen without some sharp exchange, yet neither seems willing to admit what the rest of us can plainly see. DESIRE, dear reader, is hardly subtle — and in this case, it seems to burn far too brightly for even the most oblivious to ignore.

— yours truly

Lady Whistledown

divider: @anitalenia

[yandere-fics]

♡ You Tell Selene You Only Want To Be Friends With Benefits ♡

(sorry I didn't write yesterday, I got high.)

You'd been sleeping with Selene for a solid year at that point, the longest anyone had ever managed to last when it came to sleeping with her, you supposed she just liked something about you in particular. You didn't mind though, she was an excellent hook up, wouldn't be a good relationship but since it was only sex you could ignore all the other red flags. You weren't her mate who would need to deal with all her issues one day and she'd made it clear you weren't dating when you first started, she was saving all that romance stuff for her mate but you could fuck occasionally if you didn't get too attached. Despite this it seemed lately she had been the one getting attached, growling when you left bed Monday morning to return to your nearby town, seeming antsy when she finally picked you up Friday night for your weekend of hooking up. It hadn't been a weekend at first, that would be too intimate but slowly she'd pushed it in what seemed like a desperate attempt to keep you longer.

"You should sleep at my place, then we'd be able to do it more frequently." She suggested one time, not saying moving in but you knew what she meant. You turned her down of course, this was just sex, you weren't going to get entangled with her. She'd started to sound less playful each time she suggested it after that, you shut that down reminding her that you were not her mate. She didn't say it again, instead only looking sullen and agitated when she picked you up on Fridays after that. Today she seemed more excited when you met her in her car, pulling you into a big hug.

"Hey Selene, I thought we agreed no PDA." You really didn't want anyone around you to ask you about her, it was already embarrassing enough they knew you were going to her place every weekend, despite being their goddess, she was not very well liked in werewolf territory. Beyond that those humans who did sleep with Selene were mostly looked down on since she was such a sleaze and had a mate out there somewhere. Your reputation took quite a hit at first when it became known.

"I discovered something amazing today, my little dove." She grinned down at you, something about it was making you nervous. She was always intense when she looked at you but today you felt like you had to get away from her. You'd end it today you decided. She'd broken her own rule by falling for you. "You're my soulmate!"

You shoved her away, as well as much you could at least, heaving as you tried to process that information. There was just no world in which you wanted to be with her long term, she was great for sex, you loved that part but she just came off as a horrible partner to have and you really didn't even want anything serious probably ever. You weren't into relationships.

"So that means you can move in now, dove." She tried to pull you closer but you dodged her arms eliciting a growl from her.

"I don't want to, I was only with you for sex!" You shouted drawing the attention of some of your more nosy neighbors who wanted to know why their goddess and a human were fighting. She let out a growl at that grabbing you and shoving you in her car with a bit more force then necessary.

"Well now we can do that more often! Don't worry, I'll forgive you for that outburst you just had." She climbed in the car after you beginning to undress you in the backseat. The windows were tinted so no one could probably see in but they all definitely knew what was happening in there.

You may have only wanted her for sex at the moment but she was sure you'd come around to her in general if she just fucked you good enough often enough.

[ri-writes-if]

hi!, i wanted to say i just started reading this if, and i love it, i wasn't sure about it at first but it has captured me completely. Im curious about the demon forms, are some more powerful than others?, i chose the puppeteer, it just sounded so op to me, but i was thinking, is there a limit as to how much control it can exert on someone, is it tied to our will, strong willed demons could fight our influence off? like Selene for example. Could anyone of the main cast be susceptible to it?. Also, could the swarm eat other demons forms, what about a dragon?, imagine a swarm of cute butterflies just feasting on a dragon

Hi! I'm happy to hear you like it despite your first feelings 💛

They all have strengths and weaknesses, and all of them can be defeated through different methods. No one is unbeatable.

For example, demoneaters are big, so their hits are strong. But if they're facing against an enemy that is faster than they are, then they'll have trouble dodging their attacks because it's hard to move their large body quickly. Which means they'll get wounded, and if they get wounded, they'll become exhausted faster. At that point, they're not hard to take down. If there's more than one enemy like this against one demoneater, then it's even easier.

The Swarm? As long as you catch it in a trap and blast it to pieces, it's dead. I wrote about the demons' method for dealing with them here. Yes, the Swarm can eat anyone and anything, so they def can eat a dragon too (not that it would be easy for the Swarm; but it does have pretty good chances against a dragon because it's immune to fire).

The Puppeteers are similar. Their strength is in sneaky attacks, and if they don't have this advantage, then they're not as threatening. And you're correct; those who have stronger will can fight against the Puppeteer's control!

Vez, Os, Laz, or Selene would be able to fight against it and postpone their hearts, well, exploding, lol. Once the control was off, they would guard their minds against another attack, which means taking control over them at the moment would be harder or even impossible. Ash and Az wouldn't be able to shake off the control quickly enough to avoid death.

The Spiders? They're very sturdy, but their eyes are their weak spots. Magic works well against them too, but you have to be fast. Their legs are basically swords that can tear you apart and poison you, so you must be quicker and more agile than they are.

Satrix will probably outrun anyone, so they can do well against someone who has less stamina and is too large to move around quickly and evade their attacks. On the other hand, they're hard to hit, and if you move too close, they might poison you with their tail. The best way to deal with them is a sneaky attack.

AM is a different story, considering they can mimic other creatures. But they can be dealt with, too.

TLDR; Some of them can be stronger or weaker depending on who or what they're fighting.

Thank you for the question! 💛 I didn't expect the answer to be so long, but my brain went into the lore dump mode, lol

[theeyeofeverything]

I DID IT EAT SHIT YOU...YOU... UGH I can't hate him fully, but battle with him is annoying and rather tricky. For now I consider him a second hard boss in game (the fisrt is Chronos ofc)

He and Chronos both have nasty OP moves and a little window for dodge from them. Prometheus in that matter nastier than sandy old man cause you not just have to react quick but also memorize pattern of his strongest attack. Plus, if i recal correcly he do not have moves that track you. I do not know how you supose to be survive him without blocking his attack or having a big ammount of health. And full dd intact ofc, with help of knuckles or tooth on your side

My build. Xinth of Selene with weak + blitz. Aphro is still very strong and her combo with Zeuses's blitz is crazy and fast way to deal a LOTTA DAMAGE.

[polskasroka]

I've finished my post-Palladium heist Odydio fic, so here!

A Momentary Lapse of Reason

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: The Iliad - Homer, Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Diomedes/Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Agamemnon & Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Athena & Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Athena & Diomedes (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore) Characters: Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Diomedes (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Agamemnon (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Athena (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore) Additional Tags: Betrayal, Attempted Murder, Blackmail, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Whump, Whipping, Blood and Gore, Power Imbalance, Deities, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Sexual Content Summary:

Stealing the Palladium went as planned. It was the trip back to the Greek camp that went south.

Words: 14,519 Read the first chapter below or on AO3! If you enjoy, you can find the rest of the story on AO3 <3

Out of everyone and everything else, it was the moonlight, Selene’s kind gift, that betrayed Odysseus.

