#further proof that Luke was right

[bikkinibottom]

the real reason luke decided to overthrow olympus is because he saw he had to get his letters of rec from the gods and said fuck that 😭

[ma1dita]

forever falling: luke castellan & his four great loves

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.3k

summary: (post-TLT) The one where he falls from grace and still thinks of you. (the four great loves of Luke Castellan’s life and how it will end up killing him) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: i held myself hostage in my car outside the gym until i got this right this morning — listened to forwards, beckon, rebound by adrienne lenker while writing this, thank you for your patience and happy september!

edited, doing taglist when i get back from the gym lmao

—

Falling to his death is taking a lot longer than Luke Castellan thought it would.

For a man with a multitude of regrets, he finds that he can count his biggest ones off the four bloodied fingers that stain his peripherals with every bump and tumble down the jagged rocks of Mount Tamalpais.

What a waste of a life.

Everything he’s ever tried to accomplish has come to this final, humiliating moment of being at someone else’s mercy. Life is so unfair, he thinks, to give everything for love and have it kick you off the side of a fucking mountain that reeks of eucalyptus and regret. Sure, it was wrong to steal the master bolt, to turn his back on camp, poison Thalia’s tree, have his little sister hold up the sky, try to kill Percy Jackson every so often, and cause all this chaos… (I mean you know how this goes) but the pros outweigh the cons here! Promise.

Luke was so sure that they would all see reason—that he was doing this all out of love, no matter how convoluted and backwards his way is compared to theirs, even if he’d never admit that. Change is supposed to be uncomfortable and war was never meant to be pretty. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, really. The gods weren’t meant to win.

But at the end of it all, love must be his greatest weakness. It has to be.

The Fates should be slicing through the fibers of his lifespan by now, ripping through the embroidered memories in his mind. Nothing of his is his own anymore—not his life, nor his love.

Love, if he’s learned anything in the two wretched decades that Hermes himself has cursed his existence with— hurts like a motherfucker. That, or Thalia was definitely wearing steel-toed boots when she kicked his ass off the cliff. He’s given his life for love, dedicating himself to the greater good of protecting his loved ones, and no one, not even the gods could stand in the way of that. A method to his madness or his undeniable naivety, he still can’t tell, but it's gotten him falling deep into an abyss at the hands of a bunch of kids who continually undo his plans to change the world.

Maybe love is little deaths then, and maybe Luke Castellan loves too hard.

There has never been a single moment in his life where he hasn’t gone down fighting—he never lets anything go, holding what’s important to him so close to his chest that it suffocates. Luke believes that after everything he’s been through, he was never meant for mediocrity—not even when it comes to love. Maybe his death would mean something then— maybe that is his glory. To love someone to death, even if it was wrong— if this is his end, maybe his death will bring peace he knows his love never could.

Four names run through his mind like most things do, intense and fleeting. His final thoughts as he plunges toward the earth are his last act of prayer. If the gods have never listened before, well, these thoughts are all he has to comfort him; they feel heavy behind his lips the further he falls.

Could the Fates be wrong?

His fatal flaw manifests itself into the names of four women he knows he could never deserve in this lifetime, but he’d die trying. He is, dying. This fall from grace is proof enough that he was never meant to be a hero. Excessive wrath bleeds from his being until all that’s left is love, and he’s ashamed of it.

Gods, he’s such a fucking loser.

Luke’s neck cracks against stone at the bottom of the cliff, white hot pain crawling up his spine with only one remaining thought clanging around in his brain—he should’ve never fucking come back to San Francisco.

And while we’re talking about regrets—Luke recognizes that the one thing he’s never had control of is love.

So he lets go, feeling the weight of his body crumple against the downhill slope of Mount Tamalpais like a puppet cut from its strings without a single cry of pain because Luke Castellan finally comes to accept the loves and losses of his life. His landing feels softer now, rolling to a stop like the waves on Westport Beach. Then he sinks into the earth with a bated sigh and it feels like gentle hands of loves that once believed in him.

Luke closes his eyes before his world spirals into black—because if these few moments are all he has left, he’d like to take this time to remember them.

MAY CASTELLAN [storgē - στοργή]

Luke Castellan was born into this world half-mortal, half-god, but 100% May Castellan’s son. From the moment he came into this world, he was fully her own. Hermes was a factor, yes—but the manifestation of a demigod is wholly that of the mortal parent in every aspect visible to the naked eye. Blood runs alongside ichor in his veins, but Luke is all hers in every way that matters—from the slope of his nose, his dark velvet curls, and the honey-molten warmth of his eyes. And they were happy together, once upon a time, even if it was mostly just the two of them.

The gods make their half-mortal children in the likeness and image of their human love since their own forms are ever changing. There is nothing permanent about being immortal—leaving their partners with babies that look like them but are vulnerable to the Mist. And when you love a god, the only tangible reminder left behind is one that goes where you cannot follow. Things most can’t understand— speedy baby steps padding down the hall, tiny hands unlocking the pantry door, and a motor mouth able to transmit meaning through toddler gibberish.

But before Luke even knew what love was, his mother made sure he knew hers was stuck to his being—like peanut butter and jelly on the roof of his mouth from all the sandwiches she made. His clothes used to smell like chamomile from her morning brew and his fingers were often stained blue from Kool-Aid powder. May would always let him mix, even if she had to pretend to not see him sipping from the big spoon in the pitcher. Loving a trickster meant she knew how to raise one.

His mother’s love was sugar sweet. It was in the cookies she baked, the kisses she’d press against his broken skin, and in the confectionery words she’d whisper to him before bedtime. As the years passed by, May would end up repeating herself and the ‘i love yous’ were more for her instead of him—like a mantra she needed to remind herself of who she was. But Luke always understood. When her voice would fail and tears would replace it, Luke learned to wipe away what his father left behind for him to take care of.

His identical chocolate irises watched hers turn to emerald, and it was then he knew that too much sugar could make everything rot.

THALIA GRACE [eros-ἔρως]

There was always this intensity whenever he was with Thalia Grace, the daughter of Zeus. And she made sure he always knew it—a static spark igniting between the two of them as soon as their eyes met in the streets of Charleston. Like him, Thalia always made sure to get what she wanted, two north poles of a magnet bullheading through life to get what they’re owed. By that same evening, they were elbow-deep in the golden dust of a dragon that had come home to find two bushy-browed little freaks with arrogance quadruple their size.

Luke and Thalia were a match made in hell—one always trying to outdo the other to get the upper hand when it comes to control. And at 12 years old, it was the first time Luke had ever had anyone fight by his side. But they were both short fuses and she always set him alight—a glint of her father rushing through her glare so hot that it burned blue. He would do anything to keep her attention on him since grabbing devotion by force is all he’s ever known. Moving quickly and being in her face was the only way to remind his mother of her affection so he assumed the same would go with her. That, and he couldn’t help being extra fidgety— being a son of Hermes meant he couldn’t sit still for long.

Though with Thalia’s growing annoyance of Luke, it was established that their dependence on each other was one of necessity to survive the odds stacked against them. She was repelled by what made them so similar, hubris that blinded them from wanting to figure out the difference between surviving and living. There was a poison of hate in their love for one another. A shame in wanting a love that understood the attraction that linked them so early on in life, however innocent.

Both were too alike and were burned the same.

They burned each other. A type of selflessness and selfishness that battled each other for balance, so close but so far away.

There was always something about Thalia that blistered at his confidence. A forbidden part of her he couldn’t bear. It’s why he spit words of acid instead of encouragement once he realized the Furies wanted her the most when they were running for their lives, Luke was always the fastest runner anyway—dragging little Annabeth up Half-Blood Hill and by the time he realized he’d left her for dead she became a hero (he admits now that he could’ve run circles and saved her too; he just didn’t want to).

Thalia Grace gave everything for this love. But she sure as hell never trusted him to do the same for her.

The spark they shared was snuffed out that day. And Luke continued to burn without her.

ANNABETH CHASE [philia- ϕιλία]

Luke Castellan had never been chosen for anything before. Growing up in the mortal world, he was used to watching families eat together through restaurant windows and children playing in parks that he would pass by, taking slower turns around the block so he could imagine what it felt like to be wanted. Luke was never once beckoned to take part, but he accepted long ago that he didn’t really belong anywhere.

It was nice to think about though.

The daughter of Athena doesn’t remember it anymore, something so trivial in that big brain of much more important thoughts—but when she reached her hand out to him instead of Thalia (after almost breaking his skull in with a rusty hammer), it meant everything to him. The kid thought he was a monster at first sight, and she still chose him after everything.

Annabeth Chase grew up idolizing him and he thrived because of it.

Like ambrosia, Luke was strengthened by her faith and it made him feel powerful. Having the daughter of Athena in his life was like being awarded a gold medal. He loved Annabeth like she was his biggest prize, gleaming on a shelf for him to admire when he was feeling down about himself. Both him and Thalia raised her with pride; with little to no material possessions, they learned to make something out of nothing—and they made it golden. He chased that feeling and it made him greedy for her affection—she announced his place in this world of cruelty. The harsh hands of fate were gilded by Midas himself as long as he had Annabeth. And she put him on a pedestal too—an unattainable goal in her mind that the highest form of glory was to be like her older brother and best friend.

Luke Castellan was finally good at something, and he had the proof to show for it in the shape of a small girl with inquisitive eyes. With her, all of his answers were right. To choose each other and be reciprocated with equal fervor helped him idealize what it felt like to win in life.

However Annabeth was not just his best student, but a prodigy that learned to outplay the trickster. An intellect like hers was never meant to corrode in a dusty, dark corner.

YOU [agape- ἀγάπη]

Plato wrote that humans were once created whole— with four arms, four legs, and two faces fused back-to-back for the entirety of their mortal existence. They were at peace, and how could you not be?

With your soulmate at your side, you could face anything, even the gods. And eventually Zeus felt threatened by their power, in knowing that humans could be invincible against any pain, suffering, and doubt as long as their soul was physically and intimately tied with their other half. So he separated humans from their soulmates in a snap of a finger. It was just another thing that jealousy would take away from humankind by immortal beings that would never understand what it means to live with an ending.

There’s a misconception that love is being together in our original state until the gods took it away. But in fact, it was written to be that love is the desire to become whole with someone else, in addition to yourself. Love is the choice to spend your life trying to find your other half—as we are destined to roam until we have someone to share the rest of our time. Humans have long accepted that we don’t know when the end will come—but the act of searching for our person to share it with, that is love.

Love is the ultimate sacrifice to meet your partner wherever they’re at, to make a home out of the rubble of your past and still choose it anyway knowing that the both of you will go hand in hand into the future. It isn’t glory like he’d convinced himself in the past; it’s not accomplishing some heroic feat worth the recognition of the gods—he knows by now that he couldn’t give a single shit about them. The answer had always been right in front of him, unwavering against the test of time with fluttering amethyst eyes and laughter that renders him senseless.

Why go through all that trouble? one might ask. But that is also his answer.

Fate had never cut him loose— tumbling down Mount Tamalpais was one of the many proofs of that, and with nothing else to do, Luke comes to the conclusion that loving you is a lifelong commitment he made to make more time with you.

Shitty deal, he thinks, trying to beat Kronos at his own domain without anyone’s help must have been a waste for it all to end so pathetically.

But loving you was a choice he made every day, even in your absence. It’s his reminder and solemn vow that loving you could never be a waste. Luke laments not being able to take you to meet his mother, or giving you the white house with the big bay windows, but by giving up his life, honor, and whatever glory is still attached to the name Luke Castellan— it must be worth it as long as you’re living the life you deserve.

Even if it means he’s not part of it, he hopes you’re still searching for him too.

—

In the end, even as he falls to his death, he finds himself calling out to his father for the last time. His plea reaches deaf ears of course—but he isn’t begging anymore. Luke Castellan thanks his father for the first and last time in his life and embraces his losses if it meant that he mattered. If not to the gods, then to his mother. To Annabeth. Thalia, even for a short moment, and you.

Especially to you.

Unwavering and without question, to live to the fullest is to have been by your side walking through the woods of Camp Half-Blood and hearing the sound of your cackles through the air, sending animals scattering from something he said.

Because to be loved despite everything he has done, everything he will do— Luke thinks he must be the luckiest man to have ever lived.

Death blankets the weary traveler, and time is an unflinching hand pulling him through a rip in reality. He’s gone in the blink of an eye, falling in reverse to where he needs to be next.

Somewhere, Atropos raises her scissors away from the indelible strand of his life force as she takes a breath and sits back, her sisters unable to do anything else but watch. This boy was becoming more trouble than what even the gods knew he was worth.

Luke Castellan must be lucky, indeed.

—-

Ding.

450, 451, 452, 453…

A wet cough from a satyr next to you disrupts the silence in the elevator up to Olympus; you give him a sideways glance that makes him shift closer to the door with what you hope is a blush and not a fever. It’s warm and stuffy in this 3x4 crystalline box that shoots towards the heavens, and a bit crowded for a weeknight—though you suppose it is the Winter Solstice.

You haven’t been back here since your ex-boyfriend stole the master bolt.

There’s a moment where you wonder if the Fates have ever found your predicament funny, but then the satyr sneezes with a boom.

537, 538, 539, 540…

It’s almost dusk now as clouds roll through the night sky and into the distance. Frost lines the metal frame of the elevator shaft and if you’re flying at the speed of light, it doesn’t seem to be a problem. But this trip is taking much longer than you thought it would for a decision you made on a whim.

You still have a final to take in the morning, and Annabeth wasn’t answering your calls—then her location on Find My iPhone sprung from San Francisco to the middle of Manhattan from the span of your trip on the Long Island Railroad.

Something was up. The sense of something important trickled down your spine like second nature. Can’t this thing go any faster?

It was second nature for you by now to know when something was up, especially with the trio. You’d always make the time for them. Besides, your life has been a little too quiet lately. Being an adult demigod does that; there’s no monsters that bump in the night anymore, just the ones in your head and the ones that make you take finals three days before Christmas.

…600.

Ding.

Weaving through what seems to be a celebration fit for the gods, your glove-clad hands push through the sea of minor godlings, heroes, and Olympians. Aphrodite sends you a wink that makes you feel hot to the touch before you realize Hestia’s eyes are also on you, the both of them clearly whispering about your treacherous love life. You shove your gloves and scarf into your jacket pocket. Bowing your head lightly in greeting, you keep walking further into the grand hall.

It seemed you were always a hot topic up here on Olympus. Great.

The music is so loud you can feel it in your chest, thumping away to the accelerated beat of your heart and by the time you grab a glass of ambrosia-spiked champagne to help with the lump in your throat, you hear the sound of your name in the midst of all the chaos.

A gentle hand grasps your shoulder then, and it’s Percy Jackson adorning a cup of punch and brand new wispy white tendrils that hang across his face. There’s a story that should follow, but he gapes at you like a fish out of water. Looking up at him (this boy grows like a weed!), both of your confused faces mirror each other as you sidle out words he’s still able to hear over the music, “What’s the celebration for? And why have none of you been answering my calls?”

The son of Poseidon swallows hard, until the smell of salt and sea foam surrounds you and you find yourself staring at the god of the sea himself, standing alongside him. With a smile soft like rippling water, he gently says, “I’ll leave you two to it. And I’ll call your father and stepmother over. Good to see you,” Poseidon says your name as he takes his exit. You hoped it was a good thing then, that he knew you.

Percy wondered why he was always left to make the difficult decisions.

He almost sounds like his father when he speaks, calling for your attention again as he clears his throat.

“Listen, I need to tell you something, and I think we should…”

Shaking your head, your eyes are scanning across the room, meeting Annabeth’s as she drops the hand of the minor god she’s dancing with and makes her way over to you. From the other side of the room, Poseidon pushes your father in your direction as he juggles two golden goblets in each hand, led by his wife as they almost float towards you.

“Whatever it is, spit it out Perce. Your audience is growing by the minute.”

“Hey princess, whatcha doing here? Don’t you have a test tomorrow?” You dad grins, nudging your shoulder and handing you one of the goblets. Ariadne presses a kiss against your temple and you smile, taking a sip before hearing Annabeth’s converse squeak to a stop next to you.

“Someone better tell me what’s going on right now,” your eye twitches and then you see Annabeth’s new strands of silver that frame her face as she grabs your arm and nestles against it.

“I…um…” the sandy-haired boy begins, and then your dad groans and you elbow him hard, wine spilling from his lips as his wife giggles like the sound of tinkling bells and you’re about to strangle the teenager on the marble tile he’s planted on.

“Luke’s…”

“Dead.”

Percy’s worried voice intermingles with a new one you haven’t heard before, like a crackling sound that leaves a metallic taste in your mouth, and then a girl shows her face—black eyeliner and silver jewelry clinking against each other as she looks into your eyes and blue meets purple.

So you start laughing. Cackling even, as your head nods slightly, and after they’ve given you a moment to compose yourself you take a big gulp of the drink in your right hand to then chase it with the one on your left.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. He’s not dead,” you insist, and everyone looks at you like you’re insane, even your father, the god of insanity himself. Ariadne’s hand caresses the nape of your neck as she whispers, “Maybe we should take a seat outside, darling…”

“No…No! I mean it,” you say almost incredulously, a hiccup slipping past your lips when you take in too much air. “That motherfucker doesn’t have the audacity to die and if he did, I would know.”

“This is how we’re letting you know,” Annie murmurs, before Percy sighs and his shoulders fall heavy with what seems to be the weight of the world, “She’s right. He’s not dead.”

A myriad of responses blur in the space around you, all going hazy as you blink and stay focused on Percy.

“It’d be too easy…” you murmur, nodding again like you’re convincing yourself of the fact. Annabeth rubs circles into your forearm and you realize you haven’t breathed since the daughter of Zeus made her entrance, “I’d know if he was dead.”

Thalia Grace looks you up and down thoughtfully, “So you’re the collateral damage.”

“Thalia!”

Annabeth exclaims, her hand tightening around yours and you know deep down she’s rejoicing at the news of Luke’s survival. But for yourself, you were unsure if you felt the same, almost chuckling at the irony of almost all of Luke’s favorite people in the same room as the gods he swore to overthrow, “That’s me. You were a tree the last time I saw you.”

“That’s me. I kicked him off a cliff, thought it would’ve done the job, but he’s always been too stubborn.”

A smile spreads across both your faces. You think about Luke interrupting your date last month by barging into your apartment and how that was tough enough to explain to your roommate, much less if you tried to tell your parents and best friends in the middle of a Christmas party.

You make the choice to keep Luke’s visits a secret. It doesn’t come as difficult as you thought it would.

Hermes bumps into your little group, eyes focused on his caduceus as it pings with different messages. The rest of you go quiet, mirth dimming despite the smile on the messenger god’s face and the kids take that as their cue to exit.

“What’s happening? A group like this, and with you making an appearance,” he nods in your direction, “Must be something special.” He nudges your dad, and you’ve forgotten that they’ve been best friends for millenia.

“Your kid’s not dead. You’d know that if you were nosy in the right places,” Dionysus says through a gulp of wine, turning and walking away nonchalantly, making you smile. Hermes looks at you with his face a mix of shock and appreciation, though you’ve done nothing to earn it. He follows your father with a gust of wind billowing behind his traveling feet.

Those two are more trouble than you and Luke were.

Biting your cheek, you turn to Ariadne and scoff, “So…. Do you think I should tell my dad that the other campers snuck into the party half an hour ago?”

Your stepmother laughs, her eyes following her love across the ballroom, choosing to let everyone enjoy the Winter Solstice for once.

