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heliads · 3 years

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Heartbeats (Part One)

Based on this request: “Jesper x reader where she was in the first army and grew up with mal and Alina, but then when stuff goes down in the fold she ends up in ketterdam (maybe she’s grisha too) and teams up with the crows but her and Jesper end up falling for each other?”

masterlist / part two

As you look around you, taking in the sight of swirling darkness as far as the sky stretches, the screeches of volcra, and the cries of the wounded, you can’t help but wonder one thing: how did you get here? Even a year or so ago, you were still listed among the soldiers of the First Army, a tracker just like your friend Mal. Before that, you were simply another hapless orphan at Keramzin. How did you go from that to this?

Then again, it’s precisely because of your sunny little bubble at Keramzin that you’re out here trying to shoot literal volcra with a gun- namely, because of your friendships with Alina Starkov and Malyen Oretsev. You’d met Alina and Mal at the orphanage, arriving around a year or so after they’d arrived. A lesser child would have felt stilted that you’d never quite be as close to them because they’d known each other first, but you didn’t mind. What you had was good, as good as it could get when you felt so utterly lonely in the world.

Life at Keramzin has been preserved in your mind as something in between the gilding glow of nostalgia and the darkening regret of someone who wishes for nothing more than to go back to those treasured days of youth when nothing ever quite mattered. What had it been like, running the wooden paneled floors of the orphanage, tearing through the high grass of the meadow as you ran from bullies and Ana Kuya for the thousandth time since your arrival there? Certainly, it had to be better than life as a First Army soldier, or life now that you’ve made an enemy of the Black General.

You had an option to leave the orphanage if you had wanted to, you know that. Grisha searchers had arrived at Keramzin on their yearly journeys, with living amplifiers present to see which of the ungrateful little urchins might have a spark of the Small Science residing in their veins. Mal had gone first- he was always the bravest. He had shown no signs, and neither had Alina when she followed him, although you noticed the way she gripped a shattered piece of pottery in her hands so the pain would distract her body from giving off any signs of anything.

You know you weren’t supposed to witness the gesture, that Alina herself had no idea whether she was a Grisha at all, but it’s not as if you didn’t do the same. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that you’d slathered a little paraffin on your wrists after you’d read the hack in an old book, and that you specifically made sure to be tested by the oldest and most wizened Grisha there, hoping that her failing eyesight would look past anything lurking in your heart and head. Even then, you might have known that there was something not quite right with you, something that could end with you being taken far away to Os Alta.

However, you didn’t want that, not at all. You’d felt accepted with Mal and Alina, and life with them at the orphanage was as close to home as you’d felt since the war had torn apart your previous life. You had no idea what could possibly be worthwhile in the Ravkan capital city, and so you made sure that no one would see you as anything other than an otkazat’sya, someone to be overlooked and disregarded.

You didn’t have an obvious gift, or you might have had you not done everything in your reach to disguise your stranger abilities. There were just times when you swear you could hear someone’s heart beating loudly in their chests, even from across the room, or when you seemed to sense someone approaching because you could hear the thunder of their blood through their veins. Mal said that you weren’t going crazy, that he could hear the heartbeats too, but you’re not sure whether or not that truly let you off the hook. He’d always been a little too good at finding animals, tracking down beasts and people alike, to fully reassure you of your normalcy.

Your fears were confirmed when you were older and your newly twisted ankle had suddenly healed itself before your eyes. You had been groaning over your latest injury, placing your fingers across the bones as if you could do anything to save it, when it suddenly mended itself. Just like that, with naught but a flash of heat and pricking to show that anything happened. You had glanced around furtively, making sure nobody had seen, but you knew. That was enough, that you knew. You had a secret to keep now, one you’d have to keep for the rest of your life.

You’d heard what the books and stories said of the Grisha. Witches, people said of them, demons and witches and monsters. They were called every name and curse and then some. You didn’t know where your life would lead you, but you were certain that you would not find it as one of the Second Army’s little red-clad soldiers. So, you accepted a place as a tracker in the First Army when your time came to be conscripted, and you did your best to pretend that it never existed.