He should’ve predicted it. He really should. He should’ve paid more attention to the not-so-distant hooting that he’d heard. He might’ve mistaken it for an approval — he’d chosen to think it’d been an approval. After all, he and Diomedes had managed to steal the Palladium from under the Trojans’ noses. It was no wonder that Lady Athena herself had given a clear sign of her praise for such a stratagem!

Now, though, it seemed that it had been a warning. The grey-eyed goddess’ hint that maybe drawing a blade and raising it against his dearest Diomedes wasn’t Odysseus’ brightest moment. Instead of succumbing to the impulse and the momentary whim, he should’ve heeded the warning in the form of owl hooting.

Alas, it was too late.

Selene’s light reflected in the metal of the blade, glimmering a white spark that caught Diomedes’ eye. This minute flicker was enough for him to dodge the attack and whip around, the Palladium still in his hands. Astonishment and brewing anger painted on his face as he stared at Odysseus. With his eyebrows knit together, Diomedes opened his mouth to say something but no words left his mouth.

Odysseus sported a stupid, lopsided smile as he kept searching Diomedes’ fiery glare. He was holding the damned sword as if it’d been of no matter, as if he’d taken it out without any particular reason. He shifted his weight onto his other hip and carefully watched Diomedes put the Palladium down and step closer to him.

It could be that Odysseus had said something, more jovially than he should have, but Diomedes didn’t hear that. He didn’t want to hear. Instead, he took a swing and slapped the shorter man, effectively making him fall to the side with the force of the blow. At the same time, he sent his sword flying until it landed on the ground.

Diomedes picked the sword up and approached Odysseus, gripping the hilt, his knuckles going white. The older man’s eyes grew wide.

“Godlike Diomedes, think twice,” he said, keeping his voice steady, eyeing the blade.

Rubbing his cheek with one of his hands, he tried to scoot away but Diomedes was quick and meticulous. He followed until a rock or a stick hurt Odysseus’ palm and he stopped his flight, distracted by the sudden pain.

“Diomedes, reconsider!”

His heart stopped as Diomedes lifted the sword and then drew it down in one swift and smooth move. Odysseus covered his eyes and shook but… nothing happened. Breath returned to his chest and he slowly ran a hand down his face. He swallowed, seeing the sword’s blade stuck in the dirt, between his legs; much too close to his flesh to feel any comfortable with it.

For a moment, he observed it. He took that while to convince himself that no, he wasn’t afraid to look up and meet Diomedes’ eyes. He prolonged it as much as he could and to him, it was an eternity. It was a blink of an eye for Diomedes.

“You have reconsidered! Oh, my dear friend, you don’t know how glad I am that—!”

“In the back? Are you serious?” Diomedes seethed through his teeth.

“Please, do not concern yourself with that. I was only—”

“In the back, Laertiades?!” the younger man roared and bent down to grab Odysseus by his clothes.

The force with which he was lifted up stole Odysseus’ breath away. Tightly, he gripped onto Diomedes’ wrists as that furious warrior hoisted him up higher until Odysseus’ feet were no longer on the ground. He gulped again.

Odysseus felt terribly small and vulnerable. Diomedes’ blazing glare was piercing him right through and he had nowhere to escape. Still, he didn’t break the eye contact. He locked his jaw and huffed.

“You were only what? You cunning snake, I should have—!” yelled Diomedes, straight into the other man’s face.

“Testing your vigilance was what I was trying to do! A warrior like you, so mighty and powerful, should keep his eyes open at all times. Wouldn’t you agree, dearest friend?”

Odysseus raised his hands in surrender but then decided to hold onto Diomedes’ wrists again. That feat he pulled felt too much like losing the balance.

“I kept my eyes open. Glad I did.”

Odysseus tried a smile. It didn’t turn out well for him. He was foolish to think it would.

What it earned him was a hurl back onto the ground. The dirt and small rocks scratched his hand and elbow on which he fell. He growled in anger and quickly collected himself to attempt to get up and do something about the dire situation he’d found himself in.

He didn’t have much of a chance, though. Diomedes was faster again. When Odysseus was about to stand up, he felt the sword’s blade against the side of his neck. He shuddered in dread and felt himself sweat. But he was no amateur; kneeling, he raised his hands and turned around to face Diomedes and meet his furious eyes, sharp like two daggers.

 “Do it, Diomedes,” said Odysseus calmly.

He was able to always remain calm in the weirdest or direst of situations. Diomedes always found it impressive.

“You know I will,” he retorted, pressing the sword harder against the older man’s skin.

“But, please, be advised that you will not win this war without me. Dear friend, you haven’t been fighting against the Trojans for ten years to let it go to waste now.”

“See if I care.”

Diomedes’ voice trembled and it was a good sign. What wasn’t one was the fact that the blade bit into Odysseus flesh and drew some blood. He took a sharp inhale but otherwise he didn’t even hiss.

“If you send me to Hades, our gracious Lord Agamemnon certainly won’t be pleased with the disposal of the only man thanks to whom this great war can be won,” Odysseus continued firmly, with confidence. “He will have you killed. Or he will kill you himself, no matter your strength and heart in battle.”

“Don’t trouble yourself with thinking that he fancies you any more than is necessary. He merely tolerates you.” Diomedes paused, knowing his voice would break if he kept going. “He’s been using you. You’re a tool.”

“So are you!”

“At least I’m not making a hero out of myself when the war’s not ended.”

“Maybe you should.”

Diomedes snarled and grunted, drawing the sword away from Odysseus’ neck. “You sly and slithery—!”

He took a swing once more, a proper one now. A swing that would’ve ended Odysseus’ life. A swing that would’ve resulted in his head rolling on the ground. But it didn’t.

The sword shone in the moonlight again as it remained raised up high. It didn’t move, as if stuck. Its hilt was held in Diomedes’ white-knuckled hands and his arms started shaking from how vice-like his grip was. It was then when Odysseus knew that he’d won.

Diomedes frowned, keeping the sword in the air for a moment longer, before he lowered it. Only then did he realise he was panting, his breathing ragged, nervous. Distressed. Disappointed. He felt tears well up in his eyes but he blinked them away lest they started flowing down his cheeks.

He looked at the ground next to his feet and closed his eyes to calm down and think straight again. All this time, Odysseus stayed silent — something that Diomedes hadn’t expected to happen.

Soon enough, he knew he’d been wrong to expect so.

“Now that everything’s settled between you and I, dear Diomedes, I think we ought to be on our way back to the camp.” Odysseus started to stand up but almost lost his balance when the other man grabbed his arm and hauled him back onto his feet. “Why, thank you! Can you believe that my knees—! Ah! You bloody bastard!”

Without a word, Diomedes used the rope he had attached to his belt to tie Odysseus’ wrists behind his back. On purpose, he pulled on his hands harder than was necessary, eliciting an annoyed growl from the older man. Some satisfaction in all that disenchantment — at least — an understatement in itself. Yet, Diomedes couldn’t bring himself to think of stronger words. He didn’t want to acknowledge the deed just yet. He’d have time for that once the Palladium was in the camp and out of the Trojans’ reach.