—

“When does a war end? When can I say your name and have it mean only your name and not what you left behind?” - Ocean Vuong

[briefinquiries]

Luke Alvez x Reader: Promise You'll Call

Prompt: hi first i just want to say i love you writing so much. Do you think you could write something where luke finds out the reader’s significant other is harming them (mentally or physically)? I understand this is a rough topic but i was just going through a hard time with flashbacks. I understand if you can’t, thank you!

Word count: 7k (idk how this got to be so long)

Warnings: DV mention (in detail), blood tw

A/N: ayyyyooo, it's been forever since i've posted, but enjoy! i wanted to post, so i haven't proof read yet, so please excuse any grammatical mistakes, I'll go back and fix tomorrow :)

Luke honestly didn’t mean to eavesdrop. It just so happened that he was still in his truck, finishing up the burnt bagel he’d made in a rush this morning when you pulled into the parking garage. At first, Luke didn’t recognize that it was you in the black BMW that stopped in the middle of the garage, right behind his own truck. But when he peeked through his rearview mirror, he saw you sitting in the passenger seat, tucking a curtain of hair behind your ear. 

Luke’s stomach flipped, the same way it did every time he saw you. 

Except this time, he actually felt guilty for it, because he was pretty sure the guy driving the car was your boyfriend. Luke was new to the team in the last year, and while he’d done a pretty good job getting to know everyone at the BAU, he still hadn’t met partners or family yet. You were one of the few agents who never talked about your personal life at work. 

But even though Luke couldn’t see the man driving the car, as soon as you cracked open the passenger side door, he certainly heard him. 

Was it even considered eavesdropping if the entire parking garage could hear? 

“I’m not done talking!” The man’s voice echoed across the entire garage, causing Luke to straighten in his seat.  

“Will you lower your voice?” You snapped back in a hushed tone, before looking around the space, clearly embarrassed. 

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!”

“The whole city is going to hear you, Justin, please.”

“I don’t care if they do– get back in the fucking car!”

Something in Luke’s chest began boiling at the sound of his tone. Did he always speak to you that way? He fought back the urge to peel himself out of his truck. You were his coworker– not his girlfriend. It wasn’t his place to knock this guy down a few pegs, no matter how badly he wanted to. 

“I have nothing else to say to you right now–”

“Good, don’t talk. Fucking listen for once in your life!”

“You’re being ridiculous,” you said, voice eerily calm. It was like you were almost used to this kind of fighting– like you knew the exact steps to take to attempt de-escalating him. “I have to get to work. We’ll talk about this later.”

“If you shut that fucking door, you’re walking home. I swear to–” but the man’s voice was abruptly cut off by you shutting the door. 

Luke secretly felt proud as he watched you turn and walk away from the BMW without looking back. 

Suddenly, music blared through the speakers of the car before Luke heard tires squealing while the car drove away. Luke remained in place while he heard your footsteps fade into the distance, not wanting to embarrass you further or let you know he’d been heard the entire conversation that just played out. 

But while he gave you a moment to catch the elevator without him, Luke didn’t like the feeling that settled in his stomach. If your boyfriend acted like that in the middle of the bureaus parking garage, what the hell was he like behind closed doors?

…

You fought back tears for the entire elevator ride. Thank God no one got into the lift with you, so you at least had a moment of peace before having to pull everything together. 

Justin woke up mad– again. That had been a regular occurrence for the last year. And for the last month, he’d been convinced you were cheating on him. With zero evidence aside from a “hunch” he was apparently going on, there was no amount of convincing or location sharing or reminding him that your job came with sporadic hours that would change his mind. And things were getting worse. Each day it felt like he was angrier– more out of control. And each day you told yourself that you could handle it. You were literally trained on how to de-escalate murderers, for God’s sake. But this morning, when you woke up to not one, but four flat tires on the car you parked in the garage, you knew things were escalating again. 

As the elevator climbed, your phone suddenly pinged in your pocket. You pulled it out to read the text back from your mother. You’d reached out to her earlier, letting her know what you’d suspected– that Justin had slashed your tires so that you couldn’t take your own car to work. 

Mom: He wouldn’t do that. I know you are going through a rough patch, but Justin’s a good man. Did you reach out to that couple’s therapist I told you about?

You let out a sigh. 

Typical. 

Justin had worked at the local hospital with your father before he retired. As a world-wide renowned cardiovascular surgeon with a strong handshake and charismatic demeanor, he could do no wrong in your parent’s eyes. 

In the few instances you actually had reached out to them for support in the last year, the burden always fell back on you. What had you done to piss him off? What were you doing to mitigate the situation? You should have learned by now not to reach out to either one of them. You wouldn’t get the response you wanted. 

The elevator slowly climbed and you knew you had to pull it together. Deep breath in, deep breath out. You reached the fifth floor and stepped out of the elevator, trying to forget about everything that had just happened. 

Within an hour, a new case rolled in. You sat around the round table and listened to Emily give the rundown while Garcia clicked through slides of gruesome crime scenes she blatantly refused to even glimpse at . You tried to pay attention– to compartmentalize your home life like you had always been so good at doing. But as soon as you heard that the case was in Idaho– across the country, worry began creeping back inside of you. One of the biggest problems that Justin had was your constant travel for work. Although he was allowed to put in consistent, 16-hour days at the hospital, he got upset every time you told him where your next case was.

Which, honestly, you understood. When you took the job with the BAU, you never expected to have much of a life outside of it. You were gone more than you were home, and you knew that sort of lifestyle wasn’t for everyone. Except when you met him, Justin had known what you did for work. You didn’t lie or keep it a secret. He said he was okay with the traveling and the long hours. Until he wasn’t. 

Suddenly, there was a gentle tap on your shoulder. Every thought racing through your mind blew away and you refocused on the present moment. 

“Everything okay?” It was Luke asking. 

You looked around to realize that everyone else was packing up their belongings to board the jet. Turning to face Luke, you nodded. “Yeah, sorry. Just daydreaming, I guess.”

“Daydreaming with those crime scenes in the background?” he asked, nodding towards the gruesome picture still up on the screen. “You’ll have to teach me how to do that.”

You let out a breath of laughter. Luke hadn’t been on the team for long, but you realized within a few weeks of knowing him that he always knew how to make people laugh– no matter what was going on in the world around you. That was one of the many reasons he fit in so effortlessly with the team. 

“We can do a mindfulness class sometime,” you joked. 

He smiled, dimples popping from his dark, smooth skin. “I’d attend consistently.” 

Something fluttered in your stomach.

You just chalked it up to stress and nerves. 

…

Luke was supposed to be reviewing the case on the flight. Instead, he couldn’t stop watching you. Out of all the open seats, you chose one right across from him. You had the file open on your lap while your eyes scanned the page. Luke could tell you weren’t reading either, though, because the jet had already been airborne for almost half an hour and you hadn’t flipped the page. 

Meanwhile, Reid, who was to Luke’s right, had already read the entire file, front to back, probably three times by now. 

“Can you give me the Sparknotes version?” Luke leaned over and asked him.  

“What’s Sparknotes?” Reid asked, no hint of humor in his voice. 

Luke’s jaw fell open. “Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?”

“I don’t really think that intelligence can be measured or quantified in the way humans have tried to in the past. Technically I have an eidetic memory, which allows me to recall information with accurate precision. Meaning I’d actually have to see the information once to be able to recall it. I’ve never seen a Sparknote… or whatever you called it.”

A smirk spread across your lips, your eyes darting up to meet Luke’s. 

Luke shook his head in disbelief, offering you a small smile before turning back to Spencer. He’d been with the team nearly a year now and he still hadn’t gotten used to Reid’s demeanor. He wondered if he ever would. 

“You never had to Google the summary of a book when you were younger?”

Reid gave Luke a perplexed look. “Why would I do that if I have the book in front of me?”

“Because it’s faster.”

“I can read–”

“20 thousand words a minute,” Rossi interrupted as he walked by with an empty cup of coffee. “Yeah, we know, kid.”

He placed a free hand on Luke’s shoulder, patting it gently. “I have no idea what prompted this conversation, but trust me when I say it’s not worth it.”

Luke heard you stifle a laugh as Rossi walked past. 

…

You’d been on edge the entire plane ride. Justin never responded to your message, letting him know you’d be away for at least the next couple of days on a case. Maybe he was in the OR today, or maybe the hospital’s cell service was just spotty. 

Or maybe he really was just that mad at you. 

You knew the way he treated you was wrong. You recognized the red flags that had been staring you right in the face. But slashing your tires? Maybe your mom was right– maybe there was another explanation. Because no matter how much he yelled, or got in your face, or tried to intimidate you, you really didn’t think there was any way he could do that. 

You hated being this distracted while you worked. Emily was having to repeat instructions for you, JJ was throwing you worried glances, Spencer had asked three times now if you were okay… It was like you were the one being profiled in Idaho. 

Of course that wasn’t really the case, though. You were in Sun Valley because of a string of murdered women, each left dumped and discarded in ditches off the parkway. Each with ligature markings around their necks. Each with evidence of sexual assault. And each deserving of your undivided attention. 

You tried your best to give it to them. But in reality, when the case finally wrapped up six days after you’d arrived, you knew that everyone had picked up your slack. 

And while you were grateful to be part of a team that could pick up the slack of others, you hated that you had to utilize it. 

‘Unbelievable.’

That had been the only message you received from Justin the entire week you were away. You sent a practical novel back– trying to apologize and explain your side. Then you tried calling at least twice a day. But each time you went straight to his voicemail. Normally, space wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Except the jet was about to land back at Quantico, and you were terrified of what was next. 

Not to mention you had no ride home. 

“Hey,” a soothing voice suddenly said, stirring you from your thoughts. 

When you glanced up, you saw Luke gesturing towards the open seat across from you. 

“You mind? Everyone else is asleep.”

For a moment, you looked around the jet and noticed that Luke was right. Practically everyone was sprawled out or curled up against a window, passed out. You couldn’t blame them. It had been a rough case. If circumstances were different and you weren’t currently overthinking everything in your life, you’d probably be passed out too. 

Eventually you turned back to Luke and nodded. “You couldn't sleep?” You asked him. 

He shook his head. “Nah. I never sleep on planes. I think it’s a control-thing. I can never calm myself down enough to actually sleep.”

You frowned. “Now that you say that, I’ve never actually seen you sleep on the jet.”

“And you probably never will.” 

You grinned back. “Does that mean I’ll never get to know if Luke Alvez snores?”

“I’m afraid that information is classified,” he smirked. 

“Such a tease.”

Luke let out a low chuckle before casually leaning forward in his seat. “I did want to see if everything was okay, though.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, probably sounding too defensive. 

He shrugged. “I mean you just didn’t seem yourself this week. Not in a bad way or anything– just off.”

Shit. You knew it had been noticeable. But even still, the small part of you that was hoping it wasn’t deflated at Luke’s words. You actually debated telling him everything, which was so out of the norm for you lately. Ever since you and Justin had been having problems, you’d turned into a shell of who you used to be– you never hung out with Penn, Emily, or JJ anymore. You never had time for getting your ass kicked at chess on the jet with Reid, because you were too busy worrying if Justin was mad at you for leaving. You never joined everyone at Rossi’s evening dinners because you felt guilty for spending nights that you were home away from the house and Justin would never go with you. 

Suddenly, the harsh reality slapped you right in the face: You didn’t like who you were becoming. You didn’t like who you were when you were with Justin. The thought made you want to curl up and hide from the world– from Luke. But there was something about the way he looked at you– so earnest and intentional, like he was hanging onto every word, like he actually wanted to be someone you could trust, that felt prevented you from doing so. 

“You’re chewing on your lip,” Luke pointed out. “That’s how I always know when you’re overthinking.”

You relaxed your jaw instantly. That’s how he always knew? How often was Luke paying attention to your moods and mannerisms? The thought made something flutter in your stomach, but not in the anxious way it had been fluttering recently. This was softer– less scary. 

“Stupid profilers,” you muttered under your breath, desperate to break through whatever tension was boiling between the two of you. 

It was enough to earn a chuckle from Luke. “We are pretty annoying, aren’t we?” He sat back in his chair, cracking his knuckles casually. “You know, my last two girlfriends have broken up with me because of this job. One was serious– the last one, not so much. But still. They said it was too demanding– that I couldn’t make them a priority. I don’t know if you remember the Orlando case last fall. The one with–”

“The fourteen year old boy. We were too late to save him, but we got his sister,” you finished for him. “I remember.” Not only did you remember, but that very same case had been burned into your brain for months. 

Luke nodded. “Yeah. Well, when we got back from that case, that’s when she broke up with me. She said she was trying to deal with me being gone all the time. But if I couldn’t even be present when I was home, she was done. God, I had nightmares about that case for weeks– still do sometimes.” 

You gazed at him sympathetically. Unfortunately, his story wasn’t that out of the norm. Aside from you, everyone on the team in a relationship was already married. Once you had a solid, established relationship, most times it was doable. But the reality was, it was hard to date someone and be part of the BAU. 

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. 

“Don’t be,” he waved you off. “They were right. I put my job first. And I’d like to think that the person I’m supposed to be with would understand how important this work is to me, even if each case takes a little piece from me.”

You thought about Justin– always criticizing, always making comments and remarks about how much you worked. You thought about the last few weeks and all the late nights you’d sat and done unnecessary paper at your desk just to avoid going home to him. 

“Or maybe you’d actually want to make the person you’re supposed to be with the priority,” you suggested softly without meeting Luke’s gaze.   

Luke had just been so vulnerable with you– telling you about his relationship problems like you were someone he could confide in. And the scary part was, you liked it. You liked being someone he came to with these types of things. You wished he’d do it more. 

Justin never confided in you– never let you confide in him, either. You stared intently down at your lap and wondered what it would feel like to have someone who would. 

“Justin and I– we’re having some issues.”

Finally, you dared to look up at Luke. His brown eyes looked black in the dimly lit jet, but they still glistened as he listened. “He’s just so mad at me,” you whispered, voice faltering. You’d barely said anything, but you could already feel all of the emotions you’d been masking and forcing down start to bubble towards the surface. “All the time. And I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know if I want to do anything about it.”

Luke leaned forward again, his elbows resting on his knees while he wound his fingers together. “I heard him when he dropped you off in the garage the other day,” Luke said honestly. Instantly, you felt heat rise to your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I swear, I was just waiting in my car because I was early and well–”

You took a shaky breath, embarrassed beyond belief. “Anyone in the vicinity would have heard him that day.”

Luke’s voice lowered. “Does he always talk to you like that?” 

Yes, you thought. 

“No. That was just a bad morning.”

Luke nodded, but pursed his lips like he didn’t quite believe you. “I know it isn’t my place, but you don’t deserve that. I mean, fuck, no one does. But especially you.”

You smiled softly, trying to believe that he was right– that you didn’t deserve Justin’s harsh comments or anger. And on some level, you knew you didn’t. But another part of you always wondered why you didn’t try harder– why you didn’t care if he ended things or not. 

“Thanks Luke.” 

He nodded, leaning back once again. You gazed out the jet window, seeing familiar city lights in the distance. You’d be landing soon. And then it was back to whatever grim reality faced you at home.   

 “You don’t have your car today, do you?” Luke asked suddenly, stirring you from your thoughts. 

You shook your head. “Uh no. When I went to leave for work, my tires were flat.”

“All of them?” he asked, sounding shocked. 

“All of them.” 

“What’d you do, park in a pile of glass?”

“No, I think they were slashed.”

Luke’s eyes widened, a wave of concern washing over his face. “You don’t think–”

“I have no proof,” you said, knowing instantly what Luke was implying before he even said it. “But yes.”

“Jesus–”

You took a slow, steadying breath, doing your best not to fall apart in front of Luke. 

“I think your place is on my way home,” Luke said after a moment. “I can give you a ride.”

You looked up, instantly ready to decline the generous offer. Luke was good– too good. And you didn’t want to ruin whatever type of friendship was blossoming between you by being too needy right from the start. 

“Don’t even try to say no,” he spoke first. “Please let me give you a ride.”

By habit, you chewed on your lower lip. 

“Don’t overthink it,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t have offered if it was going to be an inconvenience.”

You felt guilty– you really couldn’t help it, and you weren’t used to accepting help from others. But something about Luke’s tone was so earnest, you believed him. He wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t expect you to say yes. After a moment, you nodded slowly. “Okay,” your head hung, gaze falling to your lap. “Thank you.”

The two of you spent the final minutes of the jet ride sitting quietly, gazes fixated out the window as the pilot landed you safely back in Quantico. When the lights flickered on, your other team members stirred in their seats with exhausted sighs and groans. You grabbed your go bag and followed closely behind Luke as he stepped off the plane. 

“Need anything inside?” he asked. 

You shook your head. “No, I’m good.”

With that, he adjusted the bag on his shoulder and veered towards the parking garage with you just strides behind him. 

Luke made small talk on the ride home. It was like he knew how nervous you were to see Justin and was trying to lighten the mood. You mostly just smiled and nodded in response, and felt grateful when Luke didn’t pressure you or point this out. Only when you got close enough to offer him instructions to your house did you actually utter any words. 

Then, before you knew it, Luke was putting his truck in park on the street near your house. You swallowed thickly as soon as you saw Justin’s car in the driveway and a single light still on in the house. 

The harsh reality was that you had no idea what to expect when you walked through those doors. But here… now… sitting in this truck with Luke, you felt safe. It was hard to leave that. 

But of course you had to. Luke couldn’t wait here all night. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you said softly, trying to conceal how shaky your voice sounded. 

“I don’t mean to overstep,” he said quickly. “But… I just– I mean, I don’t feel good about leaving you here.”

You shook your head quickly. Again, not wanting to feel like a burden. “I’m fine. It’ll be fine. He can be controlling and he gets angry– but he’d never hurt me or anything.”

Luke nodded, although the furrow in his brow told you he didn’t quite believe you. 

“You have my number. Promise me you’ll call if you need anything.”

You weren’t used to this kind of generosity. But before you could overthink things, you nodded earnestly, believing that you would actually call him if it came to that. If nothing else, Luke had proven how trustworthy he was in the last few hours alone. 

“Alright,” he nodded carefully as you slid out of the front seat of his truck, feet colliding with the pavement. 

“Thanks again,” you did your best to muster up a genuine smile. 

The corner of his lip tugged up slightly, but concern was still plastered over his face. “See you on Monday then.”

“Monday,” you agreed. 

With that, you closed the door– putting a literal wall between you and the only person who had made you feel safe in the last week. 

You turned towards your house, the knots in your stomach tightening with each passing moment. When you reached the front door, you turned one last time to see Luke leaned forward, eyes trained on you. Your chest softened when you realized he was waiting for you to get inside safely before driving off. Offering him one, final wave, you turned to unlock the front door. 

When you first stepped inside your house– everything looked normal. The light above the stove was on and the fridge hummed softly. You placed your duffel bag on the floor and stepped into the kitchen for some water. As you filled up a glass, you began to wonder if maybe you’d overreacted. Maybe Justin had been busy with work this week– just like you’d been. 

But your wishful thinking was short lived. 

Because the second you turned away from the faucet, you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sight of Justin– standing on the other side of the island counter. You hadn’t even heard him approach you. 

“Jesus, Justin–” you gasped, setting your glass of water down on the counter. “You scared me.”

Instead of replying, his eyes just narrowed. He looked angry– angrier than you’d ever seen him. An eerie chill crept down your spine, sending an eruption of goosebumps across your skin. 

“Where were you?” he asked, voice menacing and icy. 

“I told you– there was a case–”

His hands slammed down on the counter, causing you to take a step back as you jumped. 

“Don’t lie to me!” 

“I’m not lying–” you said quickly, trying to keep your own voice even. You knew how important it would be to remain calm. 

But despite your efforts, Justin swiped his hand across the counter, sending your cup of water colliding into the wall, where it shattered. 