However, it’s kind of hard to ignore now, when every sense in your body is suddenly flung into high alert. It’s as if there’s a voice in your head, calling out to you- if you wanted, I could save you. If you used your power now, you could save your life and the lives of your friends. You can hear it now, can’t you? The beat of a volcra heart before it swoops, as if there’s a human organ trapped within the masses of shadows and claws. That’s partially why your gunshots are so accurate, isn’t it? You’re sensing the beasts. You’re using your gift.

A shout of praise comes from the ship behind you as you nail one particularly good shot. “Nice one, tracker!” You stifle a groan as you turn around to find yourself face to face with a familiar Ketterdam crook: the sharpshooter from earlier, Jesper Fahey. You stare at him incredulously. “We’re busy trying not to die, aren’t we? Why bother with a compliment at a time like this?” He just grins, unflappable as always even in the middle of a battle against fearsome shadow monsters. “Talent respects talent, love. I thought you were good.”

You roll your eyes and purposefully take a shot behind him, although you can’t help but feel a little disappointed when Jesper doesn’t flinch despite the bullet rattling through the space only a few feet away from him. Then again, if you thought you’d startle the cheekily grinning boy in front of you with a mere bullet, you’d doubt you really met him at all. Judging from your first experience with him, at least, it’ll take more than a gunshot to really make an impression.

You had first crossed paths with the Barrel canal rats a week or so ago, when you were searching for Alina after she had run away from Os Alta. You and Mal had been the trackers assigned to finding her mystical stag in the first place, so you were aware of the fact that she was on the loose and were determined to find her before the Black General did. You still shudder to think of that night, when you’d first seen the stag- Mal had led you and two friends through the Fjerdan wilderness, but on the night you’d finally found the beast, you yourselves had been discovered by Fjerdan patrols.

Now your two friends are dead, and Mal is still grimacing from bullet wounds sustained during the fight. He doesn’t ask how you’re still alive, and you made sure he didn’t notice the fact that you accidentally used your Grisha powers during the Fjerdan attack. You hadn’t meant to do it, not at all, but in the middle of the blood-streaked snow you had felt something deep within your chest. You couldn’t explain it, not with words at least, but it was there nonetheless. You were watching your friends die around you, and, desperate for some way to save yourself, flung out a hand towards shapes moving in the shadows of the trees.

You had felt something, like your hand was closing around a string, and tugged sharply. At the exact same time, one of the Fjerdans came sprawling out of the trees, a mess of arms and legs as the blond man struggled to regain control over his heart. Seconds later, he was dead, with no bullet wounds in sight. You had pretended that you had shot the patrol, just to keep Mal off of your back, but you’re still shaken by the fact that your power had sprung to you so easily. It’s a terrible gift, to take away life so brutally, and you can’t deny that you’re a little afraid of it yourself.

Regardless, you and Mal had found the stag, made the journey to Os Alta to inform General Kirigan, and been notified that Alina was kidnapped by Kerch thieves. Mal had pulled you aside almost immediately, saying something about how he swore he could find her but he didn’t want to alert the rest of the Second Army men. You heard the slight change in his tone when he spoke of the Grisha, and you held your tongue just in case, once again silencing the little voice in your head that almost wanted him to know, just so Mal would address you with the same reverence and fear.

However, you didn’t want to go with Mal. Not yet, at least. He could go track down Alina with the grace of a thousand trackers, be able to tell footsteps from fallen boughs and rabbits from rocks, but you could hear heartbeats rattling out from the trees. You knew you could find Alina if you truly wanted to, but you didn’t want Mal there to question why you weren’t looking at the ground but staring out at the horizon as if you could hear something he couldn’t. Mal could always hear things, that’s how he was. If you were listening to a song that wasn’t playing his tune as well, he would have questions that you’re not sure you could answer.

So, you split up, and traversed the land around Tsibeya and Ryevost in search of your missing friend. You ended up finding her first, if only by an hour or so. You’d lived by Alina’s side for so long and so many years that her heartbeat was practically ingrained into your skull, and when you caught a brief snippet of it on the roads near Ryevost, you knew you had found your Sun Summoner.