During their trip back to the Greek camp, Diomedes held the Palladium in one hand and Odysseus’ sword in the other. He kept hitting the other man on his back with the flat of the blade, for which he received a lot of complaints and swears. At no point did Odysseus ask him to stop, though. Diomedes wished he had.

There was a mess in the young warrior’s head. But it was not the time nor place for pondering over that. Dead set on returning to Lord Agamemnon, he marched on, muting out Odysseus’ whining, which wasn’t as easy as Diomedes would’ve preferred. After all, Diomedes had seen Odysseus as someone more than just a fellow king, a fellow comrade, a brother and a companion. Now, he had serious doubts whether Odysseus reciprocated the sentiment.

Odysseus also felt as if he were being haunted by an owl that he saw fly above them. It hooted once in a while and the sound fell heavy on the cunning man’s ears. There was a burden weighing on his heart too and he scowled at the owl as it made a particularly loud hoot.

It was with an irritated sigh that Diomedes pushed Odysseus forward, in-between the tents. Selene hadn’t yet left the dark sky, for which Odysseus was grateful; being seen in such a compromising position was one of the moments, in which he didn’t want to be particularly seen. Deep down, he was certain that Diomedes cared about that too. He may have been furious at Odysseus but he respected his status.

The master of lies wouldn’t have been so courteous if he’d been in Diomedes’ place.

“Diomedes, son of Tydeus. It’s ignoble to treat me as though I were a prisoner, I’m sure you understand! Thus, I demand that you release me,” Odysseus said firmly when they were a couple of steps away from Agamemnon’s tent.

An idea then appeared in his head and Diomedes could tell by the smirk that tilted the older man’s lips. He had half a mind to knock him out.

“Unless you wish to do something else instead of handing the Palladium to our kind and generous Lord right away,” mused Odysseus. He eyed Diomedes and locked his gaze with the young warrior’s. “And if that other activity requires me to be tied up like this, so be it. In such a case, I shall not complain.”

The corners of Odysseus’ lips rose even higher and his eyes glimmered. He stood tall and took a step towards Diomedes who could barely avert his eyes. Having inhaled sharply, he swallowed and dismissed the older man’s advances; his anger started to boil again, the harsh reality of how and why they’d both reached that place was like slamming against a wall. He shuddered, hurt making his lip tremble for a second.

Diomedes didn’t reply. There wasn’t much to say; he was too upset and chagrined. Maybe the man of many resources finally understood that he wouldn’t talk his way out of that situation. As he was shoved again, he cast a glance at Diomedes. It was a mistake that wrenched Odysseus’ heart; the disgruntled look in Diomedes’ eyes, one that carried more emotion than any words could, told Odysseus everything.

Before they’d set out on their task, Agamemnon had informed them that he’d be anticipating their return and he kept his word. Sat in his chair, in his spacious tent, he watched Odysseus and Diomedes being let in. Sipping wine, his eyebrows went up once the King of Argos pushed the other king forward, making him stumble and almost fall down. In return, he received a sharp glare from Odysseus who then proceeded to face their lord marshal and bow his head in respect. Diomedes did the same and put the Palladium on the ground.

“Ah, my good Lords, I see you’ve completed your task. But this, uhm…” Agamemnon said, vaguely gesturing at the two men, “It is an interesting turn of events, indeed. Would you be so kind and explain this to me?” He squinted and sat back in his chair, rolling the wine in the cup. “Mighty Diomedes, let us hear you now.”

Odysseus shared a stern look with Agamemnon. He could swear that the King of Mycenae smiled wryly for a split second.

“Lord Agamemnon, my King…” Diomedes stuttered and briefly peeked at Odysseus. “He, Lord Odysseus, son of Laërtes, attempted to murder me by stabbing me in the back.”

He said it. He said it and Odysseus’ heart sank. An unpleasant chill ran down his spine and he bore Agamemnon’s curious and maliciously contented stare.

“Untie him, son of Tydeus,” he said quickly and Diomedes complied. “Why, oh great tactician, would you have done that?”

“Brilliant Agamemnon, shepherd of men!” Odysseus began with fake humility, massaging his wrists. “It was only my good will and desire to aid godlike Diomedes here, so that an enemy would never surprise him, even while attacking from behind!”

Diomedes muffled a snort and Odysseus had to will himself not to lunge at the young man. Instead, he remained focused on Agamemnon. He had to save himself after all. Poor situation though it was, there must’ve been a way out.

“Don’t laugh at me, my young friend, for you shall remember my words when the time comes,” he addressed Diomedes almost dismissively.

“Wise Odysseus, don’t you think that after so many years of war, the King of Argos has learnt how to be vigilant? Was it necessary to put his skills to the test? Was it worth almost committing so heinous a crime against your ally which, as you surely know, equals to treason?” Agamemnon asked without a rush, leaning against the backrest of the chair comfortably. He took a sip of his wine, maintaining the eye contact with Odysseus.

“But, my Lord, isn’t it a fact that a man learns his whole life? Especially when he’s a warrior, I daresay.”

Agamemnon chuckled and rolled his eyes. Odysseus didn’t like that, yet he kept his composure, pushing the thought of being regarded as a traitor aside. He also cast a fleeting glance at Diomedes, who stood there with his lips slightly parted. His breathing was faster than usual and he bit the inside of his cheek. As if desperate, he searched Agamemnon’s features for any indication of what was going to happen next, both to himself and Odysseus. That’s when it came — the moment in which Diomedes began to wonder if stating his case as he’d done had been a good idea.

“Mighty Diomedes, could you leave us for a moment?” the King of Mycenae said. “Wait outside if you’d be so kind?”

He even sent Diomedes a small, encouraging smile. Bastard, Odysseus thought. With the corner of his eye, he watched the young warrior exit the tent.

Silence fell upon the two men who stayed inside. Agamemnon finished his wine and put the cup on a desk. He released a deep sigh as he studied the cup for an unnecessarily long moment while Odysseus was boring a hole in him with his expectant staring.

“Why did you do that, Odysseus?” asked Agamemnon, still surveying the cup.

“I’ve told you before, my Lord. I wanted to—”

“Quit it, Laertiades. I know you’re lying.”

“Me?” Odysseus gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “Lying to you? My King, you’d be the last man I’d ever lie to!”

“Something tells me I’d be the first one whom you’d lie to without a hint of hesitation.” Agamemnon no longer found the cup interesting and locked his eyes with Odysseus’. “How can this be? Care to enlighten me?”

“It must be just an impression, sir,” Odysseus answered, now gesturing with his hand to make his point stronger. “I cannot blame you if you choose to be more careful than usual, since we happen to be in a particularly unusual situation. A ten-year war, who would’ve thought! Or maybe you, oh wide-ruling lord, appear to be flattering yourself from time to time, thinking that I’d come running to you to tell you my newest and most elaborate lies first, hm?”