You winced, unable to completely contain your shock. Because despite the yelling and the screaming, Justin had never done that before. Something inside of you told you that you had to leave… now– but you couldn’t react in time. Because before you could even turn your body to head towards the door, he was already turning the corner around the island, eliminating the only barrier between you and his violent outburst. 

“Where are you going, huh?” he challenged. “Gonna take off again?”

“I was at work, Justin– I told you that.”

He took another step closer to you, sending you a step backwards. Like a choreographed dance, you alternated steps until you heard the crunch of glass beneath your shoes. You’d reached the wall. You were cornered. 

Panic flooded through you. And suddenly, logic went out the window. You couldn’t think rationally– you couldn’t problem solve. Everything just went blank. 

“Who brought you home tonight, hm?” 

He was close enough that you could smell the alcohol melting off his breath. You lowered your head, trying to appear as submissive as you could– because what the hell else were you supposed to do?

“I saw the truck– the white one? Who the fuck was that?”

“Just someone from work,” you answered quickly. 

“Just someone from work, huh?” He took another step forward. There was practically no space between the two of you now. “Look at me when you talk.” 

You were trembling so hard, you couldn’t follow his commands as fast as he wanted. 

“I said–” he snapped harshly. Instantly, you felt fingers wrapping around your throat, forcing your head up. Justin’s hand squeezed, cutting air off. “Look at me when you talk.” 

His grip tightened. “Go ahead– say it. Tell me where you were.”

You opened your mouth, but you couldn’t even get air in your lungs, let alone formulate words. 

Justin’s eyebrow raised. For a moment, he actually looked like he was enjoying this. 

“No?” he asked. “Nothing? Are you finally done lying to me?”

You tried to inhale– but when nothing came, more panic settled in your stomach. You squirmed, needing air fast. Your hands raised to grab his forearm, desperate for him to let go. You tried to breathe again– but when air still didn’t come, you dug your nails into his skin without thinking– scratching him, hoping that would help. Except, you were so panicked, you had no concept of how hard you actually scratched him. Your nails broke through the skin– causing him to release your throat.  

“You bitch,” he hissed. Before you could even take a breath, you felt something collide with the side of your face, sending your head whipping to the side. 

Your head hung for a moment while your brain tried to comprehend what was happening. 

Justin had hit you– and there was currently something warm dripping down the side of your head. As you were hunched over, you felt something then collide with your stomach– hard. His knee maybe? You couldn’t tell–

“You let some man drive you home to my house!” he yelled, hand closing around your throat again. This time, he launched you backwards, whipping your head into the wall forcefully. “And then you come in and you fucking lie about it?” 

You grasped at his wrist– not scratching, but trying to get him to loosen his grip. You couldn’t breathe– no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t breathe. 

“Please,” you tried to say, but all that came out was a gasp. 

You attempted to look at him– hoping he could see how sincere you were being. But when you gazed up, your stomach just dropped. His eyes were menacing– black, empty. He looked like he could kill you right here and now and not care in the slightest. 

Justin’s grip tightened, you could feel each individual finger as it dug deeper into your skin, cutting off your airway– crushing your windpipe. 

You were going to die– You were going to die and there was nothing you could do to stop it. 

You dug your nails into his skin again, you flailed– you slapped with what energy you had left. But nothing was working. Your vision was blurring– dark edges starting to create a tunnel around the world. He was too strong– and you were going to die. 

Until suddenly, with no warning, Justin’s grip loosened. 

Instantly, you slid to the floor– coughing and choking as you gasped for air. 

You waited for whatever would come next– a kick to the ribs, something clattering over your head. But instead, you heard his footsteps retreating. 

You willed yourself to look up– through foggy vision clouded by tears, you saw Justin backing out of the kitchen, his eyes wide. 

“I-I–” he stammered. “I didn’t–” For a moment he paused, like he was frozen in place, before shaking his head. 

You were too focused on trying to breathe regularly again to make sense of the look of remorse seemingly on his face before he darted out of the room. 

Although he was out of your sight, you knew Justin couldn’t be far. And you knew that, despite the fact that you were sputtering and could barely breathe, you had to get out of that house. With what little strength you had left, you pushed yourself off the floor. Your back throbbed from being thrown against the wall, while a wave of dizziness overcame you. You all but staggered to where you’d dropped your bag earlier, doing a quick scan of the room before grabbing the strap and hauling it over your shoulder. 

You hurried to the front door, hand on the knob, when you paused. 

Where the hell were you supposed to go?

And then Luke’s words from earlier flashed through your mind. 

Promise me you’ll call if you need anything. 

You couldn’t– you thought. You’d already asked him for so much. But he did make you promise. And honestly, you couldn’t think of anyone in the world aside from him that you’d talk to about what had just happened. 

Suddenly, you heard movement from upstairs. 

You didn’t have time to toggle back and forth. You had to make a decision. 

Before you could second guess anything, you grabbed your phone from your pocket, pulled up Luke’s contact info, and hurried out the door. 

…

The second your name flashed across his screen, Luke knew he shouldn’t have left. Granted, he was only four minutes down the road– but he wished he had listened to his gut and just stayed. 

He slid his thumb across the screen. “Hello?”

He was met by an eerie silence.

“Hello?” he repeated. 

“Luke–” Your voice sounds so small– so choked up. “I’m sorry– I–” 

He waited a moment, hanging on to each word you spoke like it was a prayer. 

“Could you– maybe… could you come back? I’m so sorry– I–”

Luke was already turning his truck around before you could finish your choppy sentence. 

“I’m on my way,” he assured you. “Stay right there, okay?”

He was pretty sure he heard you agree before the line went dead. But regardless, Luke was back at your house in an instant. The second he put his truck in park, he was already undoing his seatbelt and launching himself out of the car. 

He had no idea what he was walking into– all he knew was that he had to get you out of there. What the hell could this asshole have said to you to have you so shaken up over the phone? 

He imagined knocking on the door– finding you tear streaked and trembling. It made his insides roar with anger before even seeing you. 

Except, when Luke turned the corner of his truck. He didn’t have to reach the front door to see you. He didn’t even have to walk across your lawn. Instead, you were hunched over on the curb, face buried in your hands while your whole body shook. 

Luke’s shoulders fell– your name tumbling from his lips as he approached you.

He had prepared for trembling– he had prepared for crying. But what he wasn’t prepared for, was seeing your face, bloodied and bruised when you looked up at him. 

He stopped dead in his tracks, everything inside of him turning to ice at the sight. 

“Where is he?” Luke managed to choke out. His voice sounded muffled and distant in his own ears. 

You let out a shaky breath before attempting to smile– like you were trying to somehow convince him that you were okay. The cut on your lip stretched as you did, making you wince. “Inside,” you whispered. 

He nodded once. As much as he didn’t want to leave you out here alone, Luke couldn’t help himself. 

“I’ll kill him,” he said through gritted teeth. And just like that, he was off– taking long strides towards the front door. He had no idea what your house looked like– no idea where he’d find that asshole lurking. All Luke knew was that he was going to pay for what he did to you. 

He had tunnel vision– the only thing in front of him was a blind, rageful desire to hurt that piece of shit as much as he had hurt you. He was narrowing in on the front door– just a few steps away… until he heard something break through the fog. 

It was you– your voice so soft and broken, calling out to him desperately. He turned around, blinders widening to see you standing on the lawn, chest heaving and tears falling down your cheeks quickly. 

“Please Luke–” you begged. “Please don’t. I want to leave. Please, can we leave?”

He paused, but only for a second before all of his anger melted away in an instant.  

He nodded, knowing right there– in that moment, that he would do absolutely anything for you at the drop of a hat. In a few quick steps, he was back at your side, hand hovering near your lower back just in case you needed extra support. 

“We can go,” he said gently, purposely keeping his voice as calm as he could. “Let’s get you in the truck.” 

After only a couple of steps, Luke noticed that you were limping. He felt a wave of tears burning behind his eyes. He was frustrated– angry. With your boyfriend, but mostly with himself. He knew he shouldn’t have left. He knew it in his gut. He should have been there– maybe if he’d stayed, he would’ve heard the yelling– he could’ve stepped in before things got this bad. 

“Can you get up, okay?” he asked as he opened the passenger door for you.

You nodded, reaching up for the handle bar. He watched as you winced– just the extension of your torso causing your breathing to increase. 

“You’re alright,” he said. “Let me help.” 

He made sure to wait for you to nod before he placed his hand against your lower back. Ever so gently, he supported your weight so that you could hoist yourself up into the front seat. 

“There you go,” he said, once you were safely tucked inside. He closed the door and turned to head to the driver’s side. Just as he did, he caught a flash of movement from the direction of your house. When he looked, he saw Justin standing on the front porch. Even from the road, Luke could see the tears glistening in his eyes. 

He felt the familiar anger from earlier resurfacing inside of him. It tightened in his chest– burned in his stomach. He envisioned himself crossing the lawn– grabbing Justin by the shirt collar– launching his fist right into his jaw. 

Luke inhaled deeply before looking back towards you. You were staring at him, crying again, your face riddled with fear. Because you knew exactly what he was imagining, and it made you afraid. 

Luke’s insides softened. 

No. 

He would not just be another man who scared you tonight. Luke wanted to be someone you felt safe with. 

Without looking back, he hurried along the front of his hood and climbed into his side of the truck. He put the truck in drive and calmly accelerated down the road– away from everything that had ever hurt you. 

…

It was only when you were in the safe confinement of Luke’s truck that you realized how bad you were shaking.  

The further you got from the house, the more the events from that evening sank into your brain. You’d seen this before with victims– once their adrenaline calmed down and they actually realized they were safe, fight or flight wasn’t protecting them anymore.

There was so much you wanted to say to Luke. But you could barely muster up the strength to breathe, let alone explain yourself. 

But you knew that you had to say something. You inhaled shakily and picked at the loose hangnail on your thumb. “Luke, I’m so sorry,” you said, breaking through the thick silence. 

He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white from how hard he was holding on. He hadn’t said a word since you’d been on the road and you found yourself wondering what was going through his mind. Was he angry? Annoyed? Frustrated?   

Luke grimaced. “Please don’t apologize,” he said softly. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You bit your lip to keep any tears from spilling out– you’d cried enough in front of Luke for one day. “I just meant that I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

“You didn’t drag me into anything.”

Something in his tone just seemed so off– so curt. You desperately needed to make this right. 

“Is there a hotel or something on the way to your place? You don’t have to go out of your way– you can just drop me off, I don’t want to inconvenience you–”

Luke hit the breaks, his truck coming to a stop as he pulled over on the side of the road. After shifting the gear, he turned in his seat to look at you. 

“I’m not inconvenienced by you. And I’m not dropping you off at a hotel. You’re coming to my place, and I’m going to clean up your cuts, and then I’m going to make you dinner.”

“Luke–” you started to protest but he shook his head. 

“Please,” he said, voice cracking. “Please, let me do this– Otherwise… otherwise I won’t be able to forgive myself.”

Your brows furrowed. “Forgive yourself? What are you talking about?”

Luke shook his head, his dark mop of curls unruly after the long day. Slowly, he lifted his head and gazed out of the windshield, like he was deep in thought. 

“I knew something was wrong– I mean, I heard the way he spoke to you in the garage. After you told me he slashed your tires… I just knew. I knew something bad would happen when I dropped you off, but I tried to convince myself I was just being dramatic– or paranoid. But I knew– and I didn’t listen. I left you, and you got hurt. So please, let me make you dinner and give you a safe place to be tonight. It’s the least I can do.”

Your mouth hung open– whatever you thought was going on in Luke’s mind, it wasn’t that. Before you could think twice, you leaned forward in your seat and gathered his hand in yours. His warm skin touched yours– sending shockwaves through your entire body. 

“None of this was your fault,” you assured him. “In fact, you've shown me more kindness in the last few hours than I think Justin has shown me in the last year. I’m so grateful it was you who came and got me tonight, Luke.”

The words came out so easily– probably because of how true they were. 

His gaze flickered towards yours– eyes glistening with unshed tears. He spun his hand, so that your palms pressed against each other, before lacing your fingers together and squeezing gently. 

“You know I’ll never let him hurt you again, right?” he asked. 

His words sent chills down your spine. You did know, but you weren't sure if you were ready to admit that or not. So instead, you changed the subject.

"Are we almost to your house?"

Luke shrugged. "Not really- I'm closer to Stafford, probably thirty five minutes."

You frowned. "Stafford? That's the opposite direction. I thought you said my place was on your way home."

A smirk crept across Luke's face. "That might've been a tiny lie."

"Luke!" you exclaimed.

He let out a laugh. "What? I knew you wouldn't have gotten in the car otherwise. Am I wrong?"

You let out a huff of air, hating the fact that he was right.

As he put the truck in drive and continued down the road, you squeezed his hand back.

[aetherialpiplup108]

Edit: Erased mention of the show from this post even if it was originally criticism because in hindsight, I want to avoid mentioning it at all due to the boycott.

What makes the Broken Trio (Annabeth, Thalia, and Luke) so impactful is that their bond is in stark contrast to the individual relationships the three share with their real families. Annabeth went thoroughly neglected by her father and absentee mother. The same for Luke, saddled with a mother who was tragically unavailable whether she wanted to be or not, and a father who never stepped in. And for Thalia, she never knew where she stood with her mother. Did Beryl love her daughter for her, or did she love her because she was proof of Zeus' favor. Did she truly care about Thalia--because from a little girl's perspective, she surely couldn't have cared about Jason all that much, trading his life to Hera in order to save her own--or did she just see her as a bargaining chip for immortality? And is that what love is? Later on, the same sentiment would apply to Zeus as well. Did he save her because he cared for her or because he thought she could be brought back to control the prophecy in his name?

All three of these kids were given nothing but conditional love. They all suffered under the weight of their desires to prove themselves to their parents whether out of spite (Luke, and Thalia to an extent) or love (Annabeth), because that was the only way they'd get the gods' attention, let alone their affection.

That's why it's so so important that when they came across each other and decided to form their own family, they chose to break this pattern. Luke stuck with Thalia knowing she was a magnet for danger with a huge target on her back. Thalia ignored Hal and Zoë's warnings, trusting Luke solely off who he had shown himself to be. And both of them looked at Annabeth, knowing she would slow them down--she was seven, how could she not--and decided to bring her along anyway because she deserved better and if her family wouldn't step up, they would.

These weren't rational decisions because family isn't meant to be rational and they're not Athena. They don't want to be. And we see this emotionality reflected in their choices throughout. Ever logical, strategic Annabeth believes in Luke even when she shouldn't because a long time back, he chose her when he didn't need to. There's a million different interpretations of Luke because, let's face it, his character was messy and inconsistent in canon, but what ultimately sets him apart from the gods or titans is a genuine care for his family, even if he stomps all over it at times. For Thalia, even after Luke poisoned her tree, she maintained faith in him right until the last moment on the mountain. Her breaking point was when he hurt Annabeth, leading her to purge all the good parts of Luke from her memory, forcing herself to only think about the betrayal so she could do what she believed was necessary to protect Annabeth. Not that I don't think she made the right call, but I do think this was far more of an emotional reaction than a purely practical one, which is further emphasized by how Percy (the neutral party, the outsider to this family) had to look at Luke empathetically and from both sides to make his final choice (@ruegarding has a fantastic meta on this that you should definitely check out).

Anyway, the point is: unlike the gods, these three did not perpetuate conditional love towards each other. It's essential that they saw each other, hurt and lonely, and chose to care, which is why it hurts so much when that found family breaks, and why it's the central piece that resolves everything in the end.

[drewsbuzzcut]

I Can See You

nico hischier x hughes!reader

warnings: slight slight angst, alcohol consumption, and I think that’s all

Coming to New Jersey to visit Luke and Jack is starting to feel like a big mistake that’s about to blow up in your face.

Nico just has to be with them when you arrived at their apartment.

Nico just has to join the three of you for dinner.

Nico just has to join the three of you at a small bar that Jack likes.

Throughout the entire day you can feel his eyes on you, the goosebumps on your skin is proof. There was one point he tried to get you alone to talk, but you escaped into Luke’s room.

You’re angry. Plain and simple.

He made it seem like he had feelings for you. It’s not like he doesn’t have your number or your social media profiles. He just decided to leave you high and dry. You’d like at least an explanation or an apology.

You down your third drink of the night when you feel his body sidle next to yours. His cologne makes you dizzy in the best way possible, but it makes you angrier.

“Can I get a beer?” He asks the bartender, slowly turning towards you on the barstool.

“Y/n?” You can hear the caution laced in his words.

He reaches for your hand that’s resting on the bar top, you pull it away before he can grasp it.

“Leave me alone, Nico,” you say his name, no “cap” or “captain” that he loves so much.

“Please talk to me, y/n,” he begs. Desperation washing over his face. You think you see sadness in his eyes.

“Oh, so now you want to talk. You’ve had months to talk to me. A call or even a simple text would’ve sufficed,” you spit out, removing yourself from the barstool.

Nico follows you, reaching out to grab your hand to turn you towards him.

“Tell my brothers I have to leave,” you say, ripping your hand away.

“Let me take you home,” he suggests.

“No. I don’t want anything from you anymore. Leave me alone, Nico,” you finish, walking away and out the door.

You’re sitting on a curb outside when you hear the door opening, with everything in your body you know it’s Nico.

“Please let me explain myself. You can hate me all you want, but please let me explain,” he sits next to you, feeling hopeful when you don’t move away.

“We should talk somewhere private,” you whisper, berating yourself for giving in so easily, but you’d do almost anything for Nico.

Nico agrees and you and him take an Uber to his apartment. The ride is tense and quiet, but you can still feel his eyes watching you. The ride in the elevator is even more tense, the space tight and suffocating. You can feel a gravitational pull working overtime to pull you into each other’s arms. When you catch his eyes, you send him a glare in return. He can’t know that you’re starting to let your walls come down.

As soon as he lets you in through the door, he’s talking.

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you at all for so long.”

“I just want to know why.”

“You’re younger than me,” he says but you scoff at his lie.

“3 years is nothing,” you retort.

“It’s a lot when things get complicated. I’m not always around as you know, and the age gap will just further complicate things. We’re at different places in our lives.”

“That’s such bullshit. I know what it’s like with all the travel! Three! Three of my brothers are hockey players in case you forgot,” you point out.

He huffs and stays quiet which frustrates you to no end.

“You know what? Why’d you even want to talk to me if you’re not even going to bother being honest?” Your anger starts to boil.

“You’re Jack’s little sister. You’re also Luke’s sister, and I’m their captain. It’s like mixing business with pleasure. At the end of the day, you’re younger than me and my teammates’ sister,” he finally explains.

“Okay? Is there some written rule stating that you can’t date a teammate’s sister?” You’re livid.

“Well, no, but it’s implied,” he mutters, fidgeting with his fingers, something you noticed he does when he’s nervous.

“So screw me and my feelings, right? You just kissed me for the hell of it, then? I’m just someone’s sister and you’re just untouchable. I hate you,” you blurt out, your tears surfacing and heart dying little by little.

“No, please! You don’t understand,” he reaches out for you, holding your hands in his.

“I understand you loud and clear.”

“I want you, more than you know. I just don’t want things to become weird between me and your brothers. I also really happen to enjoy our friendship. I don’t want to somehow ruin things even though I already have,” he admits.

You have to stop yourself from leaping into his arms and attacking him with kisses. You need to be in his arms.

“Why not tell me that earlier?” You ask, trying to mask your tone with annoyance, but you can deny that you have the biggest soft spot for him.

“I didn’t want to pull you away from your life. You deserve someone who’s always there. I won’t always be there for you,” he says sadly and you can feel your heart crack at his admittance. You want so badly to reassure that he’d be the perfect boyfriend, but in reality you don’t know him as a boyfriend. Maybe he’s trying to shield you from himself when intimacy starts to take over.