You weren’t sure whether you truly believed the rumors that Alina had been kidnapped by the Kerch or not, but when you stumbled upon the scene and saw Alina surrounded by a trio of people dressed in dark clothes with weapons drawn, you knew something had to be up. You had moved quickly, with the efficiency of a soldier with your First Army training, and pressed the barrel of your gun against one of the boys’ heads within the second.

You weren’t sure why you picked the boy you did, why the boy with the dark hair and the ever-present smirk, but you can’t help but smile wryly at the memory. You’d addressed him coldly. “Step away from her. Now.” The boy had clicked his tongue, speaking without fear despite the fact that there was a gun pressed against his skull. “You know, you really shouldn’t do that. Having the gun so close to me just means that I can do this.”

You had to give credit to Jesper- he moved fast. He was quick, likely from life on the streets of the Barrel, and a lesser soldier would have fallen prey to his attack within the second. However, you weren’t a lesser soldier, and you had the advantage of hearing his heartbeat uptake the moment he started moving. So, when Jesper Fahey whips around to grab your gun and force you to the ground, you’re expecting it. That’s why you take advantage of his momentum to slam into his side, knocking him to the ground and sending his twin revolvers skittering across the soil.

You’re not quite sure what you were expecting from Jesper at that moment- a look of fear or resignation? Maybe you weren’t expecting a reaction at all. However, when he looked up at you for a second longer and then started laughing, you were almost as startled as if he’d continued his attack. “Fantastic move. Who are you?” You stared at him, almost forgetting his two companions, whose hands have now directed weapons to you instead of towards Alina. You casually nod your head towards the woods, and Alina, understanding, begins to slip away while her captors’ backs are turned.

“None of your business. Why are you laughing?” Jesper, as you have later learned, just sits up casually, as if he couldn’t care less about the barrel of a gun being pointed his way. “Because I think it’s excellent that you anticipated my attack that way. I’m going to have to remember that one and use it later.” He’s standing up now, practically brushing your gun aside. You’re not particularly moved by this- you don’t care if he attacks you, just that Alina can get away in time. What matters more to a band of crooks- the Sun Saint, or some other girl?

So, noting that you’re now one against three and you don’t really care for using your Grisha abilities right now, you tuck your gun away into the standard issue holster on your First Army tracker drabs and grin back at him. The smile feels almost as hard to fake as when you’ve been standing in your regiments for hours when higher-ranking officials come to visit and see how all the little toy soldiers are doing.

“Well, I’m glad to be an influential figure. I’ll be off, then.” It’s now that the trio whip around and notice that Alina is gone. The other boy, the one with the dark leather gloves, curses softly. You start to slip away as well, but the sharpshooter isn’t willing to let you go so easily. “Wait a second, my dearest influence. If we lose both you and your friend, it won’t be so good for us.” You flash him an irritated look. “You don’t need me, and I couldn’t care less what’s good for you.”

The girl nods to the sharpshooter. “She’s right, Jesper. I’m not killing more people than I have to.” You gesture towards the girl. “Exactly, dearest Jesper. I’m just going to go. I would say that it’s been a delight talking with you, except that it hasn’t.” You’re kind of hoping for a negative reaction, but Jesper just smirks back at you. “Enchanting, of course. I hope to see you again.” You roll your eyes and start walking away, although you can hear Jesper talking to his friends as you leave. They’re chiding him for flirting with you, as this is evidently something he does often. You let out a huff of breath, bothered, then do your best to find Alina. Hopefully, you can find her and get out of here, and most importantly, never see this all-too-cocky boy known as Jesper ever again.