He finished with a smile gracing his lips and the older king had an urge to wipe it off the Ithacan’s face in an instant.

The chair creaked as Agamemnon stood up. Odysseus swallowed and watched the other man walk over to him at an almost lazy pace. There was also something ignorant or uninterested in his eyes that Odysseus knew was hiding a different emotion. Irritation, most likely.

“You see, son of Laërtes, I can be a merciful man. Strict though I can be, I am also able to show forgiveness. So if you,” the king droned on, “reveal to me why you tried to take Diomedes’ life, I shall grant you with my mercy.”

Face to face with the tall and bulky ruler, Odysseus considered his choices. He could stand by his initial narration but he couldn’t be sure whether it’ll bring him success.

“Ah, brilliant Agamemnon, son of Atreus,” Odysseus sighed and dropped his head, “the truth is… The truth is simpler than you would expect from someone like me.”

“What is it then?”

The master of lies looked up at Agamemnon and, with slumped shoulders, replied, “I only want to go back home. Sail to my kingdom, my Ithaca. See my family again. It’s been ten years!”

Agamemnon lifted his chin and squinted down at Odysseus.

With hope in his voice, hands bent at the elbows and fingertips against his chest, he said, “I thought that if I killed our skilled battle-crier, you’d reward me for my bravery and perseverance, and…”

“Let you return to your little island sooner?”

“Precisely, sir.” Odysseus sighed and fell onto his knees, one hand raised in supplication. “Lord Agamemnon, son of Atreus, I beg you for your forgiveness. As you have asked of me, I told you the truth, and now I can do no more and no less than let you decide my fate.”

Agamemnon chuckled, sending a cold chill down Odysseus’ spine. “At last.”

The Ithacan’s eyes grew wide as he snapped them back at the king before him. He only managed to mutter a small “what?” before his hand got snatched and Agamemnon dragged him onto his feet. Having released his wrist, the older ruler grabbed Odysseus by his jaw. Odysseus froze and clenched his hands into fists, keeping them down along his sides.

“Cunning Odysseus, it is of no matter to me whether the words you speak are true or not. But do know this: what I shall now say is nothing but the truth. While enduring all your scheming, I have been yearning to see the day on which your tricks lead you astray. Do not be mistaken — I am not the only one who thinks about you in this manner.”

Odysseus briefly wondered whether Diomedes had been longing for the same thing.

“I am no fool, though. I know you’re said not to be one, either. Thus, I should expect you to make a wise decision.”

“I am all ears, my Lord,” said Odysseus, keeping his voice steady, although he could feel himself tremble on the inside.

“Let me judge you now, so that no one else will ever hear about this tragic lapse of reason of yours.”

“If I’m to be judged, I’d rather have it done the proper way. After the war, on our lands. As it should be.”

Agamemnon sniggered darkly and let Odysseus’ jaw go. The Ithacan exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and then stilled once more as the Mycenaean king rubbed his cheek with his fingers. Odysseus did everything he could not to flinch away from the touch.

“Of course, you could choose that, son of Laërtes. However, I would advise you to reconsider,” Agamemnon said with fake understanding, sliding his fingers down to Odysseus’ neck. He felt the man swallow and continued, “you must know that if you decide on that, I shall make sure that you will not see your family again.”

Dread gripped Odysseus’ chest and he shivered, his knuckles white. He was staring at some random spot behind Agamemnon as the older king leaned in closer to his ear. Odysseus was disgusted, both by the other king’s words and actions. And yet, he wouldn’t fight back. He didn’t know what Agamemnon meant by bringing up the great tactician’s family but he couldn’t risk putting his loved ones in danger if that was the case.

In moments like this, he severely cursed his smaller posture. He had strength, obviously, but it wasn’t enough to deny a man like Agamemnon.

“You will not sail back to Ithaca. You will sail with me until, eventually, you meet your fate. But before that, Odysseus, before you’re tried for treason…” he rambled on, his breath fanning over Odysseus’ skin like a flame of the Asphodel, his hand wrapped around the side of his neck. “You shall find that being unable to return to your dear Ithaca is the least of your concerns. Who knows, maybe I will accidentally discover why the son of Tydeus has taken such a fancy to you?”

Words escaped the master of lies. Despite himself, he just stood there, shuddering on the inside.

As soon as Agamemnon drew away from him, Odysseus took a deeper inhale and his eyes met the other king’s. Sick contentment was shining in the dark irises. He chortled as he brushed Odysseus’ cheek again and then lightly slapped him on it.

Odysseus averted his gaze, feeling the slight stinging caused by the strike.

“The choice is yours, King of Ithaca.”

“Judge me, oh lord of men,” Odysseus said without second thoughts. “Judge me now and allow me to sail back home when the war is over.”

He lowered his head and asked in a sorrowful tone, “why, my King?”

“Oh, the answer is your family, Odysseus, son of Laërtes,” Agamemnon announced and walked away from him to circle him like a predator ready to lunge at his prey. “You must understand that all of us here would rather be back in our homelands already. We all miss home, Odysseus. You are not the only one separated from those who you love and none of us here need daily reminders of your woe and misery.”

“With all due respect, my Lord.” Odysseus frowned and lifted his head back up, following the other man with his eyes when he was in his eyeshot. “Aren’t we all here precisely because of a family separated?”

“And what led to it, my great tactician? Whose idea was it? Who suggested that godforsaken oath, Odysseus?”

His breathing laboured, Odysseus pursed his lips.

A candle flickered.

“Who had us all swear to protect Helen and her husband? Who had his own business in arranging the oath?”

Odysseus raised his eyebrows and his mouth fell slightly open. “How…?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” Agamemnon finally stopped his pacing and stood at his desk. He poured himself some wine, rocked the cup and took a swig. Leaning his hip against the edge of the desk, he said, “so, wise Odysseus… Could you perhaps tell me, answer me this question that I cannot help but keep thinking of: who started the war?”

Wetting his lips, Odysseus watched Agamemnon drink his wine as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just stripped the King of Ithaca of his dignity, calling him out on his constant scheming and whining, and crying for his home.

“Who, son of Laërtes?”

“I did, sir” Odysseus replied calmly, his look ice-cold and glued to Agamemnon who was enjoying his wine far too much, given the situation.

The candle flickered again and shadows danced in the tent, sharpening the King of Mycenae’s features. Highlighting the malicious smile plastered on his face. One that had Odysseus’ guts twist.

“Be aware that there’s barely a soul here in this camp that doesn’t want to get rid of you. For some unknown reason, my brother deems you his friend.”

Annoyance in Agamemnon’s voice was Odysseus’ little victory. Besides, it was always useful to know that Menelaus was so fond of him.

Having ensured that Helios wasn’t going to ride his chariot across the sky for at least an hour more, Agamemnon cleared his throat and said, “but I diverse. Odysseus, King of Ithaca, according to your plea, you shall be judged and punished here, on foreign soil. For this treason against the King of Argos, and thereby against all the Achaeans, you shall receive thirty lashes. The mighty son of Tydeus shall execute my order himself.”