At this time you realize your hands are still connected, so you pull them away and watch his face fall.

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” he adds.

You card your fingers through your hair and take a deep breath. You look down and around, anywhere except his eyes. You know he’s sincere. You can tell by his watery eyes and the crease in his eyebrows. You feel the lump in your throat just thinking about him being sad. You also think about why he thinks of himself so poorly. Maybe this is happening for a reason. Maybe you should be nothing more than a kiss, but when you think about Nico, you know in your heart that you want to feel everything with him.

“I accept your apology, but it’s too late Nico. I would’ve loved to hear you say what you just did months ago. Now, I have a boyfriend back in New York,” it kills you to say, but you want him to feel that empty feeling that you felt for the past 7 months. It may be a bit immature of you, but you needed to see what his reaction would be.

“Oh… that’s… yeah, that’s stupid of me to think everything would be just fine after all this time. Good for you, though. You deserve happiness and I hope he treats you better,” he says through voice cracks.

“Um… I’ll take you back to your brother’s,” he finishes, walking past you towards the front door.

“Cap,” you whisper, reaching out for his bicep to stop him from walking out the door. Any thought you have in your head gets washed away by the one thought that resides in your heart. You want him and you are willing to take your chances.

He turns back to you, about to ask what’s wrong when you place your lips on his. You bring him into your body with your arms wrapped around his neck. He can’t help but let his hands fall to your hips.

“What about your boyfriend?”

You snicker, hiding your face in his neck.

“I may have lied about having a boyfriend. I just wanted to keep you on your toes,” you admit shyly.

Nico sighs in relief, leaning back in for another kiss. You giggle into the kiss, very pleased with his reaction. You card your fingers through his hair, making his hands fist the material of your blouse.

“How are we going to do this?” He breaks away, finally taking a breath.

“We’ll figure it out.”

“We can’t tell them, not right now at least,” he hesitantly whispers, afraid to break the moment.

You falter for a second, thinking about how telling your brothers can possibly ruin things, so you agree with him.

“Okay, captain. It’s our little secret,” you say simply, but it’s anything but simple.

He caresses your cheek and you know he is starting to figure out his way through the cracks of your tough exterior.

“I should probably get back to the apartment. Take me home?” You ask, kissing his lips chastely.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

Take me to your heart.

a/n: So, I forgot that I was supposed to post this piece before the one I recently posted, but here it is! Enjoy!

[litiyerses]

calypso having an emotion-centered character and being viewed & getting treated as the ‘evil woman’ is actually a reflection of how every woman's emotions are villainized when they’re shown vividly and are a main part of their character in popular media.

in general media and riordanverse specifically, women with emotions are always looked down upon because showing emotions is regarded as a dramatic act so when a female character shows and acts on their emotiotions they get degraded and instantly despised because of it. this is done with every single female character while male characters who show emotion are treated like saints and found worthy of self redemption. this happened with annabeth when she didn’t want to believe luke was the bad guy and wanted to try bring him back because she was manipulated by him her entire life, meanwhile luke, who did batshit crimes like causing hundreds of innocent deaths, manipulating little girls by flirting with them, admitting his crush to a 16 year-old at his ripe age of 23, is remembered as a hero and considered ‘redeemed himself’ after sacrificing himself while annabeth was called insufferable when she didn’t believe he was evil in the first place. let’s not forget piper, who’s a lesbian that was forced into a relationship with a man by a goddess and thought she was in the wrong for not feeling right with jason. during the entire relationship she was experiencing a very hard comphet and couldn’t figure herself out because of the fake memories, everybody was bashing her when she was acting confused, when she was, in fact confused. i have a longer post about this specific topic, so if you guys wanna check it out it’s right here. 

 coming back to calypso, first we need to clear out the misconceptions about her curse on percy that affected annabeth. she wasn't blind nor was personally attacking annabeth, her curse was to make someone feel like how she was feeling all time and that’s why percy and annabeth couldn’t reach out to one another while being right next to each other. annabeth’s blindness came from the titan she defeated in the sea of monsters and is actually the first curse to be put by the arai on them, so it has nothing to do with calypso. the curse was affecting annabeth because she happened to be the person percy loved and was right next to him. if percy was there alone either percy would feel alone and abandoned or the curse wouldn’t affect him at all, since there’s no person he can go back to save. and the curse itself wasn’t even a death wish type of curse she just wanted to be heard, be acknowledged and wanted free off her island. not to forget the curse wasn't harming or killing any of them yet it’s still demonized more than by literally every other thing that happened in the books. nothing luke has ever done is seen as evil as her curse just because it was by her and i’m pretty positive if something like this was shown in pjo by luke it would be glossed over and romanticized in the fandom. further proof of how a male character's actions get brushed off and forgiven easily but soon a female character does something even slightly questionable they get villainized on the spot.

she is also despised because she doesn't let everyone's favorite man get away with his misogynistic stuff. calypso doesn't treat leo any worse than he treats her. whenever she starts arguing it is a response to something leo has said or done, which in the most case she's in the right but leo gets so much slack from his past and being fandom favorite to be held accountable for the way he treats people. he's always been written as a misogynist, he never treated any women with any respect. he always had some sort of disrespect for every female character he seems have some sort of closure with like piper, hazel, calypso, the list goes on, but yet calypso is always expected to be more 'tolerable and understanding' bc of his trauma, as if every single character in the series isn't written upon a single trauma they had and have their character built on it. and he always had a problem dealing with others and their emotions and instead of expecting him to be working to change that, calypso is expected to adjust his manners.

oddly enough, she's also expected to show some gratitude towards leo for saving her, when she never asked him to do so and not for a second believed that he was actually going to come back when he said he would. is she grateful that he came back and freed her? yes. should she feel any obligations to make him feel greater because of it? NO. everything leo did for calypso was his and only his choice and nobody else's. calypso is happy that he did so, but expecting her to tolarate every single thing he does solely because of that is wrong.

[666writingcafe]

Uh-Oh

Simeon

I originally wasn't even supposed to come to the Devildom. That responsibility got bestowed on one of the remaining seraphim, but they flat out told Michael that they didn't want to spend any time with demons and that this invitation of Lord Diavolo's was a ploy for him to seize control over the Celestial Realm. It wasn't until all the other seraphim rejected the idea of going that I was offered the job, and even then Michael wasn't too keen on sending me down here. For one, I'd have to take Luke with me so that he wasn't left unattended. The main thing, however, is that he's afraid that seeing the brothers will prompt me to misbehave, and I'm already on thin ice as it is due to my actions during the war. Of course, I assured him that everything would be fine and that I'd conduct myself properly during my stay in the Devildom.

I'm beginning to regret making that promise. But not because of the brothers.

No, it's that damn attendant of theirs, Zephyr.

It's possible that they're using both their looks and charm to lead me astray, but if that were the case, I'd feel like their attempts would be more deliberate and pointed. As far as I can tell, they're simply doing their job ensuring that our stay in the Devildom is as comfortable as possible. I don't think they even realize what they're doing to me, which makes the idea of them manipulating me that much more unlikely.

So why am I feeling this way towards them?

I head down to the kitchen to grab something to drink for Luke, hoping that the task would distract me.

But no. As soon as I enter, I notice Zephyr standing at the counter, chopping vegetables. Trying my best to ignore their presence, I head over to the refrigerator and begin rummaging through it.

"Can I help you?" they ask a couple minutes later, causing me to jump and nearly drop the bottle I have in my hand.

"Well," I respond once I've calmed down. "Luke was feeling thirsty, so I was looking for something for him to drink, but I'm not sure what's safe."

"Let me see what you have." I close the refrigerator door and turn around so that I'm facing Zephyr. "That's a bottle of wine. Probably not the best thing to give to a child. If you'll give me a moment to finish what I'm doing, I'll whip you both something safe to drink."

"Thank you." I stick the bottle back in the fridge. "You're proof that there are some very kind demons out there."

Father, what am I thinking?!

Thankfully, Luke is in our room, or he'd be chewing me out for saying that, and rightfully so. The whole thing might just be an act, part of a scheme to trick me. They might even be putting a curse on me at this very moment.

So why do I feel certain that they're not planning on doing that to me?

"Everything alright?" Zephyr asks, forcing me back into the present moment.

"Yeah," I answer. "I was just zoning out a bit, that's all." They don't seem to buy my lie, but they're also not pressing me further about it, so I suppose I'll take that as a win.

"I'm actually glad you decided to stop by. I'd like you to taste something for me."

Great. This is what I get for being too trusting.

"Don't worry, Simeon. I haven't tampered with it." They've sensed my concern. "Even if I wanted to, there simply isn't enough time to put an angel-specific curse on it and still have everything ready for dinner at a reasonable time. Plus, I don't like a spoiled meal."

I mean...they have a point.

"What is it?"

"I've made a dessert from the Celestial Realm. I figured it would help you guys feel more at ease here if you were able to eat something you recognized at least once during your stay. I'm just not sure if I've prepared it right or not. It's currently chilling in the fridge."

I'm not sure how I missed the giant container of angel pudding before, but I grab it and set it on the counter. Zephyr grabs me a spoon, and I scoop a little of the pudding out and stick the dessert in my mouth.

It's...wow. The only words that come to mind that are close to describing how good this pudding is are in Old Angelic, and there's no way Zephyr's going to understand any of them.

However, I must have a pleasant enough look on my face for them to be satisfied.

"I'm glad you like it," they tell me as they put the pudding away. "I've been taking lessons with Barbatos." That explains some of it. He's regarded as one of the best bakers in not just the Devildom, but in all of the three realms.

But in order for him to be a successful teacher, there has to be some natural talent in his student, which Zephyr clearly has.

The soft smile they give me makes me feel like my stomach's doing flips, making me remember why I was nervous to be around them in the first place.

This is going to be a long visit.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr

[scratchandplaster]

FEBUWHUMP DAY 4 - Obedience

CW: recapture, Carewhumper, touchstarved Whumpee, dubcon touching, love bombing, parental Whumper, hypnosis, emotional manipulation

Previous | [Masterlist] | Next

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Even before opening his eyes, Ben knew exactly where he was.

Through the throbbing ache behind his forehead, he smelled the fresh morning air of the valley, without any trace of petrol or tangy smog to be found. His lungs thanked him as he took the first big breath to wake up further. Underneath, the unending softness of countless blankets and pillows greeted his heavy body.

This was horrible, this was the one thing he was afraid to go back to. Luke would kill him.

Weight all over his body pushed him deeper into the drowsiness he wanted to embrace, but Ben realized what he was entangled in: a cuddle pile. How lovely, if the booming against his ears didn't disrupt this idyllic reunion.

"Lemme go." Ben started to weakly shove the arms and heads that rested on his chest aside, confused mumbling set in and made the Gordian knot made from concerned family slowly untangle. Oh, they were already upset at him, it was clear as day. And if Luke ever found out how much Ben had missed them, he would kill him double for it.

"Look who's awake," the same gentle voice that greeted him the night before announced. Shepard was close, somewhere above him, but Ben didn't dare to open his eyes yet; there still was a chance of this being just a terrifyingly pleasant pipe dream.

But no resistance withstood the warm pressure that began to fight the headache with careful strokes along Ben's scalp, finding sore muscle spots to dedicate its attention to and for a second, being back home felt like he truly caught on. The room gradually came into focus.

"There you are, sweetheart."

Snug in his arms, Ben couldn't look at Shepard, too ashamed by the happy faces that greeted him in this intimate circle: Birdie, Otis and their triplets, naturally, and even Shawn had managed to push himself to the front row of his reception committee: the family he left behind. What was to come next made Ben shudder.

It wouldn't stay a warm welcome for long, and why should it? He betrayed them for everything they had left behind.

If his flustered expression didn't give it away, his clothes alone made him feel like the outsider Ben had made of himself. Among the rush of people, Sam was nowhere to be seen. A rough pull in his stomach just proved to Ben that it was better this way, he could feel embarrassed when it was appropriate.

"Thank you all for welcoming Ben back," Shepard suddenly announced and clapped his hand together, "but I think we need some time alone so he can adjust."

The children started to pout, Shawn above all: "He just got here!"

Shepard tried to soothe them with a smile: "I know, I know. But afterward we can tell you all about his sabbatical and what he brought back for you."

"Gifts?!" now their excitement was stuck to Ben like a limpet, "Chocolate?"

"I- uhm, I don't-"

He was softly cut off: "Maybe we find out at dinner, does that sound good?"

At dinner, if he would still be here. Ben left before, he could just stand up and go, right? Right?

Dismissing every attendee with thankful words from the community tent, Shepard returned to his son wearing the tired face of disappointment. He looked much older than when they had last seen each other, harsh lines carved with worry graced his face.

How angry Shepard was right now felt like the most important question. The faded proof on Ben's forearms reminded him of it daily.

"Well then, how are we feeling?"

"Hurts," Ben admitted lowly. He had broken clear rules and now paid for it. Nevertheless, it was his decision…

Shepard sighed and dropped into a kneeling position before him, meeting him at eye level: "Your head? You have a hangover, it's going to pass."

"Hanging over what?"

"No, it's an expression. You just need to hydrate." He handed Ben a full glass of water that he emptied greedily.

"You drank a lot yesterday," Shepard shook his head blankly. He seemed more afraid than upset.

"The only thing he fears is losing control over you."

"I was just having fun, Shepard."

Out of his pocket, a handful of shimmering umbrellas, plastic neon monkeys and other souvenirs was pulled. Undisputable evidence at which the older man only furrowed a brow: "A lot of fun, and now the alcohol has its fun gnawing your brain away."

Ben's hands shot up to firmly hold his head in place, as if it would make a difference. Words could not express how much his little quirks were missed.

"When did you stop calling me Dad?" Shepard's concerned frown came to match the look, "It makes me feel sad."

"It makes me feel fucking stupid."

"Reuben!"

"Shepard!" he sassed back, "You can't just bring me here! I-I was doing fine. L- my friends will get worried if I just disappear without a word!"

"You made friends, that's great. I didn't see anyone with you, unfortunately, but they have nothing to be concerned about."

This, for once, was the truth. The settlement was the safest place on earth, in the center of it stood the oversized tent Ben received this tirade in. The glow of the midday sun penetrated the canvas to let the tent's inside radiate with warmth. Yet trivial how much they talked around it, both had good reasons to taint the peaceful atmosphere.

"Of course they weren't there! They-They give me space when I'm trying to hook up-"

"When you're trying to do what, young man?"

"Forget it," Ben muttered, "at least they care about me!"

Putting the glass aside, Shepard let his heavy hands rest on Ben's shoulders. His hoarse voice gave away the woe that plagued him for a good six months now: "And you doubt that I do?"

A wordless shrug was all Ben was willing to give. The topic that hung in the air was obvious to both of them.

"This conversation is long overdue, but after that night you never gave me a chance to explain-"

"I gave you a lot of chances." If no one else would, it was for Ben to hug himself tightly.

"You're right, starting over isn't as easy as it seems," Shepard exhaled and held him close while clearing his throat a few times: „I am so sorry for what happened in the past, especially the night you decided to leave. I thought of many apologies, but none of them are good enough. I can't offer you anything, but my deepest, most sincere regrets. I'm sorry and understand if this is also not enough for you to believe me. Somewhere in the future, if you allow me to, I hope to earn your trust back again."

"Shepard Cohen is a filthy liar," Luke warned him, "and nothing in the world is going to change this fact."

Hands in rough hands, forgiveness was left to the son. Ben had nothing to say.

"The only thing he cares about is himself and how he can people make dance to his tune!"  Ben held on to the reasons he left, there was no space for nostalgia, even if his heart leaped for joy at being back in the only sensible place on earth. "We are allowed to live how we see fit."

The silence spoke for itself.

"Alright. I understand you, Ben," he whispered dejected, "I finally understand."

Too petrified of the man he knew, Ben didn't look up until it was too late: quiet, thick tears dropped from his father's face down onto their folded hands. Shepard couldn't hold back his sobs anymore.

"Oh no," Ben gasped, "I didn't mean it like that. Of course, I believe you, but I…uhm."

The heart-wrenching realization hit him like a brick to the head: this hurt Shepard just as bad, it simply had to. Otherwise, he would never show himself so openly vulnerable.

"Please don't cry. I just don't know what to say!"

"I can understand every decision you made, even if it was to our detriment. You had very right to do so."

Indeed, Ben had every right and it felt nice to hear Shepard admit it. But the right to make someone feel this lousy… If he had this too, he didn't want it.

His hand carefully slipped up to wipe stray tears away: "Hey. Hey, Dad, please! I just had to go that night." A tired smile was coaxed out from the wrinkled skin.

"Are you mad?"

"No, of course not," Shepard reassured, loosening the tension in the air.

"Disappointed, then."

"Yes, but only in myself."

There they were again, the gentle hands that massaged away the sting inside his skull. It didn't pass Ben how confusing last night had been.

"Sam isn't really interested in me, are they?" It wasn't the bitter reality that made Ben curl up in awkwardness, but more so their intent for putting up with him.

"Nonsense, they are thrilled to meet you again. I'm sorry that we had to trick you a bit. You're just too young to engage in whatever hooking up entails."

"'m old enough." His hair was brushed back at a consoling pace, nearly lulling Ben back to sleep again.

"Maybe you are, maybe I just didn't realize how much you changed."

To simply lean into the quiet tranquility was heaven, like in the good old days when Ben felt secure and more like himself. By now, the water and careful touches helped minimize the ache to a dim pressure and gave them a moment to rest, until a familiar suggestion brought Ben back to the present: "Breathe with me."

Behind the peaceful quiet, somewhere pushed down by gentle words and sweet affection, distant alarm bells went off: "Never, and I'm serious this time, never let him into your head again!"

"Uhm, I think-" Ben mumbled as he got a grasp on the situation: he sat dutiful in Shepard's lap, exactly how he was supposed to. He could just get up and leave, right? If he wanted to…couldn't he?

"That wasn't a question, starshine," Shepard decided and let his words echo through the tent, "We are both hurt and I think we need to process all our feelings." The hand that just had cared through Ben's hair now snaked down to the base of his neck. 

"Breathe in," Shepard ordered and his body followed the command like a reflex, a distant sensation quickly caught up to him: mindlessness.

Shepard steered the flow of their thoughts and breath while keeping a soothing pace, in and out, so Ben could focus on the relaxation, on connecting with his inner self…on this dizzy, fuzzy feeling that crept into his limbs. Like a heavy blanket, the unwinding started at his feet and soon enveloped his body up to the head, feeling just as pleasant as Ben remembered. 

This wasn't bad, with Lukas' voice finally turned down to just a distant hum, it felt so good to stay adrift for a short second. Shepard was here with him, real and the only focus of his attention. In and out.

In. Bliss entered through his lungs and flowed along his bloodstream to his chest. Out. Troubles of the past were pushed out by the collected ease inside him. There simply was no space for them anymore.

In.

Out.

In.

Out. 

His head spun with the warped confusion, Ben was not the only one surprised how quickly he let himself drop into this state.

"W-wait-" A weak mumble rolled from his lips but left Shepard unfazed.

"Hold," the man shushed and marveled at how his lungs obeyed instantly, without questioning it for even a second. Mind light and empty, Ben looked into Shepard's golden-brown eyes and lost himself.

"Breathe out." The last sliver of resistance left his blank mind.

"Relax." Ben's head tipped over, leaning into the hands that held him upright.

"Sleep."

Loose eyelids slipped shut and his body fell into his father's waiting arms, so deep and so convinced that Shepard would catch him, like he always did, as he always will. 