However, that didn’t exactly happen. No, you’re still stuck on a sand skiff in the middle of the Shadow Fold, being attacked by Grisha Heartrenders, volcra, and the Black General alike, and if that wasn’t enough, Jesper is here too. He’s fighting by your side now, as if trying his hardest to annoy you by being as close as possible, and won’t let up the opportunity to exchange a witty retort or irritating grin whenever he can. Honestly, you’re hoping to win this fight soon, because if you have to spend another moment with Jesper Fahey, you might as well shoot him too.

grishaverse tag list: i heartrender you @underc0vercryptid, @darlinggbrekker, @cameronsails, @aleksanderwh0r3, @story-scribbler

#jesper fahey #jesper fahey imagines #jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey oneshot #shadow and bone #six of crows #grishaverse #shadow and bone imagines #six of crows imagines #grishaverse imagines #shadow and bone oneshot #six of crows oneshot #grishaverse oneshot #soc #sab #soc imagines #sab imagines #soc oneshot #sab oneshot

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kookie-doughs · 3 years

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Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything is now ruined.

Chapter 22: Then It Ended

As soon as we came, Annabeth ang Grover tackled me. We were the first heroes to return alive to Half-Blood Hill since Luke, so of course everybody treated us as if we'd won some reality-TV contest. According to camp tradition, we wore laurel wreaths to a big feast prepared in our honor, then led a procession down to the bonfire, where we got to burn the burial shrouds our cabins had made for us in our absence.

Annabeth's shroud was so beautiful—gray silk with embroidered owls— Percy told her it seemed a shame not to bury her in it. She punched him and told him to shut up. Percy being the son of Poseidon, he didn't have any cabin mates, so the Ares cabin had volunteered to make his shroud. They'd taken an old bedsheet and painted smiley faces with X'ed-out eyes around the border, and the word LOSER painted really big in the middle.

As I was still unclaimed, Hermes cabin had made me one. (Just... IDK go crazy with your shroud IG) It was fun to burn. As Apollo's cabin led the sing-along and passed out s'mores, Percy and I was surrounded by my Hermes cabinmates, Annabeth's friends from Athena, and Grover's satyr buddies, who were admiring the brand-new searcher's license he'd received from the Council of Cloven Elders. The council had called Grover's performance on the quest "Brave to the point of indigestion. Horns-and-whiskers above anything we have seen in the past." The only ones not in a party mood were Clarisse and her cabinmates, whose poisonous looks told me they'd never forgive us for disgracing their dad. That was okay with me. Even Dionysus's welcome-home speech wasn't enough to dampen my spirits. "Yes, yes, so the little brats didn't get themselves killed and now they'll have an even bigger head. Well, huzzah for that. In other announcements, there will be no canoe races this Saturday...." Going back to the cabin I finally had time to talk to Luke. Who just expressed his relief of me being fine, and how he was scared when Annabeth told everyone about me. No wonder everyone was so shocked seeing me come back with Percy. On the Fourth of July, the whole camp gathered at the beach for a fireworks display by cabin nine. Being Hephaestus's kids, they weren't going to settle for a few lame red-white-and-blue explosions. They'd anchored a barge offshore and loaded it with rockets the size of Patriot missiles. According to Annabeth, who'd seen the show before, the blasts would be sequenced so tightly they'd look like frames of animation across the sky. The finale was supposed to be a couple of hundred-foot-tall Spartan warriors who would crackle to life above the ocean, fight a battle, then explode into a million colors. As Annabeth, Percy and I were spreading a picnic blanket, Grover showed up to tell us good-bye. He was dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt and sneakers, but in the last few weeks he'd started to look older, almost high-school age. His goatee had gotten thicker. He'd put on weight. His horns had grown at least an inch, so he now had to wear his rasta cap all the time to pass as human. "I'm off," he said. "I just came to say ... well, you know." I tried to feel happy for him. After all, it wasn't every day a satyr got permission to go look for the great god Pan. But it was hard saying good-bye. I'd only known Grover a year, yet he was my oldest friend. Annabeth and I gave him a hug. She told him to keep his fake feet on. I asked him where he was going to search first. "Kind of a secret," he said, looking embarrassed. "I wish you could come with me, guys, but humans and Pan ..." "We understand," Annabeth said. "You got enough tin cans for the trip?" "Yeah." "And you remembered your reed pipes?" "Jeez, Annabeth," he grumbled. "You're like an old mama goat." But he didn't really sound annoyed. He gripped his walking stick and slung a backpack over his shoulder. He looked like any hitchhiker you might see on an American highway. "Well," he said, "wish me luck." He gave Annabeth and I another hug. He clapped Percy on the shoulder, then headed back through the dunes. Fireworks exploded to life overhead: Hercules killing the Nemean lion, Artemis chasing the boar, George Washington (who, by the way, was a son of Athena) crossing the Delaware. "Hey, Grover," Percy called. He turned at the edge of the woods. "Wherever you're going—I hope they make good enchiladas." Grover grinned, and then he was gone, the trees closing around him. "We'll see him again," Annabeth said. July passed. I spent my daysplanning out strategies with Luke for capture-the-flag and making alliances with the other cabins to keep the banner out of Ares's hands. I got to the top of the climbing wall for the first time without getting scorched by lava. From time to time, Percy and I would walk past the Big House, he'd glance up at the attic windows, and think about the Oracle.