Agamemnon’s definite voice made Odysseus’ chest feel tight. He swore he couldn’t breathe for a moment. The way his eyes widened caused the King of Mycenae’s lips to tilt upwards and the corners of his eyes to wrinkle. He could clearly see the Ithacan’s inner struggle; a clear refusal ready to leave his mouth.

Odysseus’ heart hurt as he realised how Agamemnon’s command would affect Diomedes. He could and would take the whipping but Diomedes? He hadn’t asked for this. And now Odysseus had just dragged him into his own mess even further. The rift between them could only grow wider and deeper if the order was to be carried out the way Agamemnon wished it to.

The thought of being struck by Diomedes did terrify Odysseus, though. He was well-aware of the power and strength of that young king — probably more than anybody else. Driven by emotions and rage, Diomedes wasn’t going to go easy on him. There was a need for revenge boiling in him and both Odysseus and Agamemnon realised that. The latter cleverly used that knowledge, while the former was dreading the mere idea of it.

“My Lord, brilliant Agamemnon, he is going to kill me,” Odysseus said as if he were stating a fact.

“Then I suggest that you start praying to the bright-eyed goddess to protect you from the wrath of the King of Argos. I, for one, will grant him what he deserves.” Agamemnon paused. “We’ve lost Achilles, Odysseus, our greatest warrior. We’ve almost lost Diomedes. Because of you. It couldn’t have ended any other way, could it?”

“It couldn’t.”

[sleepyselkiesims]

Part 35

Cinder knew how much Alexa loved her grill, though she usually left her food to rot on it... someone had to clean it, and Cinder considered it a fair trade for free rent.

Although, recently Cinder had been having some rather ungracious thoughts about his living arrangement... but it was hard to focus on the negativity when he had such a cute puppy to distract him with dancing! And Cinder would always rather daydream and dance than focus on his problems.

Bruno was also doing his part to fight negativity, herding it into a room and keeping a definitely wide open eye on it.

When Alexa eventually dodged Bruno to go to work, the loyal dog did his best to help out with chore time.

Unfortunately trying to help out just got Bruno all messy, leading to more chores. Poor lil guy felt so guilty about the whole thing.

Cinder was kept so busy cooking and cleaning, poor Jaq-Gus was also suffering the messy consequences.

Thankfully with the twins out of the house and busy, Cinder found a spare moment to save Jaq-Gus from the filth.

Cleaning + pet care had always been Cinder's favorite things, so between Bruno and the rat he was having the time of his life! Alexa shoving him into this room with the mousehole really did have it's upsides!

CINDER DO NOT PUT THE RECENTLY FILTHY RAT RIGHT NEAR YOUR FACE!!

Phew! Thankfully Cinder did stay movie-accurate insofar as having animals magically love him and not want to cause him harm. Jaq-Gus enjoyed rodent playtime just as much as Cinder!

Once all the chores for the day were done, Cinder had one last thing he needed to do in the kitchen...

Cinder's cooking skills had improved a lot since he'd moved in with the Barrera's, but uh.... baking still escaped him. Literally.

Bruno initially came over to lick up some spilled deliciousness, but found himself face to face with a familiar shape baking in the oven...

Bruno didn't know much about the ways of humans, but he knew when this particular food was made, it meant it was time for lots of people, celebrating, presents.... so where was everyone?

As Cinder pulled the cake out of the oven, he tried to reassure Bruno that it was ok, really. But Bruno knew the boy's smile was starting to wear thin.

Bonus

Still too soon for me, Selene. Too soon....

[vaguely-concerned]

I'm playing Returnal right now to stave off the Dragon Age craving a few more days and having an absolute blast with the gameplay especially. the combat/gameplay loop is completely my jam it eats my brain very well for hours at a time. The art direction is really striking. but most of all I am entertained and endeared by this game's dedication to depicting a universe where truly no one has ever had a good time ever

[carewyncromwell]

"Lift me up and lead me to the garden, Where life begins anew -- Where I'll find you, And I'll find you love me too..."

~"Come to My Garden/Lift Me Up" from The Secret Garden (musical)

x~x~x~x

Jackson Knightly's profile! // more about Jackson's parents // fancasting Alec Guinness as Everard Knightly and Mia Wasikowska as Cassandra Knightly

x~x~x~x

Everard Knightly had always been a reserved, upright gentleman, by reputation. He and his wife Viola were both active in Wizarding World high society, with Viola advocating for new safety rules for the International Quidditch League and Everard working as a well-respected Ministry Apparition instructor. Even most of their daughters followed their parents' example by making good marriage matches or pursuing their own respectable careers -- Selene was married to a well-respected Hitwizard with five daughters of her own; Ariadne had opened a new clothing shop in Diagon Alley with her business partner Eden Twilfitt; even private magical tutor Circe had married late in life to a wealthy widower and now had both a stepdaughter and a new baby on the way.

The black sheep of the Knightly family, therefore, was youngest daughter Cassandra.

Cassandra, contrary to her name, quite frankly never looked that far past the present. She was emotional and impulsive, prone to jump first and ask questions later, and that got her into trouble more than once. The most significant trouble it got her into, though, was her failed marriage with Muggle conman John Eglinton. It was such a big mistake, in fact, that it even alienated Cassandra from her parents, since Everard detested and distrusted the hell out of his new son-in-law and refused to have any contact with him. The rift was only bridged when Cassandra Apparated home to her parents one cold, rainy Monday night, her hair and clothes soaked through and covered with mud and her tear-stained face paler and more desperate than her family had ever seen.

"He took him," she sobbed to her parents. "John, he -- he took my Jackie!"

Viola sat on the chaise longue in the parlor with her youngest daughter's head in her lap all night as Cassandra broke down and told them the whole story -- how her nine-year-old son Jackson had used underage magic in front of both of his parents; how, after seeing how happy John had looked, Cassandra told him about both Jackson's and her magic; how John had wanted to use their talents to get them out of their financial trouble and how Cassandra herself had put her foot down; and finally, how John did the unimaginable -- kidnapping his own son and disappearing to who knows where.

Everard himself didn't sit down. Instead he stood by the window the whole time, looking out but listening to every word his youngest daughter said. When she was finished, the senior wizard immediately strode across the room, telling Viola in a terse voice to tend to Cassandra, and headed straight to his office. He spent the next hour sending as many letters as he could to every Ministry employee and contact he could think of, from the Head of Magical Transportation all the way to a old Muggle-born school friend who Everard thought might know more about how a Muggle might try to go into hiding. Everard threw himself into finding his grandson, and he didn't rest until Jackson was finally brought back to England three years later.

When twelve-year-old Jackson caught sight of his mother at the dock, his face was akin to a sunbeam. He ran at top speed, ducking and dodging dozens of people to reach her, and when they finally came together, he threw both of his arms around Cassandra, his mouth spread into the biggest, brightest smile, even as she sobbed tears of joy and petted his hair over and over like he was a little puppy.

The sight was enough to make Viola dab at her eyes with her handkerchief -- Everard, however, remained quiet and only spoke when he approached his grandson.