Only supported by his self-appointed dad, yet weightlessly floating further down, Ben was too far gone to comprehend that his last chance to leave was long taken away.

"Remember how easy it is to fall, and all the many times you did before."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

[sleepless-in-southlands]

in a sunlit dream, you mistook the light for fire

Ao3

Summary: The continued education of the hermits in just what it means to live with a prophet. Content: Goofs Gafs and Fun Times with a side of one-scene tension; prophecy, minor blood/injury, unreliable narrator (oblivious luke) Pairings: Lucky Jumbo (Luke Carder/Mumbo Jumbo); Luke Carder & Rendog, False Symmetry; Luke Carder & Grian Notes: Part two of In A Vision

~

“Duck.”

Mumbo tilted his head slightly at the sudden command, but didn’t move outside of that, a decision he came to regret approximately five seconds later. Luke chuckled as his boyfriend quickly turned around, half a snowball slowly sliding down the back of his head and the mischief-makers who had put it there already halfway out of Mumbo’s line of sight.

“I warned you.” Luke said amusedly, sipping his bucket of milk as Mumbo grumbled and swatted at the offending lump that was rapidly turning into slush against his neck. His foresight floated on the top of the drink, having changed little between an unalerted and an unsuccessfully alerted Mumbo getting snowball-ed.

“Yes, well,” Mumbo managed to get the majority of the snowball onto the ground, shaking his chilled hand off and spotting the grass with ice chips, “I’m still adjusting to receiving warnings from someone not even looking up.”

“Foresight was in my milk.”

“Of course it was.” Mumbo’s tone was, arguably, much too fond for the statement, shooting Luke a moustache smile as he finished patting his collar and neck dry. He picked up his clay flower pot filled with tea a moment after, returning to his and Luke’s mini outdoor drink date. “As you were saying, before we were interrupted?”

Luke set his bucket down next to his legs. “Have you ever heard of ‘cups?’”

~

“Whoa, dude. Mumbo wasn’t joking about the yellow smoke thing.”

Luke coughed, more of his totally-normal super-safe non-toxic fun-coloured smoke tumbling out of his mouth as he did so, only serving to further unsettle the Octagon founder next to him. A mini vision, something Luke had never experienced in his old world but had newly discovered in Hermitcraft. They were usually within the realm of profit prophets, brought on by purposeful connection to others. In a world where everything and everyone was constantly connected by code, Luke had come to accept they were simply a new part of his reality.

Annoying, but much more acceptable than an average vision, Luke had found. Only a small headache, without passing out or having to speak in tongues? Practically a blessing, compared to falling off his roof and scaring all of Boatem just to inform them of the next Big Eyes Crew prank.

(It wasn’t right to call the situation ‘funny,’ given Luke did feel bad that he had to be Hermitcraft’s introduction to the concept of prophets, but the emergency Boatem meeting called afterwards to determine the necessity of ‘prophet-proofing’ the town was a bit entertaining.)

Luke rubbed at his forehead. “It’s not dangerous.”

“Whatever you say.” Ren said, still sounding somewhat put-off by the smoke. Luke hadn’t collapsed (another point to mini visions), but Ren hovered close to the prophet, clearly anticipating a fall nonetheless. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Luke glanced towards Ren. “Want a prophecy?”

“Uh, sure?”

“The blood of the ocean, salty and cool, the last thing you’ll taste in your tomb of sand.” Luke recited, an echo of his usual ‘prophet voice’ shadowing the words and sending a wave through his forethought, bobbing in the air.

Between his lack of an actual mouth and his sunglasses, it was hard for Luke to read Ren’s exact expression, but Luke had enough experience to make an educated guess.

“That’s- huh.” Admittedly, Ren could certainly be taking it worse. He seemed more confused than concerned. “Will I get a notification when that happens, or do I have to guess?”

Luke blinked. “Guess. Or I can tell you afterwards.”

“Alright.” Ren said with a nod, as if Luke hadn’t just prophesied his death. “Ready to keep going, or do you need to cough up more smoke?”

“I can walk and cough.”

“You say that while looking like you want to fall over.”

“I always look like that.”

Ren laughed. “As long as you’re sure, dude. But if your eyes turn yellow again, I’m making you sit down.”

“I can accept that.”

The mini prophecy ended up coming to fruition a day after Luke delivered it, his communicator buzzing on the floor next to him while he worked on sorting all three of his holding-objects chests. He picked it up, finding the notification had come from the server’s main chat.

>Renthedog suffocated in a wall <RentheDog> OH <RentheDog> it was about a treasure chest <RentheDog> dont worry luke i got it <iskall85> what are you talking about <RentheDog> my super rad death prophecy from luke that just came true <GeminiTay> are death prophecies… good things? <iskall85> they dont sound like they are <RentheDog> someones sound like theyre jealous they havent gotten a luke death prophecy yet

Luke chuckled as he watched the conversation continue, half in amusement and half in bemusement. Arguing over whether or not a death prophecy was a ‘good thing’... only the hermits.

~

“You want to fight me? As practice?” Luke frowned. “I can barely swing a pickaxe, much less a sword.”

“I don't want to fight you for your skill-”

“Ouch.”

“-I want to fight you because Grian said you can use your four eyes to predict attack patterns.” False explained, her own sword already drawn and at ready for the proposed battle.

“Foresight.” Luke corrected, eyeing her sword. His foresight hadn’t yet predicted a swing, but it had already begun wrapping around the blade, which Luke didn’t consider a good sign. “And it’s not really predicting attack patterns, just… how the sword will get swung.”

False adjusted her grip on her weapon’s handle. “Good enough for me!”

“Again, my foresight does not translate to skill.”

“Luke, everyone is unskilled compared to me.” False joked reassuringly, letting her sword tip fall to the ground. It was her ‘dummy sword,’ a wooden one Luke was ninety percent sure she had crafted specifically so as to not spook him with the idea of having to avoid a truly dangerous edge. “Come on, just one go. I want to see what it’s like to fight someone who can see my next move coming.”

“I really don’t think this is going to be as exciting as you’re hoping.” Luke reiterated even as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a diamond sword he had crafted from diamonds lovingly donated to him by Mumbo. “Ah, do you have another wooden sword on you? Or…”

False waved Luke off before he could continue. “It’s alright, I don’t mind a bit of diamond burn.”

Luke’s foresight blurred as it suddenly shot upwards, Luke taking the hint and quickly stepping back to avoid what would have been a fairly harmless bump against his thigh had he stayed put. False’s eyes gleamed with excitement, enthused by the proof of Luke’s foresight as she hefted her sword properly. “And I don’t plan to get hit.”

Recovered from the small shock, Luke huffed a laugh and raised his own sword. “We’ll see about that.”

Fighting False was a lot different from avoiding Grian’s misguided slashes, Luke learned quickly. There was something delightfully thrilling about not only dodging incoming attacks but blocking them as well, his own sword swinging to meet False’s whenever it came for his chest or arm. His lack of skill, regretfully, didn’t magically vanish with the start of the fight, the two of them quickly working their way into somewhat of a stalemate near immediately: False couldn’t get a hit on Luke as long as he was predicting her next-moves, and Luke couldn’t get a hit on False without giving her an opening.

Luke knew that, stamina-wise, he’d run out of energy far faster than False would, meaning he had no chance at winning the spar by dragging it out. If he wanted the victory, he’d have to force the point while he still had the power to do so.

And, well, False had wanted to fight a prophet, hadn’t she?

Taking care not to accidentally spear himself on False’s sword as he did, Luke jerked backwards, a motion that technically avoided False’s swipe but was a bit more dramatic than the upwards slash called for. False raised an eyebrow as she adjusted her strategy, clearly intrigued by Luke’s choice in dodge.

“I’m never going to win if I’m only one step ahead of you.” Luke said in answer to the unasked question, dodging the next slash with a much too elaborate spin out of the way. “Two or three steps, on the other hand…”

Understanding flashed in False’s eyes, followed by newfound determination. Luke just grinned. It was a tactic he had used before, in card battles played against supposed masters who wanted the added challenge that came with a prophet for an opponent. Luke didn’t have any true control over his foresight, and in this fight specifically he was using it more as a visual guide than an instruction manual, but his competitors didn’t need to know that. The more they got inside their own heads, trying to plan their future moves by the dozen to evade Luke, the easier it became for Luke to get them in the present.

Case in point: False swung her sword low, likely the beginning of a series of moves that would have led into a beautifully crushing defeat for Luke had it been allowed to play out. Instead, in the moment, Luke took the opening it presented him to swing for her chest, shoving her back with the side of it rather than properly slashing.

Unprepared, False stumbled backwards, falling onto her backside when Luke stole her previous move and aimed for her ankles. Deciding that was as close to a ‘defeat’ as Luke felt he needed to get, Luke took a step away from her and planted the tip of his sword in the dirt next to him.

“Point to the prophet.” Luke joked as he watched False prop herself up on her forearms, looking surprised. Not that Luke could hold it against her- he has used an old card game trick in a sword fight. He had figured his chances of getting skewered were at least three times that of pulling it off.

Not that False needed to know that.

“And a point well earned.” False responded, pushing herself up and onto her feet with a grin. “Grian didn’t say anything about you being able to see that much into the future.”

“Yeah, well…” Luke glanced to the side, slightly abashed, “fun fact about prophets: we are capable of lying.”

“...It was a bluff?”

Luke turned back towards False, whose grin had only grown. “You seem oddly delighted by that.”

“You’ve been holding out on me, Luke!” False raised her sword once more, Luke mirroring the action reflexively. “Alright, best out of three.”

“I hope you know that was my one and only trick,” Luke said, watching his foresight sway with False’s sword, “and therefore my one and only victory.”

“I’m not falling for that twice.” False replied, showcasing a newfound confidence in Luke’s nonexistence skills that he did appreciate, even if it did mean he was once again getting a sword brandished in his face. “Again!”

As predicted, Luke lost the following matches, foresight and trickery only able to do so much against genuine skill, but that was alright. It wasn’t anything like the card games he missed most from his old world, but Luke appreciated having another type of competition to throw himself into, no matter how terrible he was at it.

And it was still safer than the last card game he had played.

~

“Duck.”

Luke threw out the warning idly, aware there was a good chance it would receive the same response it had when given to Mumbo- a moment of confused contemplation that would render the heads-up functionally null and void. The skeleton about to shoot Grian, after all, was behind Luke, who had been distracted by reading his foresight written in only the dark spots on the nearest birch tree. A non-prophet wouldn’t have any chance to warn for it, and Hermitcraft was still adjusting to Luke.

Luke kept his eyes towards the tree, watching as his foresight scrambled to rearrange itself after his warning. Instead of returning to its usual scrolling-sentences structure, however, the letters condensed into two large, caution-tape yellow words: LOOK OUT.

Look out?

Suddenly, a pain through the back of his shoulder. Luke gasped, more out of surprise than agony, one hand going to cover the spot as he swiveled hard to look behind him.

There, he found Grian drawing his sword as he rose from a crouched position, shooting Luke a look as he went to take out the skeleton Luke had both seen coming and completely missed. Luke carefully slotted his fingers around the arrow sticking out of his arm, blood already staining his shirt as he watched Grian make quick work of the skeleton.

Grian… actually ducked.

Skeleton defeated, Grian put his sword away before returning to Luke, careful to leave at least a block and a half of space between them as he came to a stop. He had kept his distance since the debacle that was Luke’s reveal as a prophet, Luke had noticed. Luke didn’t try to press him about it; he wouldn’t want to get too close to the guy who had torn into the pure essence of his being either.

“You tell me to duck, but you don’t do so yourself?” Grian questioned, eyes looking amused.

“I… didn’t think you would.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Moment of confusion.” Luke half-answered, shifting his grip on his injury. “Most people don’t trust prophets on the drop of a hat.”

“And I don’t want to get shot when it can be avoided.” Grian gave by way of response, the throw-away comment concealing an emotion Luke couldn’t quite catch before it was gone and Grian was changing topics. “Do you have a golden carrot on you?”

“I do.”

“...Are you going to get it?”

Luke rolled his shoulder, ignoring the twinge of pain generated by the motion. He knew the arrow would eventually ‘despawn,’ as Mumbo had phrased it, given enough time, but he had known too many horror stories of flesh healing around foreign bodies in his old world for him to feel entirely comfortable doing it on purpose. “In a second?”

Grian sighed, an action Luke had yet to make peace with, given he wasn’t entirely certain Grian needed to- or did, or could- breathe. “Do you want to take the arrow out?”

“I was planning on waiting for it to disappear on its own.”

“Your shirt’s going to be the same colour as mine if you wait that long.” Grian pointed out, reminding Luke of the unfortunate reality of his blood. Luke had tried talking to Xisuma about getting his ‘blood mod’ removed, only for the admin to find out that Luke’s code was a mess of an enigma; indecipherable and untouchable. It was a small mercy, at least, that the blood went away at about the same rate that arrows did, once the originating wound was closed.

“Good point.” Luke acknowledged, suppressing a wince as he gave the arrow still lodged in his arm an experimental tug. “Okay, on the count of three- one, two-”

“Do you want help?”

Luke paused in his bad-idea speedrun. “Hm?”

“Mumbo prefers taking out the arrows first, too, so I’ve got practice.” Grian crossed his arms in hesitation. “If you want my help, that is.”

Luke considered the offer. Letting someone who knew what they were doing take the arrow out was tempting, given his plan had just been to rip it out and hope it didn’t hurt too badly, but he didn’t want to make Grian uncomfortable with the proximity it would require. “Only if you don’t mind.”

“Wouldn’t offer if I did.” A pause. “Do you mind?”

“Why would I mind? You’re doing me a favour.” Luke carefully let go of the arrow as he spoke, frowning at the blood dripping off the side of his hand as he held in front of himself. “A messy favour, at that.”

“It’s alright.” Grian gestured with a wave. “Can you turn around?”

Luke did as requested, trying not to jostle his shoulder too much as he did so. His foresight was no longer decorating the birch tree beside him, having seemingly vanished after its attempted warning, but Luke could still track the quiet yet audible sound of Grian’s footsteps as he came to stand directly behind Luke. He placed a hand on Luke’s upper arm, grip oddly cautious, followed by a slight shock of pain that Luke presumed came from Grian grasping the arrow.

“Ready?”

“Go for it.”

A wiggling pain, a moment of adjustment, and then the arrow was out of Luke’s shoulder, Grian moving fast to minimize the discomfort from the action. Luke’s whole arm instinctively tensed, stinging with the action, and for half a millisecond Luke could’ve sworn he felt Grian give his arm a squeeze, as if in reassurance, as if in comfort.

And then the second passed, Grian letting go of Luke and taking a step back behind him. Luke turned to face him once more, fishing a golden carrot out of his pocket with his blood-free hand at the same time. He took a large bite off the end of it while Grian discarded the freed arrow, reveling in the near-immediate relief the expensive vegetable brought with it.

“All done.” Grian shook off the hand he had used to pull out the arrow, crimson drops hitting the grass next to them. “Ready to keep going?”

“Yeah.” Luke kept munching in his carrot as they began walking once more, shooting a glance at Grian's hand. “Do you want to wipe off your hand at all? I think I have some wool on me.”

“It's alright, it'll despawn soon enough on its own.”

“You’re sure?”

“Completely.”

Luke nodded, accepting the answer. Silence descended upon the two as they continued on, Grian’s eyes forward while Luke’s kept straying back to the side, watching his own blood paint a dotted line a block and a half away from him.

[summerkoya]

the next right thing

She became the blessing he never wished for, his damnation. She became the living, breathing proof that Aemond Targaryen carried his heart outside his body. 

But when has any of that ever been powerful enough to endure a conflict of principles? 

Chapter 1

aemond targaryen x original female character , aemond targaryen x wife!oc

summary: Myria and Aemond welcome their new little dragon into the world

warnings: fluff, angst, childbirth (not explicit though)

(all characters portrayed are aged up from original ages in the book/show)

****

Myria sighed in relief as she sank in the comfort of the tub full of lukewarm water. She dismissed all the maids in the room, wishing to enjoy what she felt would be the last few days just between her and the baby, before they were born. Eyes closed, she placed a hand on her heavily swollen stomach, and delicately started caressing it. 

“Ah, you can’t join us fast enough, my little dragon.” She whispered, with a smile on her lips. It was a bittersweet feeling, given that she did desire to cherish the end of her pregnancy, yet she was rather eager to gain once again freedom of her own body, instead of being bound by, not only Maesters’ orders, but her own scarce mobility due to her enlarged frame.

She was enjoying herself for the first time in a while, as she had been feeling nothing but extreme discomfort all day, everyday, when she heard the soft thud of the door being opened. The silence that followed afterwards was all she needed to figure out who it was. 

“Hello there.” Myria muttered, as Aemond settled a stool right next to the tub so he could sit beside it. “Where are the boys?” 

“They’re with the Septa.” He answered, gently resting his hand on her belly. “They were covered in dirt from head to toe after our ‘quest’, as they called it, to the dragonpit.” 

“Thank you, Aemond.” She opened her eyes, and stared at him with a loving expression on her face. “You know how important it is to me that the boys spend time with us and are taught by us; raised by us, and these past moons the entirety of that responsibility has fallen upon you.” She placed her hand over his, skin hot as he had been training right before, and immediately felt the baby kicking against her abdomen. 

“‘Tis the least I can do,” he murmured, in a heavy voice. It was weird, that not even feeling the baby’s kicks, something that usually guaranteed would put a smile on his face, managed to tear down the aura of unsettlement that surrounded him. She raised his hands, and held them against her chest.  

“What is it, dear husband?” She asked, with a chuckle. “Have the two little monsters we have for sons terrorised you enough for the day?” 

He bit down on his lips, as if he didn’t want to speak the words he was thinking, dreading they would become true because of it. 

“The Velaryon are coming,” he finally muttered, dryly, “Vaemond has requested an audience to discuss Driftmark’s succession.” 

Myria knew about the animosity there was between the two families. Although Aemond and Rhaenyra’s children were raised together in the Red Keep, he didn’t have many fond memories of their shared youth. The further the Velaryon kept away from both their lives and conversation, the better it was for his already short tempered and resentful persona.

“Oh,” she breathed, “I believed that matter was already settled. That both your father, and most importantly Lord Corlys had proclaimed Luke as his heir.” 

“They did, yes. But I suspect that the King’s growing inability to sit the throne has built some courage on Vaemond, and now he’s pushing for the Driftmark seat again.” 

“Under which pretexts?” 

Aemond looked at her with an incredulous look on his face. As smart as he thought his wife to be, she did have plenty of painfully naive moments, on account of her foolishly trusting and kind nature. 

“What?” She snapped, her tone got defensive. “Is it only because they don’t look like their father that their titles are being questioned?” 

“Vaemond is just trying to protect his house’s lineage, dearest.” 

“By calling Rhaenyra’s children illegitimate!” She complained, harshly pushing his hands away from her. That was precisely the reason why she hated whenever the subject of Rhaenyra and her children worked its way into their conversations, she knew it was an issue upon which they would never reach any sort of mutual agreement. 

“You can’t deny… they do have a very strong resemblance to a certain late commander of the City Watch.” He sniggered, letting an all too familiar malicious grin claim his features. “She should’ve given more thought before bearing Strong looking children.” 

Myria’s eyes started to swell with tears, and she protectively covered her stomach in a hug. “That’s a despicable thing to say, Aemond. Especially when she’s your sister.” 

“‘Tis only the truth.” He continued to argue, and although he was usually the kind of person to savour a victory with no remorse and a smug expression on his face, he couldn’t help but to feel his gaze soften at the sight of such an upset Myria. He’d like to know which part of his words had caused that profound of a reaction on her, but he was never one good with emotions. 