I tried to convince him that its prophecy had come to completion. "You shall go west, and face the god who has turned." "Been there, done that—even though the traitor god had turned out to be Ares rather than Hades." "You shall find what was stolen, and see it safe returned." "Check. One master bolt delivered. One helm of darkness back on Hades." "You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend." Percy recited. "Ares had pretended to be our friend, then betrayed us. That must be what the Oracle meant.... Or maybe Nereid?"

"And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end." He sighed. "I had failed to save my mom and lost you..."

"So why are you still uneasy?" The last night of the summer session came all too quickly. The campers had one last meal together. We burned part of our dinner for the gods. At the bonfire, the senior counselors awarded the end-of-summer beads. Percy and I got our own leather necklace, and when I saw the bead for my first summer. The design was pitch black, with a sea-green trident shimmering in the center.

"This is so beautiful..." I smiled to Percy. "The choice was unanimous," Luke announced. "This bead commemorates the first Son of the Sea God at this camp, and the quest he undertook into the darkest part of the Underworld to stop a war!" The entire camp got to their feet and cheered. Even Ares's cabin felt obliged to stand. Athena's cabin steered Annabeth to the front so she could share in the applause. I'm not sure I'd ever felt as happy or sad as I did at that moment. I'd finally found a family, people who cared about me and thought I'd done something right. And in the morning, most of them would be leaving for the year. * * * The next morning, Luke called me. He gave me a paper, telling me to fill it out, and asked me to meet him as soon as I could. I knew Dionysus must've filled it out, because he stubbornly insisted on getting my name wrong: Dear (WRONG NAME) , If you intend to stay at Camp Half-Blood year-round, you must inform the Big House by noon today. If you do not announce your intentions, we will assume you have vacated your cabin or died a horrible death. Cleaning harpies will begin work at sundown. They will be authorized to eat any unregistered campers. All personal articles left behind will be incinerated in the lava pit. Have a nice day! Mr. D (Dionysus) Camp Director, Olympian Council #12 That's another thing about ADHD. Deadlines just aren't real to me until I'm staring one in the face. Summer was over, and I still don't know what to do. I had no where to go to. The only option I had was Percy's or maybe Hades was not joking about inviting me back to the Underworld. Sighing I decided to just meet Luke before filling it for second opinions. The campgrounds were mostly deserted, shimmering in the August heat. All the campers were in their cabins packing up, or running around with brooms and mops, getting ready for final inspection. Argus was helping some of the Aphrodite kids haul their Gucci suitcases and makeup kits over the hill, where the camp's shuttle bus would be waiting to take them to the airport. I was walking around looking for Luke. I jumped when I felt someone tap me from behind. I instinctively unsheathed my knife and turned only to see Luke with his hands raised.

"Whoa! Calm down just me." He laughed.

"Kinda weird seeing someone laugh at a knife pointed at them." I smirked sheathing my knife.

"I only laugh since its you." He smiled and ruffled my hair. "Are you done with everything?"

"Not really. I don't know whether to leave or not yet. That's why I came. Help me?" I asked him.