Quite a scrawny little cosset, the old wizard thought as he appraised the boy. Jackson definitely resembled his Muggle father. The blue eyes were different, though -- rather like his own, actually.

Jackson noticed Everard looking at him much more quickly than his mother did. It made him gently try to pry himself from the still-crying Cassandra's arms.

"There, there, Mother dear," he said, smiling as kindly as he could, "I'm all right -- we're all right, aren't we now...?"

He tried to smile at Everard and Viola as he bowed as respectfully as a man would to a proper stranger.

"Good day, sir -- madam," he said politely. "I thank you kindly for accompanying my mother here...I know she likely claimed no desire for an escort, nor does she need one, really, but thank you all the same!"

Everard blinked slowly. Well -- at least the boy had manners. That was more than could be said for his father.

Viola smiled indulgently. "Why, of course, Jackson. It's only natural, for family to support one another..."

Jackson blinked in surprise. "Family?"

He looked at his mother for explanation. Cassandra looked a bit chagrined.

"Jackie," she said lowly, "this is your grandmother, Viola, and grandfather, Everard. ...They're my parents."

Jackson gave an even wider, more dramatic double-blink. His mouth then fell open in the biggest smile.

"Wait, then -- then -- " he looked from Viola to Everard back excitedly. " -- does that mean you're -- that you have -- ?"

He pretended to wave a wand in his hand. Cassandra nodded, but Jackson barely saw the faint discomfort in her expression. His blue eyes were positively alight with glee: an expression that made him remind Everard all the more of his mother when she was young, examining Muggle trinkets and talking out loud about how she might try to fix them.

They did not need to have Jackson start babbling on about magic and wizards out in public. So Everard cleared his throat pointedly.

"We can talk plenty more on the matter when we get home," he said, his eyes rather pointed on Jackson as he guided Viola around in a turn. "Come along now."

Cassandra could feel Everard's muted reproach and pursed her lips slightly. Jackson, however, wasn't the least bit offended or put-out -- he was too high on cloud nine to care, and he beamed at his mother, holding out his arm like a gentleman for her to take.

Cassandra couldn't bite back a small smile as she brought both arms around her son's, squeezing the preteen boy affectionately to her side.

Maybe her father had to be as stiff and cold as ever, but she wouldn't be. She wanted Jackson to know just how happy she was, to have him home at last.

x~x~x~x~x

The next few days, Cassandra helped Jackson get settled at the Knightly family home in Wiltshire. Everard had noticed how much of that "settling," though, involved her getting him out of the house -- she took him to Diagon Alley to get his shopping done and showed him how to use Floo Powder and the Knight Bus to get around London. Admittedly these were useful things for the boy to know, but Everard could also sense his daughter was restless being back in her old family home and, now that she had her son back, was happy to use him as an excuse to leave it.

She'd always been such a rebellious child. It frustrated Everard to no end that she never channeled that rebelliousness toward any meaningful ambition, rather than taking it out on him.

One day after Cassandra and Jackson returned from London, however, Everard noticed Jackson leave his mother in the front yard, rather than escort her in. The boy acted as smiley and affable as ever, but even from a distance, Everard sensed something was off. Perhaps it was just how quickly Jackson strode away and how much he was avoiding his mother's eye. That feeling Everard had only persisted when Jackson did not join his mother and grandmother for tea that afternoon.

"Now, Cassandra, where is your Jack?" asked Viola. "Is he not feeling well?"

"He said he had some reading to catch up on," Cassandra muttered.

Her body language was evasive as she looked away out the window. Everard immediately sensed deception, and it made his own blue eyes narrow over the newspaper in his hands.

"Hmm -- well, it is good that the boy's studying hard," Viola said conversationally as she sipped her own tea. "He'll have his work cut out for him, catching up with his fellow second years in time for the start of term...why, even just having lived as a Muggle for so long will already put him at a great disadvantage, when it comes to wand care and proper etiquette -- "

"My Jackie is as proper a gentleman as any boy his age," Cassandra bit back hotly. "Likely more, judging by the kinds of dumb meaters I knew at Hogwarts -- "

"Mind your volume, Cassandra," said Everard lowly.

"I'll mind my volume when my mother learns to bites her tongue," Cassandra spat. "I know you two always hated John, and yes, you had good reason, but I will not have you acting like Jackson being raised in the Muggle World or having Muggle ancestry is somehow a problem -- "

"Cassandra," Everard reproached a bit more sternly. After a moment, he glanced at Viola pointedly as he murmured, "We think nothing of the sort. Your mother is merely concerned about Jackson's well-being...and how very much he still has to learn. Don't forget that your choices will affect his reputation in our World, whether you like it or not -- and that he might be the one to have to face the true brunt of those choices."

Cassandra's dark eyes burned with both guilt and righteous anger as she turned away, looking back out the window with a huff. Everard himself slowly found himself looking out the window too, contemplating his next words.

"...What happened in London today?"

Cassandra and Viola both looked startled.

"Your boy seemed oddly quiet when you both returned home," said Everard. "He didn't even walk with you inside."

Cassandra averted her eyes again.

"...You wouldn't understand."

Everard cocked his eyebrows. "Oh?"

The cool, daring edge to his level tone annoyed Cassandra enough that she whirled on him.

"We visited our old neighborhood, if you must know," she said harshly. "Jackie wanted to see his old apple tree, and...well..."

She trailed off.

"His old apple tree?" said Viola, surprised. "I didn't know you'd owned enough land to have an orchard."

"We didn't," Cassandra said exasperatedly, "it wasn't -- it wasn't ours, it...was a tree in the neighborhood, down the road from our house. Jackie liked to read under it, when he was younger. It was sort of his...special place."

Something sadder passed over Cassandra's face.

"But it looks like sometime after we left, the tree got cut down. Jackie tried to act like he wasn't upset, but..."

She trailed off again with another sigh, her gaze again drifting out the window.

Everard looked down at his paper, thought percolating over his face. Then he glanced at Viola, who looked back at him sadly before putting down her teacup on the side table.

"The poor thing...perhaps I can see about making a special dessert with supper tonight, to cheer the boy up. How about a nice plum pudding? Perhaps some fruitcake?"

Cassandra's lip twitched. None of the Knightlys were as keen on fruitcake as Viola was.

"...Jackie likes strawberries best," she said after a moment to herself. "I'll go out and pick him up some strawberry ice cream. That will go plenty well with some shortbread."

With this, she put down her untouched tea on the side table and headed out of the parlor with only a firm, yet dismissive "I'll be back soon," as farewell. Viola deflated visibly.

"She really is still angry with us, isn't she?" the witch said gloomily. "For cutting her off, after she married that horrid man...?"

"No, dearest -- the willful child just doesn't like being here and she's taking it out on us," Everard said curtly, his eyes returning to his paper.

"But why? I mean -- we've done everything we could to try to make her comfortable, to support her after what happened. Yes, of course Cassandra used to act out when she was younger sometimes, but we were still happy before..." Viola looked like she was grasping at straws. "...I just don't understand why we can't go back to how we were before."