“I don’t like it when you make such comments, Aemond.” She explained in a weak voice, roughly cleaning up the tears streaming down her cheek. “This whole… obsession you Targaryens have with looking a certain way”. 

Aemond felt his heart shrink in his chest, as a veil of shame started looming around him. What kind of man allowed himself to be the reason behind his beloved wife’s tears? The wife that had already gifted him two healthy, beautiful children and was enduring the hardships of having another in the way? No honourable one for sure.   

“I apologise dearest, I didn’t know this matter distressed you this much.” 

“So far I’ve been lucky, Aemond,” she whimpered, knowingly looking at her stomach, “for both Trystan and Griffin look like you, but what if this baby takes after me? What if the baby is born with my dornish looks, instead of a dragon’s? What kind of comments will I have to get used to hearing?” 

Aemond felt a twinge of guilt on the depths of his stomach, given that he could recall a few instances when both him and his family had gloated on how much of a Targaryen both his sons took after. On how the dragon blood was a strong one indeed. 

“None.” Aemond answered, almost shivering with fury at the thought of someone making such insinuations towards his wife. “If anyone dared making such remarks, I’d have their tongues.” 

Myria, who had failed to realise their talk had reached such an intensity her husband had a murderous look on his face, decided to back down and let her lips curl into a soft smile. Besides, she had another difficult topic of conversation she needed to bring up, eventually. She had to preserve some of her husband’s patience for that. 

“I apologise, my love, for speaking such dreadful words,” she mumbled, placing a reassuring hand on his cheek. “We shouldn’t let words born out of anger rot what it would have otherwise been a joyous moment, should we?” 

Aemond took a second before nodding, and deemed the discussion over by once again laying his hand over her swollen stomach. 

“Who do you think the baby will look like, this time?” 

“I wish for the baby to look like you.” Aemond smiled subtly. “Girls always take after their mothers.” 

“We don’t know if it is a girl yet.” Myria chuckled. “It could very much be another boy, you know. Will you be happy if that’s the case?” 

“Of course I’ll be, I only pray to the Gods for a healthy child.” He explained. “I just have a feeling it will be a daughter.” 

“But if it’s not?” She insisted, with a wary leer on her lips. 

Aemond stared at her in confusion, failing to understand Myria’s persistence on the matter. He believed himself to be a good, present father to their sons. He cherished them deeply and, because words of love didn’t come easy to him, he made sure his actions were a testament of such affections. He wished for a daughter, sure, but he found it hard to believe Myria would ever think he wouldn’t adore another boy just as much. Besides, they could always try again. 

And, as if she had read his mind, Myria turned her face towards him, letting a gloomy semblance cover her usually cheeky demeanour. “I too wish for a daughter, but I hope for you, my love, that indeed it’s one. Because this is the last time, Aemond. I do not wish to do this again. I’ve already given you two sons, and we have another babe in the way, I think I’ve already performed my duty. Even if this one is another son, I do not wish to get pregnant again only for the yearning of a daughter.” 

The princess remained in silence, assessing her dear husband’s reaction, but there wasn’t any. He simply stared back at her, with a frivolous mien on his face. 

“Are you mad at me, dear?” She asked, holding tight on his hands.

Aemond took a deep breath in, and then spoke: “If it’s indeed anger what you make out my feelings to be, rest assured they’re not because of you, dearest, for they’re directed at me.” He sighed, refusing to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry that you’ve felt as if having my children were a duty to you, rather than a choice. And I’m even more ashamed that you believed I would ever force that on you.” 

“No, Aemond, please.” Myria said, straightening up. She stretched out towards him, placing her palm on his cheek, and softly pushed his face towards her, pressing him to look at her. “Our kids, all three of them, are a blessing to me. And they were born out of love, not duty, believe me. I am not telling you this because I fear you will force children on me, I am letting you know this will be our last baby so you can get used to that idea. I know you wanted lots of children, and I wouldn’t want you to feel as if our family was incomplete.” 

Aemond reached for her hands, and held them against his lips, so he could leave a mellow kiss on them. He then placed them over his chest. 

“I’ve considered our family to be complete the moment I married you, Myr.” He said, gently.  “Don’t ever worry about that.” 

And she knew he meant that, for he rarely called her by such a name. Maybe it was because of how flustered she felt, or how strongly she felt about her husband, or maybe it was just a coincidence, but right at that moment the baby started to kick again. 

“Feel that,” she said, beaming, putting his hands over her stomach, “I think the baby is eager to come out. They’ve been kicking so much lately, and with such strength, I wouldn’t be surprised if I genuinely gave birth to a dragon.” 

Aemond promptly looked at her, his face turning into a grin one could find in a child when they’re being asked about a subject they’re very interested in. “As a matter of fact,” he rushed to explain, not being able to conceal his excitement, “there’s a myth that Targaryens are first conceived as dragons when they’re in the womb, and eventually develop into humans, right before birth.” 

“The matter is settled, then,” she chuckled, “neither a baby boy nor a baby girl, a baby dragon.” 

“Īlva rūs zaldrīzes.” He affirmed proudly, to which the baby started kicking again. 

“I think they like that.” She giggled. “But you better not say that word again, it hurts when they get this excited.” Myria groaned. 

Aemond let a little smile cover his face, and drew his face closer to her stomach. 

“Sagon sȳz naejot aōha muña, ñuha zaldrītsos.” (Be kind to your mother, my little dragon). 

• • •

Aemond stayed with her until the sun set, and helped her back to their chambers, where their two boys were expecting them, jumping up and down all around the room in excitement. 

Myria loved her children. More than anything in the world, more than anything she had ever loved before. But she couldn’t deny they were a handful. They were nice and kind boys, but very vigorous ones indeed. She didn’t have enough fingers in her hands to count the times she’d had to catch them mind air before jumping into something dangerous or forbidding them from waking up a very much asleep Vaghar. So when she saw their mischievous little faces smiling at them with a grin so big it went from ear to ear, she knew better than to ignore that. 

“What have you been up to, little dragons?” She asked, awkwardly bending down and opening her arms so they could hug her. 

“We have a surprise, mama!” Their eldest, Trystan, cheered. He was four years of age, and was very much Aemond’s twin. He had silvery blonde hair, and big, crystal clear blue eyes. Yet he had rather inherited her mother’s cheerful and loving character, much to Aemond’s liking. 

“You do?” She asked, with panic in her eyes. Her boys’ surprises usually consisted of messes, mostly. “What is it?” 

“Come see!” Griffin, aged two, grabbed her hand and started rushing her towards the fireplace. He too resembled his father, pale blue eyes and silver hair, except the latter one had a few hints of red, much like Myria’s. 

She looked over at her husband with an inquiring look on her face, wondering if he knew which surprise the children were talking about. Did she need to brace herself for absolute chaos?

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled, placing a hand on her lower back to help her heavily pregnant body follow the rushing steps of the toddlers. “‘Tis indeed a nice, harmless surprise.” 

And it surely was. She glanced over the fireplace, and found a golden, shimmering dragon egg laying over the flaming firewood. 

“Dreamfire brought a fresh clutch!” Trys squealed in happiness. “Aunt Helaena let us pick one for the new baby! Now Rhaexar and Maelar will have a little brother!” 

Myria smiled at the boys, and squeezed her husband’s hand. She knew seeing his children get dragons from the moment they were newborns must’ve been a bittersweet feeling for him. Both Trystan and Griffin’s eggs hatched within their cradles, and had grown into strong, healthy young dragons already. She knew he hadn’t been as lucky as a child. She knew how much pain it had caused him not having a dragon as early as his brother and nephews, and how much it had cost him to finally claim one. An eye for a dragon. 

“That’s incredible, sweethearts.” She smiled, ruffling Trys’ hair. “Now, will you be taking care of it? Making sure there’s always fire burning under it?” 

“I thought you didn’t let us play with fire.” The boy objected, with a playful grin on his face. He was a master in finding loopholes to help him get away with his shenanigans. 

“And you’re still very much not allowed, but you’ll be the ones in charge of calling an adult to rekindle it if it's needed, alright?”

“Alright, mama.” The boys agreed, and then kept on loudly marvelling about the beautiful egg. 

Aemond then proceeded to sit by the window, after intentionally pulling out a big book from the shelf, which catched the kids’ attention. Both of them ran towards him, and hopped onto his lap. 

“Could you read it to us, father?” Trystan requested. 

“All of it is in High Valyrian.” Aemond warned them. 

“That’s alright.” 

“Sure then, we’ll see how much you’ve been practising.” He teased them, with a devilish grin on his face. 

Myria chuckled, grateful her husband was entertaining them, and seized the opportunity to prepare herself for bed. She leisurely changed into her nightgown, and undid her hair. She brushed her teeth and applied a few drops of perfume on her wrists. 

After taking care of herself, she came back into the room, not surprised to find it in chaos once again. The boys were running all around the room, recreating scenes of the book as their father read them outloud. 

Myria hated being the one to burst their bubble of fun, but she was eager to get a very much needed rest, and the boys would behave like demons the following day if they didn’t get any sleep.

“Okay boys, let me get you to bed now.” She called, but was unsuccessful in getting them to listen. “Trys, Griff, come on!” She asked again, with a tiresome frown. 

“Boys!” Aemond was the one to notice her protests, and called them out sternly, which made them stop jumping all around the room. “Rȳbagon naejot aōha muña, and do as she tells you.” 

Myria mouthed her gratitude and walked the boys towards their room, just across the hall. She set them in their beds , and slowly started to put out the candles inside the lamps around the room.

“Mama, will the baby be born tomorrow?” Trys asked her. 

“I don’t know, bee.” She said, sitting by him. “Maybe, maybe not. Are you excited to have a new baby brother or sister?” 

“Yes!” Both kids nodded enthusiastically. “Mom, can I name the new baby when it comes?” 

“We’ll see about that, love.” She exhaled, too exhausted to argue with a four year old on why they couldn’t name the new baby ‘Balerion’. “Now, go to sleep. You need your rest to go spar with your father tomorrow, alright?”

“Alright mama.” 

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” 

Myria kissed the boys goodnight, and returned to her chambers, where she found Aemond undressing for the night. She walked towards him, and gently started to help him get his clothes down. 

“So, that was what you were doing with the boys all afternoon, fetching the dragon egg?” 

He simply hummed in response, but Myria was used to it. Her husband was a man of few words, after all. 

“Sometimes I’m jealous of you three.” She admitted, as Aemond turned around. She placed her hands on his cheeks. “For having dragons. For being dragon riders. For having dragon blood.” 

Aemond stared at her with apprehension, and put both his hands on her swollen stomach. “You are more dragon than any of us, my lady.” He replied, enjoying his wife’s caresses. 

Myria’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“You’ve given birth to two dragon children. You have yet another one in your belly. You’ve been tending to Rhaexar and Maelar ever since they hatched, I would be surprised if they didn’t trust in you enough to let you ride them, once they’re older. And you already know, whenever you wish to go for a ride on Vaghar, all you need to do is ask. She likes you.” 

“Hm, I know my darling.” She dreamily smiled, thinking about the times she had ridden the ancient dragon with her husband, and his strong grip on her waist and thighs as he sat behind her. “But I’m afraid that in this condition, the only place where I find some comfort is in a tub full of warm water.” 

“I can call for another one if you wish, dearest.” 

“No need for that, just come to bed with me.” 

“As you wish.” 

Both of them laid in bed, and as they were putting the candles on their nightstands out, she noticed something. 

“Aemond.” She breathed, and reached out towards him. “You’re still wearing your eye patch. Here.” She gently undid the tie behind his head, and let the patch fall onto the bed, revealing a blue sapphire where her husband’s left eye should’ve been. 

She stretched out and left a kiss right over his scar, as she always did after taking its cover away. And because words, especially those born out of sincere, loving feelings, didn’t come easy to him, he resorted to grabbing her by her back, pulling her close to him, so he could kiss her on the lips. 

“Goodnight, my love.” She called, and after one last kiss, both of them fell into their pillows, closing their eyes, hoping it wouldn’t take long to find some sleep. 

But that wasn’t the case for Myria. She was uncomfortable. If it wasn’t the position that bothered her, it was the fact that she felt too hot with the covers on, but too cold without them, or then it was the weight the baby made on her belly, which made her want to pee at all times. To make matters worse, every time she felt herself drifting away, into the blissful abyss of slumberness, the baby felt it necessary to kick, as hard as they could. Maybe she did truly bore a dragon inside. 

She turned around to look at her husband, and felt a pinch of unjustifiable annoyance at the sight of him peacefully sleeping, with no uncomfort whatsoever depriving him of rest. 

“Aemond,” she whispered into the man’s ear. She saw his lips press together into a line, and his eyebrows furrow into a frown. “Aemond, I can’t sleep.” 

Judging from the way her husband’s breathing paced up and how his position shifted, she assumed she had awoken him, but he still refused to open his eye. 

“Aemond,” she repeated, in a louder voice, “Aemond, I’m afraid your baby is very much awake and won’t let me find some sleep. Can you do me a favour?”

“Hm.” 

“Talk to them in High Valyrian. That always manages to calm the baby down.” 

Aemond grunted, and immediately afterwards straightened up, and placed his lips against her belly. 

“Ivestragī aōha muña rhaenagon mirri ēdrugon, zaldrītsos.” (Let your mother find some sleep, little dragon).

• • •

Morning came, and Myria felt as if a miracle had happened. She had been able to sleep all night long, and for the first time in months, she hadn’t woken up completely exhausted. She didn’t know how much time Aemond had spent talking to the baby in High Valyrian, for sleep found her as he kept on telling stories about grand cities and immense dragons. By the time she opened her eyes, Aemond had already left towards the training area, most probably with both their boys following from behind. 

She got up, and with the help of her maid got dressed for the day. She and Helaena would visit the King in his chambers, hoping to break her fast with him as they did every other morning, and then spend the rest of the day relaxing in the bath. 

But by the time her meeting with Viserys was put to an end, she knew she had some issues to discuss with her husband. Pressing ones. Myria knew the wise thing to do would be to remain silent, to avoid putting herself in danger, but the blood of the dragon growing inside of her ruled over her, making her fiery, volatile, and determined. Hence her hurrying towards the training yard, against her wisdom. 

She spotted Ser Criston Cole right away, sparring with some nobleman’s son, but she couldn’t find Aemond and the boys at first. That is, until she glanced towards an isolated corner of the patio, where she saw three silvery heads, side by side. Aemond was kneeling down, explaining something to the two little boys. 

They were each holding small swords, ones most probably Aemond had requested were made for them. Their father was teaching them how to properly hold the handles, and they were fairly focused on him, until they spotted their mother walking towards them. 

“Mama!” The boys’ faces lit up with delight. 

“Hello darlings!” She tried to bend down in order to pick Griff up, but felt a strong throb on her stomach as she was doing so. She let out a faint “Ouch!”, and bolted back up with a smile, to avoid worrying Aemond.

“Is everything alright?” Her husband asked, not being fooled by Myria’s cover up. 

“It is. I just hadn’t realised I am already at that stage where I can’t bend down comfortably, don’t worry.” She lent him a reassuring smile. “Am I interrupting something?” 

“We were just having some fun, right taobi?” 

“Mama, kepa said that we could sōvegon isse Vaghar later if we behaved!” 

“You’re more than welcome to join us, if you wish.” Aemond’s smirk reached her eyes. 

“Actually, my prince, I was wondering if you wished to go for a walk in the gardens with me, if that’s alright.” She hurried to ask, with a knowing look on her face. 

“Of course, my lady. Cole!” He screamed, looking for the knight. 

“Yes, my prince?”

“Could you keep on training with the children? I’ll escort my wife to the gardens.” 

“Certainly, my prince. Princess.” He added, bowing his head towards her. “Come here, you little monsters.” The man addressed the boys with an affectionate expression on his face. Although Myria felt as if there was something off about Ser Criston, she couldn’t pretend he didn’t absolutely adore her children. And he had always been not only a friend, but a father figure to her husband, and she respected him for that.

The couple left the yard, and walked towards the beautiful, blooming gardens. If Myria weren’t in her condition, she would spend most of her day there, gardening, with the kids. She had always adored being surrounded by flowers and trees and insects, and there were few activities she enjoyed better than taking care of them. But the swollen belly made such a task an impossible one. 

As a matter of fact, if it wasn’t for her husband's strong grip on her waist, she wouldn’t be able to walk down the stairs that led to the grounds. Aemond rather enjoyed that outcome of her being with child, if truth be told. He would never admit it, but he liked having excuses to touch his wife like that, and always seized the opportunity to let his fingers linger around her for far longer than it would be considered appropriate to do in public. 

They walked on silence for a few minutes, admiring the beautiful flowers and the stunning views of the ocean, until Myria raised her voice: 

“I visited your father today, I broke my fast with him.” 

“That’s nice.” Aemond lied, forcing his lips into a smile. Over the years, he had grown resentful of his father and he wasn’t fond of the apparently great relationship his wife had with him. 

“He didn’t know Rhaenyra is coming tomorrow.” She said, dryly. 

“Hm.” He nodded, glancing towards her. 

“Apparently no one in this family thought it necessary to tell the King his daughter and grandchildren are coming.” She added, in a condescending tone, feeling fury starting to boil in her blood. 

Aemond abruptly stopped on his tracks, and Myria would’ve tripped forwards if he hadn’t grabbed her by the waist, rather harshly. She felt another pinch on her stomach, but because of the adrenaline she was feeling, she didn’t find it hard to ignore it. 

“And what exactly do you want me to do about that?” 

“And I didn’t even get to explain to him the reason they’re coming, because the moment he seemed to start understanding what I was talking about, a maid came rushing and drowned him in milk of the poppy.” She added, through gritted teeth. 

“I don’t think it’s your place to be informing the King on such matters, my lady.” He answered, eyebrows furrowing into an angry frown.

“And I couldn’t help but wonder,” she ignored him, “who would try and hide this away from the King? Who indeed would want to avoid having your father speak on such matters?” She continued, raising her voice. 

“Careful.” Aemond whispered, discreetly looking around, worrying for his wife, for not even their titles would be able to protect her if such words were heard by the wrong ears. 

“And then I realised: why would they not want your father ending once and for all these treacherous claims? What’s in it for them, if Rhaenyra’s son is declared unworthy of the Driftmark throne? And what consequences would that bring to other claims, by extension?” 

Aemond shortened the space between them, and gently placed his hand over Myria’s mouth. 

“What are you implying, my lady?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m implying, Aemond.” Myria hurled back, firmly hitting his hand down. “I know your whole family, yourself included, like to think of me an idiot, but I am not. And I listen to the whispers, we all have. Everyone knows it’s been moons since the King last attended a council meeting, let alone sat the throne, and who’s been ruling in his name. And if one is to believe in whispers, then very corrupt conversations are being held right now, as we speak, in that very same room.”  

“You could get your tongue cut off for making such allegations, did you know?” 

“I don’t blame your mother, I don’t think she’s taking any part in it. But I think you know very well about the Hand’s intentions, for when the inevitable happens.” She sneered. Myria spoke words of truth yet her lips were laced with poison. “And I believe you condone them.” 

Hearing those words, spoken in such a reproaching manner by his wife, was the final straw for Aemond. He felt his nostrils flare up with fury, and decided she was no longer worth the kindness of being reasonable. She chose to anger the dragon— then she could face the consequences. 

“And would it really be that bad, huh?” He roared. “That a trueborn Targaryen sat the Throne?”

“Rhaenyra is a trueborn Targaryen.” She argued back. 

“Her children are not.”

“Even if Laenor weren’t their father, they’re not Targaryens because of him, they carry the dragon blood because of her. And Jacaerys won’t inherit the throne because of Laenor, he will inherit the throne because of his mother, the legitimate heir.” 