He turned to me and to the forest. "How about you hear me out about something... important and private... then decide?" He gestured towards the forest.

"Not planning on killing me are you?" I squinted at him.

He gasped. "Not you. Never. I would never hurt you."

I let him lead me to a shrouded area of the forest.

"How serious is this thing that you can't let anyone see? I am blindly trusting you here Luke." I laughed nervously. But when he didn't reply I felt something was off. "Luke, okay this isn't cool. How deep into the forest do we have to go?"

"Y/N remember when you said... You want to be the person I trust...? How you promised to help me?"

"Luke?" He took my hand and pulled me sharply. I winced at how hard he pulled me. "That hurts! Let me go!"

He snapped back and let go of my wrist. "I-I'm sorry... Y/N..."

As much as I knew I had to leave, I couldn't I was worried about him. I reluctantly placed a hand on his shoulder. "What's happening?"

"I did it..." I said and sat on the ground. "I swear I didn't mean to get you hurt. But, I confess to everything. I stole bolt and helm, I summoned the hound, I gave Percy the cursed shoes... And just now, I tried to kill Percy Jackson." He looked at me with empty eyes.

I shot up and looked at him in emotions I couldn't put in words. "W-Wh---" I wanted to leave and check on Percy. But once again, seeing him right now... I need to stay with him. "Why are you telling me this...?"

"Join me... please?" his voice was weak. He sounded vulnerable. "Let's serve my Lord together..."

"L-Luke... no. I-I can't do that!" I took his shoulder, "Y-You should stay with me instead. How about that, huh? L-Let's explain to Chiron and the others... come on please. I could help you!"

Nothing was working.

"Come with me..." He muttered.

"Luke, I won't join you. You have to change your mind. You can't do this."

"I can't change my mind."

"I can help you with that? How about you go with me huh? I could spend all my time doing this and that. Please, just change your mind."

He didn't reply for a while until he whispered, "Promise me."

"Promise you what?"

"You'll stay with me."

"What? Luke I wo--"

"You won't join... Just...don't stay here for the year... and stay with me."

"I-If I stay with you... what would that mean?"

"Yo-You... might change my mind."

"I'll go." I replied with no hesitation. "I'll leave camp for the year. And I'll find my parent to prove to you that Gods and Goddess aren't all bad. We'll find my parent together."

"I do my lord's bidding--"

"You can still do it. If you want to. But whatever happens... stays only between us. I'll stay with you until I change your mind. And I'll bring you back to camp."

"I would never do anything to ruin your trust in me." He knelt down. It was kinda awkward but hey... "I need you."

Worry not hero. We shall stay.

"Please..."

We'll meet again. Wait for us, we shall join you soon. Now leave.

I had no idea what happened since when I came to Luke was gone and there was no sign of him anywhere. How were we going to st---

We will meet him once we leave. Now go as our hero needs us.

I suddenly remembered Percy's state that Luke had told me about. So I ran. I ran to the Big House

***

Percy finally opened his eyes. He was propped up in bed in the sickroom of the Big House, his right hand bandaged like a club. Argus stood guard in the corner. Annabeth and I sat next to Percy, I was holding his nectar glass and she was dabbing a washcloth on his forehead.

"Here we are again," Percy said. "You idiot," Annabeth said, "You were green and turning gray when we found you. If it weren't for Chiron's healing..." "Now, now," Chiron's voice said. "Percy's constitution deserves some of the credit." He was sitting near the foot of the bed in human form. His lower half was magically compacted into the wheelchair, his upper half dressed in a coat and tie. He smiled, but his face looked weary and pale, the way it did when he'd been up all night grading Latin papers. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Like my insides have been frozen, then microwaved." "Apt, considering that was pit scorpion venom. Now you must tell me, if you can, exactly what happened." Between sips of nectar, he told them the story.

I bit my lip trying to keep what happened between Luke and I private. It was a risky move that would not be approved by anyone after all. The room was quiet for a long time. "I can't believe that Luke..." Annabeth's voice faltered. Her expression turned angry and sad. "Yes. Yes, I can believe it. May the gods curse him.... He was never the same after his quest."