"Because we can't. And we shouldn't expect us to."

Everard looked up from his paper again. He regarded his wife with a detached, but slightly sadder eye as he slid his thick-framed glasses off his nose.

"...Cassandra has plenty of vices," he said softly, "but the most prominent one she inherited from me is pride. I'm quite sure she liked feeling independent and self-sufficient, even if it was while she was under the sway and roof of someone like John Eglinton. There, at least, she could pretend that she had a say over how her home was run and how she and her son lived. Living under our roof, however...well, she knows what we say goes. However much she came to us out of desperation, it doesn't undo everything that's happened between us. And not unlike me, Cassandra's not as prone to forgive and forget as you are, my dear."

Viola looked down sadly into her tea.

"Don't worry, dearest -- Cassandra's ire is undoubtedly directed more toward me than you," Everard said dryly as he put his glasses back on. "Notice that she didn't outright slap down your idea of fruitcake when you suggested it."

Viola puffed up her cheeks in faint irritation. "Oh, Everard!" She gave a loud sigh. "Why is it that I'm the only one in this family who appreciates a good fruitcake? Is it really so much to ask that I might enjoy my favorite treat with just one grandchild of mine?"

The very faintest smirk brushed over Everard's face as he returned his focus to his newspaper. Rather than finish reading it, though, he found himself slowly losing focus, his gaze again drifting out to the window. It was only this time, at long last, that he finally caught side of the tiny frame of Jackson, hiding behind a bush with a book in his hands and an oddly sad expression on his face.

The young boy was huddled up in a ball -- almost like he wanted to be completely hidden from view, safe in his own little world, as he read all by himself.

Everard looked away from the window and turned back to his paper...but the gears in his brain were still moving.

x~x~x~x

The next day Everard actually went to go find Jackson out in the back garden. The young boy was surprised when the older man approached him, and even more so when he came levitating what looked like a small sapling in a pot at his side.

"Ah...good afternoon, Grandfather," said Jackson. He tried to put on his best, polite smile.

"Good afternoon," Everard said curtly.

He saw Jackson's eyes dart to the sapling in his hands curiously. With a quick clearing of his throat, Everard adjusted his wand arm so that the pot at his side hovered a bit closer.

"Your mother informed me that you used to have an apple tree, near your old residence," he said stiffly.

Jackson blinked twice. "...Oh! Yes, sir." He forced the brightest smile he could despite the sadness he clearly felt. "It was really quite a lovely thing...beautiful blossoms in the spring, the most lovely red delicious in the fall...I wish you could've seen it. I'm sure you would've liked it."

"Hm..."

Everard regarded Jackson with his usual detached eye. Unlike most children he'd ever encountered, including Selene's grandchildren, Jackson seemed unperturbed by the silent scrutiny. If anything, he only seemed to smile and talk more.

"Did you purchase that for your garden?" he asked. "Would you like me to help you plant it? That is, if you don't intend to do it with magic. I'm no expert on such things, but I did help Mother in our small garden back home...carry tools and the like, you know."

Everard was actually a bit startled by how willing Jackson was to plant the sapling, right off the bat. It actually made his expression open slightly, becoming more plain and frank than usual.

"...That actually was exactly my intention," he admitted.

Jackson beamed. "Great!"

He put down his book on the grass -- the title The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe gleamed in faded gold on the worn black cover. Then the boy leapt to his feet and moved to take the pot out of the air and into his arms

"Ugh...where would you like it?" he asked brightly. "By the gate? Or perhaps near the back door, so as to greet visitors?"

Everard watched Jackson strain just a bit under the weight of the small tree. "...That actually will be all up to you."

Jackson looked startled. Everard crossed his arms.

"That is a dwarf apple tree. It's still but a sapling -- even with magic helping it along, it shan't grow into a full tree for at least a year, and it won't bear fruit until at least another year or two after that."

He regarded Jackson with his usual piercing eye over his glasses, yet something in his expression seemed oddly apprehensive...almost curious to see how the boy would respond.

"If I give you this sapling, young Jackson, and you decide to plant it in our garden and put in the work needed to take care of it...then by the time you return home for summer break, at the end of spring term, you should ideally have a new reading spot here in our garden that you may use to your heart's content."

Jackson didn't answer -- all he could do at first was stare down at the little tree as he put it down in front of him. A sad smile flickered over the boy's face, and Everard for a brief moment thought he was going to reject the suggestion. But...

"...Sir...it truly is a wonderful...generous gift," said Jackson. "But as soon as I go off to school, I would have no way to tend to it as I should. Is there a spell I could cast, to make sure my tree gets watered while I'm away?"

Everard blinked. Then, amazingly, his wrinkled expression actually seemed to soften.

"No," he said. "But I will keep an eye on how well you tend to your tree. And I will give you my word as a gentleman and wizard that I shall tend to your tree in your absence with however much diligence you put in. Do I make myself clear?"

Jackson's whole face seemed to light up again. Before Everard knew what was happening, the boy had actually flung himself forward and thrown his arms around his grandfather's chest in a squeezing hug.

"Yes, sir!" he said delightedly. He then cleared his throat quickly as he let go of Everard and stepped back, still grinning from ear to ear as he bowed. "Ahem -- that is -- yes, Grandfather, I do understand. I'll take care of it the very best that I can -- that way you have to do the same for me, whenever I'm gone! Then when it's full-grown, we'll have to sit under the tree together! At least once. Can't let you do so much work with none of the reward, now can we?"

The twelve-year-old boy grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with both happiness and a bit of mischief.

Everard was taken aback by his grandson's enthusiasm -- understandable, of course. But the thing that startled him almost more was how much he took Everard's original idea -- a test of sorts, meant to encourage a good work ethic in the boy to earn what he wanted rather than have it handed to him -- and turned it around, making it something that connected them. Like links of a chain Jackson was trying to forge between them.

Everard had always been a rather detached, aloof sort of parent who was faint with praise and physical affection. But despite himself, he found himself the faintest wry smile prickling at his features as he regarded the small boy.

"...Hm. No, I suppose not."

His eyes sparkling the same shade as his grandfather's, Jackson immediately put down the potted sapling and rolled up his sleeves.

"Do you have a shovel, Grandfather? A wheelbarrow would come in handy too, to hold the dirt until we're ready to plant it."

Everard actually smirked. "A shovel? Son -- I think it's high time we go over the principles of Vanishing and Conjuring."

Jackson's eyes lit up. "Oh, I know about that! I used to conjure flowers sometimes..." His expression faltered at the memory, before he slapped his usual smile back on, "...back in New York, you know."

Everard raised his eyebrows. Conjuring wandlessly, while still only a boy?

"Well, all the more reason for us to host a properly supervised Vanishing lesson for you. Come -- take out your wand."

x~x~x~x

And so over that next half-hour, Jackson and Everard Knightly magically planted the new apple tree sapling in the garden together. And over the course of their lives, Grandson and Grandfather only grew closer, not only forging a strong bond themselves, but also mending the bonds that had been ripped apart within the rest of the Knightly family. By the time Jackson married the love of his life, Montelimar Bloom @cursebreakerfarrier, many years later, the Knightlys were overall much happier -- as full of life and color as the small apple tree still flourishing in the Knightly family garden.