“There is not one place in the whole realm where bastards aren’t stripped of all their titles. Explain to me why this is any different.” 

Myria was about to answer with rage, when she felt a scream get caught up on her throat. She felt as if water were running down her legs, and she lifted the skirt of her dress to find a pink, gooey liquid covering her thighs. She looked up towards Aemond with dismay in her eyes, which managed to make him forget about any sort of anger he might have had towards her at the moment. He ran towards her, just in time to prevent her from falling as another cry left her lips. 

“Wh—what’s wrong, dearest?” He asked, worried. 

“Nothing is wrong I— I just think the baby is coming.” She answered, with a smile caused by both joy and pain.

“Are you sure?” 

“I’ve done this two times already, Aemond, I’d know if something were wrong.” She clinged on his arm, as another sharp ache invaded her body. “This simply means we’re going to meet our baby soon.” 

“That is good news, my lady.” He grinned. 

But not everything went as smoothly as they believed. 

• • •

It had been hours since Aemond called the Maester, and some more since night had already fallen upon the castle, and the baby had yet to arrive. The prince could hear his wife’s screams from the hallway, and each one of them felt like he was being pierced through the heart. 

“What is wrong, Maestre?” He asked the old man, concerned. 

“Nothing, young prince.” He replied, with a shrug. “It’s just a long labour, that’s all. So far, Princess Myria has been blessed with rather quick, smooth labours. This one will simply be more challenging, my prince.” 

Another bawl broke the silence, and Aemond felt his heart sink on his chest. 

“Isn’t there anything you can give to her?” 

“When the time comes, we’ll provide her with the milk of the poppy. But I’m afraid it’ll be a long time before it comes to that. I trust you will be in the chambers with her, as you were the last two times?” The old man asked, with a bitter look on his face. For some reason, he had always been disapproving about Aemond’s decision on being with his wife during her labours. 

He straightened his posture, and put on a threatening mien. He didn’t like it when being questioned. 

“I think that’s your cue, my prince.” The Maester backed down, as Myria’s screams reached them once more. 

Aemond rushed towards the door, and he opened it to find his wife holding onto the bed frame for dear life. 

“Here,” he said, offering his arm, “lean on me.” 

“What is wrong, Aemond?” She grunted, pressing her nails against his flesh as another contraction hit her. “And why is it that you two find it righteous to speak behind my back when I’m the one agonising? When I’m the one bearing the pain of being in labours?”

Aemond hid a smile, for he would be lying if he said he wasn’t fond of the fire that seized over his wife whenever she carried one of his children. Ever too kind and gentle of a woman, it was rather amusing seeing her snap like that. Aemond liked it when she was fiery. He found it alluring. 

“The Maester says nothing is wrong, we are simply unlucky it’s a long labour. We can only endure it.” 

“Easier said than done.” She grunted with a muffled voice, given that she was harshly pressing her face against his chest to avoid screaming her lungs out. “And why is it exactly that you aren’t groaning in pain with me?” 

“My lady?” He asked, confused. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she scoffed, with an insolent look on her face, “I just heard you said that ‘we’ have to endure it, so I seem to have made the mistake to assume that ‘we’ were indeed suffering the same torture.” 

Myria felt a contraction so agonising, she couldn't help but to cry out tears of pain while leaning towards her husband. She pressed her forehead against his chest, bending down, while he caressed her arms. 

“If I could take any of the pain away, I would, dearest.” 

Hours kept passing by, and it wasn’t until sunrise that the midwives declared the baby would arrive briefly. She was sat on the bed, Aemond holding tight on her hand, and so it started, the moment Myria dreaded the most. 

It was known that pushing was the most dangerous part in any birth. Myria thought about the baby she wouldn’t get to know, her boys, and everything they would be losing if something happened to her. She felt her chest hastily pounding with panic, and her skin breaking out in sweat. Her vision became blurry, and she had trouble hearing what was being said to her. 

Aemond seemed to be the only one to detect her panic, and so he softly grabbed her chin, and forced her gaze into his. He gave her a nod, one filled with encouragement and love, and the barriers of reality became solid once more, as her senses came back to her. Nothing could happen to her as long as Aemond was there, we would never let any harm come her way. 

Two excruciatingly long hours later, Myria sobbed in relief as she heard a baby’s cry. Her face was covered in sweat, and she felt as if she were about to pass out. But the babe was fine, she was relieved to hear. 

“It’s a healthy, strong boy, Princess.” The midwives chanted, as she was handed the newborn. She cried tears of joy as he was placed in her arms. The baby had a very fine layer of golden, copper blonde hair and beautiful brown, honey eyes; a spitting image of her. 

She looked up towards Aemond, beaming. He pulled himself closer, so he could leave a kiss on her forehead, an action which everyone took as a signal to leave, and let the new parents enjoy some privacy. 

Myria urged him to sit by her side, and she handed the baby to him. He delicately took him in his arms, despite how many times he had already carried his newborn children, he never got past the feeling of them being the dearest, most fragile thing in the world, and started rocking him gently. 

“Don’t you wish he was a girl?” 

“No.” He said, with a very subtle smile on his lips. “He looks like you.” 

“Does that upset you?” 

“It is a blessing he is as beautiful as his mother.” He said, smiling broadly at her. The kind of smile she was rarely granted, the one he reserved for special occasions such as their children’s births, when he felt each of their first kicks, or when their dragon eggs hatched. So she tried to soak up as much of it as she could, and decided to seal the moment with a kiss on his lips. She wouldn’t dare to say it— for she knew her husband felt uneasy about showing affection, but she hoped he could understand the words hidden behind that kiss. Avy jorrāelan. I love you. 

She could feel a smile on his lips, and, even if she needed any further proof that he had understood what laid underneath it, she got that as he mumbled his next words:

“Thank you, Myr.” 

She bit on her lips, to avoid any sort of doting words coming out of them, and left one final kiss on his cheek, before returning her attention towards the cooing baby. Whether it was normal for newborns to do so, she didn’t know, but the baby boy wouldn’t stop energetically kicking his legs.  

“You’re a strong one, huh, ñuha zaldrītsos?” Myria commented lovingly. “No wonder I felt my insides bruised!” She giggled, laughter laced with overwhelming affection. 

“He’s very much welcome to bruise me, now, for a change.” Aemond chuckled, as the baby hit his chest with his legs. “‘Tis only fair, my lady.” 

“I quite agree.” She smiled. “He’s precious, isn’t he?” 

“Hm.” 

• • •

They enjoyed a few hours of privacy, doting on their newborn, before they decided it was time to bring the children so they could meet their baby brother. Aemond entered the room, with the two boys bouncing up and down with excitement. As soon as they spotted the little baby in their mother's arms, they began rushing towards the bed. Aemond bolted towards them just in time to pick them up before they could hop onto their mother. 

“Boys, what did I say on the way here?” He scolded them. “You’ll have to be gentle towards your mother these days. No crushing her.” 

“It’s alright, bees, you can come, but carefully.” She said, staring lovingly at them. “Come meet your baby brother!”

“Is it a boy?” Trys squealed in excitement, sitting by her side, while Aemond laid Griffin down on her other side. 

“He is.” Myria ruffled the boy’s hair. “Do you want to hold him?” 

“Yes, yes mama, please!” Trystan perked up with enthusiasm. 

“Be careful with his head, alright?” She said, settling the baby in the boy’s arms. For such a wild child— he remained unusually still, which was a testament on how much he cherished his new baby brother already.

“Alright, mama.” Trystan answered, delicately holding his head, and Myria could feel her heart expanding at the sight of them together. 

“I want too!” Griffin complained, climbing onto his mother’s lap. 

Myria grunted in pain, still pretty sore from the birth, pretty sure the Maester would advise her against such gestures, to help the stitches cure quicker. She noticed Aemond was about to pull Griff away, but she motioned him it was not needed. She could handle it. 

“You’ll get to hold him too, after your brother, my love.” She soothed him, leaving a kiss on his temple. 

“Mama, can we name him Max?” Trystan blurted, out of the blue. 

“Where did you get that from?” Myria chuckled, with her eyebrows furrowed. 

“It’s from one of the books father reads to us before bed.” The little boy explained. 

Myria looked over at Aemond, since they hadn’t discussed names yet. She was planning on letting him choose, especially since he had very kindly allowed her to pick the first two in traditionally dornish names. 

“Ser Maxen Uller of Hellholt.” Aemond nodded, smiling softly at the toddler, proud of the little boy’s attention to his teachings. “Esquire of Princess Nymeria during the war. Grand name fitting of a grand warrior.” 

“Does that mean we can name him Max?” Trys asked, eyes filled with hope. 

Myria looked at Aemond, and shrugged. She quite liked Max. And, truth to be told, as the high from meeting the baby started to wear off, she began to feel tired and sickly, and not at all fitted to endure an hour worth of name discussion. So she looked at Aemond, and nodded. 

“Prince Maxen of House Targaryen it is, then” He announced, cheerfully.

****

a/n: please forgive any mistakes, english is not my first language! i had this idea for a fic ever since i first watched the show, about aemond marrying a dornish heiress, and finallt got around writing it. i hope you enjoyed this! thinking about turning it into a series

[thesinglesjukebox]

KESHA - "JOYRIDE"

We still ride for you, Kesha!

[7.25]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Kesha: unburdened by what has been, living in the context, realizing what can be.  [8]

Katherine St. Asaph: It's hard not to overrate Kesha singles. Like all right-minded pop listeners, I want her to thrive, and I want every song to sound like proof that she is. I initially thought "Raising Hell" was the glorious height of Kesha's hedonism; in retrospect, it was a little perfunctory. Likewise, I really want "Joyride" to be the Rabelaisian outsider carnival everyone says it is, enough to resist the reality that nothing about it is outside the bounds of normie pop. Cowriter Madison Love has a back catalogue spanning years of pop singles with a similar chaos quotient: Lady Gaga's "Sour Candy," Machine Gun Kelly and Camila Cabello's "Bad Things," Ava Max's "Sweet But Psycho"; to contextualize even further, she's written enough for enough B-listers that some of that back catalogue inevitably went through Dr. Luke. (A few antis have tried to turn this fact into a gotcha, as if it's impossible to work with an asshole colleague then want to stop.) The arrangement is less love honk than cruise control, coasting in the lane of its donk. The chorus sounds kinetic, springing out and bouncing around like a jack-in-the-box; it also sounds like "Run the World (Girls)" but slower. The lyrics can't decide whether they're about sex or Regina Georgish camaraderie (I doubt it's both), and while Kesha sounds as depraved as ever, slurring and purring out bars like "label whore, but I'm tired of wearing clothes," none of them outsleaze her Simple Life days, let alone a brat summer. All this said, the song pre-empts every criticism possible: she has, truly, earned the right to be like this. I've written all these objective pans, and my heart is in none of them.  [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: I often (perhaps too often?) critique a song by saying it sounds like something out of a movie about a fake pop star. Those songs are worthy of critique, obviously — they’re constructed entirely out of cliches and misremembered fragments of out of date pop hits, with any hooks accrued seemingly by accident. Yet “something out of a movie” is not necessarily the right put down. Case in point: “Joyride,” from its deliriously overcranked accordion hook on down, sounds absolutely like something out of some feverish fictional property. And yet, this absolutely works — the first Kesha single in years to work as both commentary and as a straight ahead banger. [7]

Leah Isobel: Kesha's 2022 loosie "Rich White Straight Men" introduced a soundscape that was big not in the sense of pop but in the sense of density: it was carnivalesque and menacing, stuffed with cartoonish sound effects, barely making room for her theatrically affected vocal. While Gag Order had an austere musculature that spoke to the effort of keeping hope alive, that song was the sound of despair, garish and hopeless and too much in every respect. Like everything that overflows with sincerity, it was a little alienating, a little cringe. "Joyride" revisits that soundscape, but offers an innovation: by pairing a similarly maniacal accordion loop with the straightforward momentum of her dance-pop side, the song achieves something that I almost want to call Brechtian? It is impossible to listen to a new Kesha song without immediately thinking of her context, her Story, her Narrative; this has made it exceedingly difficult for her to reclaim the joy and delight that was her trademark. But the accordion is so fucking ridiculous, so cringe, that it actually short-circuits all other considerations. The question goes from "is Kesha happy?" to "what is that?" And then I'm dancing. She fucking did it. [8]

Alex Clifton: Have you ever wanted to go to a lightly demonic monster truck rally run by evil clowns who love to dance? Because that’s exactly the kind of wild party Kesha’s conjuring here, silly and fun and insanely catchy. Initially I was a little over the “I am Mother” line, thinking, “that will date this all to hell,” but maybe this one should absolutely be dated. July 2024: the first month Kesha released new music unshackled from Dr. Luke. The sense of freedom and excitement here is so palpable; Kesha’s clearly having a ball on the recording, hamming up her performance in a way that’s simultaneously goofy and sexy. (The only other singer I can see delivering “beep-beep bitch” this well is Gaga, the established queen of camp.) I’m excited to see where newly-freed Kesha goes next, as she’s bound to show us the best night of our lives.  [9]

Joshua Lu: Hedonistic carnival final boss OST — nobody knows how to make trashy pop music like Kesha. [8]

Jonathan Bradley: I respect the outré ambition here — it's fun to hear Kesha find new paths into the realm of the obtuse — but this song has some very annoying sounds. The accordion is annoying! The brassy high-pitched delivery of the title on the hook is annoying! Declaring yourself to be "mother" more than a year after Meghan Trainor did it is annoying! [3]

Alfred Soto: Immersing himself into the Eurotrash with which she has long flited, Kesha sounds buoyant like she hasn't been all decade. She sounds best when harmonizing with bleeps and bloops and synth gahoozits.  [8]

Ian Mathers: Not the accordions I thought I wanted but, it turns out, the accordions I needed. Hyperpolka? Can that be a thing for a bit? [7]

Taylor Alatorre: It’s an open question why the most prototypically American pop singer to emerge from the Recession Era – sorry, Lana, but you first hit the U.S. top 40 with a Cedric Gervais remix – would want to declare her label independence with a high-density slab of blaring Eurotrash. In freeing herself from one set of constraints, Kesha seems to have placed herself under a not-entirely-new one: a dual mandate of familiarity and novelty, of embracing the garishly extroverted attitude of Animal and Cannibal while running away from their most obvious sonic totems. "Joyride” is too fixated on these matters of branding and self-presentation to truly give off the uninhibited vibe it wants to, though Kesha’s everything-at-the-wall approach does produce at least one undeniable hook: those perfectly timed, perfectly trashy car horns. An appeal to the 5-year-old in all of us, who just wants to hear the big vroom-vroom machine go beep-beep. [5]

Hannah Jocelyn: When someone's trying to make another campy "Padam Padam"-style summer hit, I hear it and I know -- this is a fascinating mix of effortless strangeness and 'omg this is for the gaaayzzz brat summmerrrrr so juuuliiaaaa' pandering. There's a lot of off-putting material here; the chorus melody sounds like that meme where every note in "Fireflies" is tuned to C and the spoken title drop sounds uncannily lifted from an ARTPOP reject (you can't tell me that's not Gaga!). In a lot of ways, this isn't too far from a song like Camila Cabello's "I Luv It", but Kesha is an actual weirdo cramming her weirdness into a pop song, not Cabello retrofitting her normalcy into a would-be weird song. That's why she's much better at calling herself "Mother" than other singers, and why she can get away with an accordion in place of the usual synthesizers. "Joyride" is not trying to be an accidental masterpiece; it's just zaniness for the sake of zaniness. There's nothing wrong with letting her be like that.  [7]

Will Adams: "I've earned the right to be like this" is one hell of a mission statement (and she's right). "Joyride," like any other successful Kesha single, has an appealing weirdness -- the accordion riff, the octave swoops in the chorus, dramatic-ass choir -- that makes for a fun ride. However, there's some light pandering in the form of "mother" and the Mean Girls quote which stops it just short of being a full Obnoxious Banger (though this self-remix by producer Zhone takes it there). [7]

Jackie Powell: What makes Kesha such an instinctual pop star is how well she knows herself. With “Joyride” she returns to the type of cheekiness and camp that introduced her to the world. Her diction and enunciation on some of the consonants in each verse is what is so unique to Kesha. She knows what words to accent and which ones not to. Not every artist has this awareness. Kesha had to take a bit of an artistic journey to return to her old sound with as much spunk and moxie as “Joyride”, and unlike another artist we know, she did it successfully. Kesha and Madison Love wrote a song that empowers without being too cheesy, frivolous but without being meaningless.  [7]

Kat Stevens: Admittedly I've left it a little late to qualify for Paris 2024, so I must now set my sights on LA 2028. It's true that I'm now older than US swimmer Dara 'Grandma' Torres was when she won three silver medals in Beijing, however legendary Uzbek gymnast Oksana Chusovitina managed an average 14.166 score for her two vaults in Tokyo (aged 46), and still hasn't officially retired. There's hope for me yet! As such I got cracking with my altitude training this morning (running up Crystal Palace hill, elevation above sea level: 112m) and switched up my playlist from French house to a new Los Angeles-themed one, with "Joyride" by Kesha in pride of place at the top. Beep-beep, bitch -- we're going to the Olympics! [9]

Nortey Dowuona: Madison Love woke up in the morning, saying fuck P. Diddy.  [6]

Mark Sinker: Nothing shorthands my favourite year in pop for a long time than responding to whatever anyone now says or does with the word “JOYRIDE” in a Kesha voice.  [10]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[saberlightaus]

The Unique Luke Skywalker Rotj Lightsaber

To fans of Star Wars, a lightsaber doesn't mean only a weapon but also heroism, a legacy, and that good fights evil until the very end. One of the most iconic is the one wielded by Luke Skywalker himself in "Return of the Jedi": a green-bladed lightsaber, symbolic of Skywalker's transition from boyish Jedi into full-fledged hero. When combined with the trend of weathered lightsabers, the collectibles give another reason for fans to cherish the Star Wars universe. In this writing piece, you can know more about the Luke Skywalker Rotj lightsaber,orweathered lightsaber.

The green blade and how the hilt is made out identify with Luke Skywalker's lightsaber. This lightsaber brought fans proof of Luke's growth and maturity into a grown Jedi, representing the last few steps in this hero's journey of the narrative epic that is the original trilogy. Owning a piece of Star Wars history means getting a tangible part of Luke's journey, making it a must-have for any collector.

The same can be said for weathered lightsaber, which even further add realism to a saber due to having been through battles, as it were, bearing marks, scuffing, and mostly, signs of wear—greatly adding character to the worn look, hinting that the lightsaber itself really has a history. A weathered lightsaber bears a sense that it tells a story of its own, making it a unique piece for any collection.

Display and Personalization

Both Luke's ROTJ lightsaber and weathered lightsabers are very good-looking and interesting to exhibit. These lightsabers can fit right in the middle of any Star Wars collection a fan has made, whether they be in pristine or weathered quality. Some weathered lightsabers even come with custom options, letting fans decide the wear and tear appropriate in accordance with their own visions of the history of the saber. Go ahead! And claim the top benefits of the most impeccable Luke Skywalker Rotj lightsaber or weathered lightsaber.

[horizon-verizon]

People that say that Aemond only really turned against Rhaenyra because Rhaenyra didn’t care that he lost an eye made me laugh. Aemond was already showing his kinslaying nature when he threatened to feed his own cousin Baela to a dragon, threatened to kill his own nephew Luke (“You will die screaming in flames just as your father did”) and then threatened to kill his other nephew Jace with a rock.

Aemond was already trained by Alicent to view anyone who didn’t come out of her own womb as not really family. More proof of that is when Alicent told Aegon “We are family” when she found out he was behind the pig prank that he played on Aemond, as if Luke, Jace, and Rhaenyra aren’t their family too. Alicent was already poisoning her kids against Rhaenyra and her kids way before the eye incident and

Aemond listened to her. And call me cold, but no, I don’t care that Aemond lost an eye and I don’t care about Alicent being upset either. Aemond brought that on himself because he got cocky after claiming Vhaegar and then kept escalating the fight to the point where he was going to kill Jace, which caused Luke to slash his eye in defense. He would have had both his eyes if he had just walked back to his room without taunting his cousins.

Anon is talking about my post HERE, I think. 

Book!Aemond is unequivocally the sort of person who’s entire aura that’s infused with rage. Unearned or unjustified rage. Show!Aemond is a watered down, contradictory version of the book whom Ryan Condal can’t decided is responsible or not for killing Lucerys.

Honestly, I also really don’t care about his eye getting taken out that much. He had opportunity to leave the V boys or push them down further without screaming about how they all deserve to die specifically because they are considered illegitimate spawn. No one told him to mock Rhaena and Baela about their mother, who are all innocent in his hatred against the boys.

Boy needed actual emotional control lessons, not the Catholic repression that we see in his sitting quietly and just waiting to burst out against the V boys. But he doesn’t get any because his mother lets it be for the sake of teaching him that he is better then his own kin. I agree. There’s a point where one cannot allow such atrociousness. No one really told him to hold back for the sake of approaching others--and especially those he’s been told to see as less-than--diplomatically or amicably because he was told that he was in the right.

I find him an interesting character not because I agree with this mindset or the I think that it is a good one but because his villainry shows us things about the depth of ideological evil. 

[daydadahlias]

3, 12, 19, & 23 for the 2023 fic ask game? -megs 💙

hi Megs thanks sm for asking !!

3. What’s something you learned about yourself as a writer?

well I guess I theoretically already knew this but I further learned how much I loveee writing chaptered stories. Every time I write a chaptered story and get to spend so much time with the characters I'm like "ugh!! why don't I write more of these!!" and the answer is just that they take so much time but they're soo much fun for me :)

12. What fic was the most difficult to write? Did you finish it?

there were a couple fics for me that were really hard and the answer is No, I did not finish them and I am working on them right now to hopefully post them this year instead of last. Of the fics that I actually posted, my 70s AU Honeysuckle was the most difficult but that was because I had someone proof read it and they pretty blatantly told me it sucked dfghjk so I had a really hard time getting out of my head enough to edit it and share it because of how insecure I was about the fic <3 but that one I did finish !! and I did end up posting !! and I'm still <3 insecure about it <3 but that's life lol

19. Share your favorite opening line

OOO FUN QUESTION !! I actually worked pretty hard this year on having good opening lines so I really like all of them :) I learned some really great advice about how all opening lines should have "curiosity + clarity." which sounds contradicting but, through an opening line, you should give your reader something they can hold onto and something they can be curious about. and one of the opening lines I like the most that does that is the opening of John Dough:

The deadline for the book is in three months and Luke is still a virgin.

the reason is bc now the reader has the clarity of "ok there's a deadline for a book" and you also get the clarity of the character of Luke and also that he's a virgin lol but THEN you have the curiosity of "okay so how do these two things coincide??" and I think that's fun :)

23. Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

this is a pretty hard question because I don't really think about my writing like that?? like in such small details. I more Struggle with overall scenes not so much line-by-line details. and most of the Tiny Paragraph-level things that I struggle w/ are smut related but I don't want to go into detail about that bc I don't think people would be super comfortable with that haha. I think I'll say that I really struggled w/ the ending of my chaptered fic because, y'know, this monster is 220k, how are you supposed to wrap that all up?? so here's the final paragraph of the fic:

He thinks of every piece of their lives they stitched into each other, that they gave over and won’t ever give back, that they hold onto just for the sake of keeping. Every piece of Ashton that was built from a scorching small-town sun shining on soft skin until it burned that he’s slowly given over to Calum, piece by piece, that Calum has given right back, parts of themselves they traded like trinkets and kind words. Every bit of him that he chose to let bloom into someone new in Calum’s palms like a Magnolia out of Mississippi mud.

and to be totally honest I do think it's a little too Overstated so if I went back and rewrote it, I'd make it a little more subtle sdfghj I'd probably cut these sentences down a bit and cool it w/ all the alliteration. you can DEF tell I was in a poetry class at the time.

[winter-tospring]

They all did Anakin dirty, I hate them 😭😭😭😭😭 I hate Yoda the most, what a fucking bitch, from the beginning he just ruined this poor kid's life, and then kept going over and over, like give him a fucking break, my god, so all these movies he says he should just obey them and not fear, nor hate, not feel anything "negative" but suddenly when it's convenient for him "please search your feelings" BITCH YOU TAUGHT HIM, FORCED JIM,IN ORDER FOR HIM TO BE SEEN AS A TRUE JEDI, THAT HE SHOULD REPRESS ALL HIS FEELINGS, AND NOW YOU EXPECT TO BE ABLE TO DIG IN EASILY AND WITHOUT CONFUSION????? that's not guidance, that's making him suspicious and WHY WOULDN'T HE BE, he SHOULD be suspicious, because YOU, YODA FUCKER, ARE AN ASSHOLE AND THE WORST, and he's right to not trust you and to feel resentment. All the feelings he expresses throughout his arc are valid and he does the best job at expressing himself and reflecting honestly, which is honestly impressive, and I personally resent that fckin council for dismissing it and treating him as a nothing who can't participate in Grown Up Conversations Because He's Not Experienced ™. The true child young adult experience. Being super skilled but put to the side by elders cause they can't stand that you're more talented than them. Like hello, he could've done the job Obi Wan was sent for and it would have given him a confidence boost to see the council trust him. He deserved that. He deserved to be recognized and not feared. The Jedi who claim that fear is the enemy are also the ones terrified of Anakin and his potential, hypocrites. And they do want to maintain their power. That's the thing, Palpatine isn't completely wrong about them, and that only further destroys Anakin's trust in the Jedi. The Jedi who take him away from his mom, telling him to never look back, then never recognize him, only fear him, instead of guiding, supporting, being a hand, and friends he can rely on in his life.

It's all so terribly horrible. All of it. All the things that happen to him. He's manipulated, and alone, and holding on to the one thing that's vulnerable with him, and of course he doesn't want to lose it. He has no one!!!! I didn't resent Obi-Wan as much in this movie, he did grow a bit, after being by Anakin's side for longer and him rubbing off on him. He's more relaxed with Anakin, but too naive about the Jedi. Anakin questions things and he is tragically naive, which is a dangerous combination for someone as powerful as him.

It's so terrible that he had to see the prophecies in his head. It's so terrible that Palpatine used him heartlessly. It's so terrible that Obi-Wan doesn't think a bit longer about what happened and why Anakin is like this, and then leaves him there, without saying a bad word about the Jedi.

You can so much see how much Anakin hates himself for turning to the dark side. The hood over his head feels like him hiding. The shame, and the necessity of this path, in his mind. It's so tragic, how used he was. It's heartwrenching to see him kneel to Palpatine, and accept his given name, and act for the abuser's side with tears in his eyes. It's too late, it's horrible. He needed lots of hugs 😭💔

Him being soft towards Luke later on makes all the sense. He does not want to be on this side. It was simply the inevitable side he had to be on, for the promise he was given. I can't fucking believe they even make him think HE killed Padmé. Maybe it contributed, what he did, but the RAGE in me about Palpatine telling him this. But anyway, the softness towards Luke, yes. Luke is so so similar to his dad, and freaking Yoda is freaking useless making Luke think his dad was horrible. Anakin was so much like Luke. Freaking Yoda keeping it to himself that he ruined his dad's life with his damn religion and restraining him instead of being a true friend. Luke would've loved his dad. And Anakin would be so proud of his son. And I'm so glad the last thing Anakin does is a proof of love that is not corrupted, but true to who he was before, and who he is, deep down, buried under the years of self loathing and manipulation. I'm so glad he met Luke, and that in the end, he was seen as himself, that it was recognized, at last, that he did have good in him. That his son, like Padmé, saw it, and believed in it, and fought for it. I'm so glad Anakin can even admit it to himself, after having Luke insist so much. How powerful that is. I'm also so glad he met Luke cause he just...should,you know? Anakin deserved that much.

[madhare0512]

A Comprehensive List of Spideyfist Interactions (pt.1)

hello, and welcome to my latest hyperfixation, Spideyfist (Peter Parker | Spiderman/Danny Rand | Iron Fist). this will be a comprehensive list of proof that Danny and Peter are in love or at the very least, each other’s favorites. we’re gonna go episode by episode, starting with season 1, episode 1. 

so, without further ado, welcome to “reasons Spideyfist is Canon” (featuring random commentary as i go through each episode)

warnings for: episode spoilers, season spoilers, action/injury description, unsolicited commentary, probable cussing, violence, caps lock

this part features episodes 1 through 6 of season 1

~~~

S1E1 Great Power:

- Danny isn’t in this episode and has no interactions with Peter

- but i do need to acknowledge MJ as an icon in this show

- and Harry, who was also an icon in this show

~~~

S1E2 Great Responsibility:

- okay but that course was ridiculous

- the COMPETITION presented

- okay, for serious, the first time Danny talked ABOUT Peter it was “he’s rough around the edges but not without potential” which was in response to Sam’s putting Peter down

- also Danny’s “you know what they say about a book and it’s cover” could be seen as him not wanting be judgemental, but it could also be seen as him protecting the new guy before even having MET HIM

- the BET they made over Peter lasting however long it was (Ava fucking LOST)

- oh my god the Spider-Cycle scenes... that was something else

- god, the way Danny stopped the bike with one foot on the wheel. that just screams “i wanna impress this guy and also be cool”

- he’s also the first to introduce himself and the way he does also screams “i wanna impress this guy and also be cool”

- Peter calls the team, which includes Danny, cool

- oh i forgot the Frightful Four second round fight was a part of this episode

- aww Spidey teaching them is so cute

- Danny stayed behind to help Spiderman with the Frightful Four despite being told to “protect and serve” by the person considered leader at the time

- and again, during the school/civilian introduction, Danny is the first to introduce himself

- Peter wasn’t really on board with the team being at his school until he remembered that they inadvertantly for Flash stuck in a locker and i think that’s hilarious

~~~

S1E3 Doomed: 

- Peter has developed a whole superhero themed heirarchy for his school, which really fits into the “fanboy” thing he seems to have in every adaptation, but also makes a lot of sense because he’s also a hero himself

- i know a lot of people ship Sam/Peter, but their whole rivalry thing eally throws me off. even once they calm down and work together and tease instead of antagonize, it’s always been more “best friend/brother” instead of “boyfriend”

- honorable mention of PowerFist, Luke never seems upset by the sayings/wisdom phrases Danny says

- Sam is also a fucking idiot this episode 

- upon checking in with the rest of the team, Peter checks in with Danny first. also, he seems to be trying to find common ground? “no clue what you’re doing, right?” seems like he’s trying to start a conversation almost

- the little “awesome” before Peter moves on sound equal parts encouraging and confused, like Peter’s happy but also unsure what’s going on

- Peter and Danny seem to be in window seats, which i’m counting because i count it as a parallel

- Danny’s the one to tell Peter when they’re touching down

- Danny calling Peter (and Sam) out on the bs. this is important in relationships, knowing when to call each other out, so doing so this early on counts

- second honorable mention of PowerFist: Danny and Luke run off to fight the Doombots TOGETHER instead of splitting up (i 1000% believe that they’ve been in the program the longest)

- Danny (and Luke) calling Peter (and Sam) out on the bs again, and also taking responsibility for going along with the plot at all

- the fact that Peter TAKES DANNY’S WRIST to catch his attention instead of saying his name. also, he doesn’t have a single doubt that Danny can get them through the floors. he asks if Danny can handle that, he doesn’t know a THING about the Iron Fist except that it cause a MASSIVE explosion when interacting with Klaw’s soundwaves, but he has no doubts that punching through solid steel is something Danny can actually do

- and Danny does it with NO HESITATION. NONE. NONE TO BE FOUND

- Danny doesn’t doubt Peter’s leadership. i don’t think he ever has, even in the beginning. 

- when the battle is over and the team sits down on the floor, Danny settles down right behind Peter

- this one’s more headcanon that actual canon, but i like to believe Danny stepped forward half a second before the rest of the team

- “i’ll get him” “WE will get him”

~~~

S1E4 Venom: 

- no matter what iteration you’re on or what part of the story you’re in, Peter has always, ALWAYS, cared about the lives of innocents and i think that’s fantastic

- he also doesn’t hesitate to sacrifice himself for the greater good, which is sad, but also admirable in a way

- Harry and Peter have a really good relationship, they love each other like brothers and it’s so cute

- Danny is quick to remind Peter that he isn’t alone anymore, he has a team at his back now. And he looks upset when Peter brushes him off

- Danny is also quick to defend Harry, despite not knowing him. all he knows is that Harry is Peter’s best friend and that’s enough for him

- Norman and Harry have the relationship you always see in the media where the parent is busy with work and the kid just wants the parent to pay attention to THEM instead of the parent’s job

- Danny’s the only one who doesn’t seem upset about going to Harry’s to meet up and hang out

- when Peter is frozen during the Venom!Power Man fight, Danny is the first one to jump in and try to help

- PowerFist honorable mention number three: Danny’s willing to “forget he’s a pacifist” when Luke is taken over

- Peter’s encouragement to Danny while Danny’s jumping around avoiding Venom

- assuming all of them could hear Venom’s thoughts, Danny’s the only one who thinks to deliver the warning that “hey, Spidey, the evil goop thing that’s attacking us is actualy after you” 

- two things about when Danny’s released from Venom’s control: one, holy shit, Danny released HIMSELF from Venom’s control, and two, Peter decides that Venom is done hurting his team after it manages to get ahold of Danny specifically

- Danny doesn’t even TRY to attack Venom after he “reunites” with Peter. he tries to talk first and foremost, uhh protective much? worried much?

- also, Venom ties Danny up and keeps him out of the fight, which can be attributed to Danny being able to knock Venom away from its host, but i fully believe that Venom would’ve just knocked Danny out for that, it’s not really that intelligent, just big and violent. no, Venom SPECIFICALLY uses its weird goppy shit to tie Danny up and bind him to a wall, keeping him out of the fight and away from the action. preventing him from getting hurt when/if he tries to attack

- Luke and Sam insult Peter’s appearance, things that can’t be changed. Ava insults Peter’s intelligence, something Peter works hard to maintain. Danny goes for a safer option and chooses “3-dollar haircut”, which is easily fixed or changed and hardly much of an insult

-~~~

S1E5 Flight of the Iron Spider:

- okay the way they protray Tony here makes me upset because Tony’s not some playboy, it’s the mask he wears to the public, but maybe i’m just biased to MCU!Tony

- Peter brings up Danny on this trip, meaning one of two things: he told Danny he was going and invited him along (declined) or he was just thinking of Danny and either way, that’s GAY

- Danny is also the ONLY one Peter brings up on this trip

- during the argument scene, the camera specifically focuses in on Ava, Luke, and Peter making funny faces. we’ve already established that Peter isn’t Sam’s biggest fan, which is the explanation for him not being focused on, but what’s the excuse for Danny?

- also, during the arguement scene, Danny and Peter are on the same side of the table, implying they’re on the same side of the arguement

- during the training scene, Danny’s the only one who suggests they continue to wait for Peter

- regardless of wha the quote actually means, the fact still remains that Danny took a shot at Sam’s leadership skills when Sam suggested he should be team leader. “a man cannot lead before he’s found himself,” implying that a) Sam doesn’t know the full extent of his power or have any clue who or what he wants to be and b) that Peter knows who and what he is and is the best leader for their team because NONE of them really know the full extent of their powers as evidenced by their training sessions and later episodes showing them discovering new abilities

- Luke and Ava look mildly aggravated by Sam, Danny looks actually distraught at the vote to change the team to “Team Nova”

- Peter points at Danny when saying “our problems” instead of sweeping his hand around to indicate everyone

- “what is he doing here?” well gee Ava, it’s almost like Spiderman is STILL a solo act who goes where he wants and fights who he pleases, just like his deal with Fury agreed to. he probably saw it on the news or something, use that brain of yours, ma’am

- Danny offers sage advice that will make sense to everyone later in effort to help. he’s also the only one who doesn’t make any wisecracks about Peter’s abilities in that suit to anyone. he says everything he needs to right to Peter’s face, not behind his back

- Danny also doesn’t insult Peter for his choices, just gives him a hard truth to chew on while the others insult Peter

- Peter’s retort to what Danny tells him is exactly what you’d expect of someone who doesn’t like what he’s heard, which adds credibility to it

- Danny and Luke glance at each other when Peter says “someone’s gotta save him”, implying they’re going to help in any way they can. also, honorable PowerFist mention number four

- Danny’s the one who sees that Peter has changed and knows that he’s no longer trying to be like Stark. he tells Peter to bring the suit when Ava suggests they leave it behind

- Peter actually listened to Danny, as evidenced by the callback to what Danny told him previously

- i forget sometimes how much i love Danny, but it shows in moments like when Danny busts through a concrete wall and says “knock knock” all calm and serene like he didn’t just BUST THROUGH A CONCRETE WALL

- Danny never doubts that Peter can fire up the dimensional thing in the final fight against Photon /Parks. when Luke protests, asks if Danny really thinks so, Danny doesn’t dignify him with a response

- Peter acknowledges that DANNY was right, and not anyone else. every gets an apology, but Danny gets the special add-ons

- Danny let Peter put his elbow on Danny’s shoulder and KEEP IT THERE until Danny moves

- Danny teases Peter with the same retort Peter gave him in the streets

- the Iron Spider suit makes me nervous, but the backpack part is really cool

~~~

S1E6 Why I Hate Gym Class: 

- this one’s more Ava-and-Peter focused, so you may get more headcanon than canon, but i’m gonna do my best here

- i understand that Ava wants to be the best version of herself, the whole “keep the tiger under control thing”, but her obsession with training doesn’t really apply to the kid who’s been on the streets a year before she even picked up her suit

- Mr. Jager is horrifying

- so, the “finalist” thing is bogus, we all knew this, but the choices where kind of... odd. Flash was chosen because of the potential, specifically, the hurdle jumping part where we see Taskmaster drawing comparisons between Spderman and Flash. Harry could also be easily explained by he and Peter being best friends, they’ve probably seen each other go through gym class a lot, probably picked up thing from each other along the way. Danny, however, doesn’t make much sense. sure, you can account for “build and height”, but a) Peter’s taller than Danny and b) Danny doesn’t fight a thing like Peter nor does he have the experience and close relationship that would allow for Danny and Peter to have similar styles. the only thing that would make sense to me here is the whole martial arts thing, until you take into account that people who are attracted to each other subconsciously mimic each other in order to seem more appealing to their desired person. 

- PowerFist honorable mention number five: the silent communication that happened between Danny and Flash when Ava started in on Peter about the obstical course

- Peter mentions that “at least Flash and Harry have Danny here to protect them”

- after being slammed into a locker and thrown on the ground, it’s perfectly resonable for Danny to pass out, but since when didn’t hear Danny actually hit the ground, it’s my belief that he was sedated, not knocked unconscious

- it’s also my belief that the entire team is protective of Danny as someone who spent almost his entire life up in the mountains with an entirely different social group and very different expectations

- we skip immediately from catching Taskmaster to the news coverage of the rescue, so we don’t know how Danny was found. it’s my belief that Peter’s the one who found him. this is when Peter realizes how much Danny means to him. and yes, Danny was mother-henned into going to medical