[fairyblue-alchemist]

hades 2 spoilers- the vow of rivals aka extreme measures, hades 2 edition. there's a lot of spoilers for this one actually

chronos spits in my dinner in a completely new way yet again.

the game does in fact continue the trend of giving the final boss a third phase. it sucks. why does he have laser beams. the arena's nice and big though so it's good for dodging his arena traps. of which he has more of. and new ones. did i mention the lasers yet? they hurt so bad. this is just em4 with no other vows what the fuck

wait i should rate the other ones i've done (besides typhon i haven't gotten to him yet)

hecate: 8/10. it's really fun actually. the triple threat is real and you get to see her use selene hexes which is very nice. docked points because she almost flat out killed me the first time i fought her

polyphemus: 5/10. welcome back poison mechanics! i did not miss you. medea why would you do this to me

scylla: 9/10. hello scylla-charybdis wombo combo i see you're back, derogatory. i will not say no to a new song though and it slaps severely. honestly if you fought either of them enough times, this fight's alright. it's just the two fights stacked under a trench coat with a new banger

eris: 4/10. hi. who gave you the aspect of lucifer from the last game. hidden aspect mention aside, if you know how the aspect of lucifer works then you know how this fight works. it's almost the same eris fight but with lasers. which is worse. and i didn't like her original fight to begin with

cerberus: 7/10. ah, the old asphodel throwback. in a different way! i mean, i personally don't have too bad of a time with his fight and the lava just reminds me of em2 lernie. ah, i kind of miss those days. no red shade though, unless i'm blind. hard to see the red in all the lava

prometheus: 0/10. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU AND FUCK HERACLES AND I'M GOING TO THROW YOU BOTH OFF THIS FUCKING MOUNTAIN BY THE ANKLES, I HOPE YOU BOTH BREAK ALL YOUR BONES ON THE WAY DOWN. THAT BITCH ASS EAGLE HAS NOTHING ON WHAT I'M GOING TO DO TO YOU. hitch from hera goes crazy here ngl. hate the fact that heracles will still try to swing at you during the memory puzzle. and he has a second phase. fuck off

chronos: 6/10. honestly i think i did too much em4 hades back in the other game because his attack patterns don't surprise me that much. except for his third phase. now THAT'S spicy. solid overclock of the original fight, and i respect it. kind of. i almost killed him first try and i kind of wish i did

typhon: 2/10. typhon fight is kinda alright on its own but HELLO CHRONOS WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE- wait you have your instakills. wait you can just straight up kill me. wait where's zeus. what the fuck man. this fight actually kind of sucks ass and i'm going to go wring chronos' neck like a chicken's. his third phase is kinda whatever except for the fact that he turns you into a wee babby

[ggfanlover]

a Original movie in my dr

Divider by: @bernardsbendystraws

Visuals:

Genre: comedy

Year: 2025

Movie Title: STOLEN TREASURE

Description:

Captain Selene Blackwater is a brilliant, fierce pirate captain on a relentless quest for the legendary lost treasure of the high seas—a fortune so enormous that it promises the power to change everything. Alongside her loyal but wildly unpredictable first mate, Finn, they uncover the treasure after a long and perilous journey. But their joy quickly turns to tension when they discover the treasure is not just lost—it’s stolen, and it belongs to a dangerous empire that will stop at nothing to reclaim it.Rather than return the treasure, Selene sees an opportunity to seize the riches and build an empire of her own. Finn, the spontaneous, reckless, and utterly goofy sidekick, is all in for the plan. He’s the kind of pirate who dives headfirst into every situation without thinking, and his impulsive nature often gets them into even bigger trouble. Whether it’s pulling off absurd stunts to evade capture or using absurd tactics to keep their enemies guessing, Finn’s chaos only fuels their misadventure.Together, the two of them go on a wild, unpredictable ride, dodging mercenaries and treasure hunters as they try to hide the treasure from its rightful owners. But when they’re forced to escape to the human world—an unfamiliar and strange place where technology and customs baffle them—Finn’s reckless antics really start to show. From crashing into new challenges to making enemies out of unlikely characters, he’s determined to hold on to the treasure at all costs, often dragging Selene into even crazier situations than she planned.

Cast:

Me and Ryan gosling

[korkorali]

So many options to choose from! I’ll pick Paper Airplanes, Della fighting with her girlfriends

This is an interesting one! It's not a one-shot, even though the title sort of makes it seem like it is- it's part of a larger superhero narrative that Nubs and I have been working on. This chapter specifically is about Della being her avoidant self, but also realizing that is it necessary to tell her girlfriends "hey by the way, I'm becoming a superhero again."

Rightfully, they don't exactly take it the best.  "But yeah, I just wanted to mention that Donnie and I used to be superheroes named Paperinik, apparently we're responsible for the moonlander's fear of the earth, we decided to come back and we're doing superhero work again, there was a book about astronomy I was thinking about picking up, and... yeah, that's pretty much it!" She said, clapping her hands together. "Pretty short of a talk, but I thought you deserved to know and everything. All good? All good."

"This honestly could have been an email." Penumbra agreed before Selene stands up, lifting her kettle off the heater.

"Hold on, you're doing what now?" The goddess in disguise asked, not noticing as the steaming hot water slopped onto her hand as she lifted her arms up in disbelief.

"Oh, I was thinking about picking up an astronomy book." Della shrugged, hands in her pockets. "I know you probably have it on your bookshelf, but like- I like owning things, you know?"

"Della, are you really going to be Paperinik again?" The older woman asked, pouring the hot water into three cups before the pain from being burned finally registered, and she dropped the kettle to the ground.

"Oh, Me damnit."

Selene cursed, putting her singed fingers into her beak to suck on before shaking them out.

"That looks like it hurt, are you okay?" Della asked, frowning in concern as she took Selene's hand. "Seriously, while you're in this type of body you're going to have to deal with pain, sweetie. It's a thing. Mainly to stop us from destroying ourselves."

"I'm fine." The Swan replied. "And don't think I didn't notice you dodging the question. Della, what in hades are you planning?"

"To get a book. Like I said." Della repeated stubbornly. "...And maybe also be Paperinik again- look, it's fine! You don't need to worry, we'll be good and all that."

"I really think I do need to worry, actually." Selene insisted as she gently removed her hand from Della's grip.

"You're not seriously going to go running around in a cape and tights punching people are you? You're almost forty!"

"Yes." Penny agreed, nodding her head. "How could you leave us out of that?"

"Penumbra, I love the enthusiasm but I think you're focusing on the wrong thing." The  goddess tried to tell the taller woman.

"Not really, this will be a good communal bonding experience for us to share. We will shed our blood together in glorious righteous combat."

(Tagging @imjustusingthistolikeartists so that she can also add her thoughts on it if they have any)