Percy was looking at me as if checking what was my reaction to his story. "This must be reported to Olympus," Chiron murmured. "I will go at once." "Luke is out there right now," Percy said. "I have to go after him." Chiron shook his head. "No, Percy. The gods—" "Won't even talk about Kronos," Percy snapped. "Zeus declared the matter closed!" "Percy, I know this is hard. But you must not rush out for vengeance. You aren't ready." "Chiron... your prophecy from the Oracle... it was about Kronos, wasn't it? Was I in it? Y/N? And Annabeth?" Chiron glanced nervously at the ceiling. "Percy, it isn't my place—" "You've been ordered not to talk to me about it, haven't you?" His eyes were sympathetic, but sad. "You will be a great hero, child. I will do my best to prepare you. But if I'm right about the path ahead of you..." Thunder boomed overhead, rattling the windows. "All right!" Chiron shouted. "Fine!" He sighed in frustration. "The gods have their reasons, Percy. Knowing too much of your future is never a good thing." "We can't just sit back and do nothing," He said. "We will not sit back," Chiron promised. "But you must be careful. Kronos wants you to come unraveled. He wants your life disrupted, your thoughts clouded with fear and anger. Do not give him what he wants. Train patiently. Your time will come." "Assuming I live that long." Chiron put his hand on Percy's ankle. "You'll have to trust me, Percy. You will live. But first you must decide your path for the coming year. I cannot tell you the right choice...." I got the feeling that he had a very definite opinion, and it was taking all his willpower not to advise me. "But you must decide whether to stay at Camp Half-Blood year-round, or return to the mortal world for seventh grade and be a summer camper. Think on that. When I get back from Olympus, you must tell me your decision." "I'll be back as soon as I can," Chiron promised. "Argus will watch over you." He glanced at Annabeth. "Oh, and, my dear... whenever you're ready, they're here." "Who's here?" Percy asked. Nobody answered. Chiron rolled himself out of the room. I heard the wheels of his chair clunk carefully down the front steps, two at a time. Annabeth studied the floor. "What's wrong?" Percy asked her. "Nothing. I ... just took your advice about something. You ... um ... need anything?" "Yeah. Help me up. I want to go outside." "Percy, that isn't a good idea." Percy slid his legs out of bed. Annabeth and I caught him before he could crumple to the floor.

I said, "I told you ..." "I'm fine," He insisted.

He managed a step forward. Then another, still leaning heavily on me. Argus followed us outside, but he kept his distance. By the time we reached the porch, his face was beaded with sweat. But we had managed to make it all the way to the railing. It was dusk. The camp looked completely deserted. The cabins were dark and the volleyball pit silent. No canoes cut the surface of the lake. Beyond the woods and the strawberry fields, the Long Island Sound glittered in the last light of the sun. "What are you going to do?" Annabeth asked us. "I don't know." Percy replied. "I got the feeling Chiron wanted me to stay year-round, to put in more individual training time, but I'm not sure that's what I want. I also don't want to leave you both with Clarisse only." Annabeth pursed her lips, then said quietly, "I'm going home for the year, Percy." He stared at her. "You mean, to your dad's?" She pointed toward the crest of Half-Blood Hill. Next to Thalia's pine tree, at the very edge of the camp's magical boundaries, a family stood silhouetted—two little children, a woman, and a tall man with blond hair. They seemed to be waiting. The man was holding a backpack that looked like the one Annabeth had gotten from Waterland in Denver. "I wrote him a letter when we got back," Annabeth said. "Just like you suggested. I told him... I was sorry. I'd come home for the school year if he still wanted me. He wrote back immediately. We decided... we'd give it another try." "That took guts." She pursed her lips. "You won't try anything stupid during the school year, will you? At least ... not without sending me an Iris-message? Both of you?" Percy managed a smile. "I won't go looking for trouble. I usually don't have to."

"You already know my plans."

"When I get back next summer," she said, "we'll hunt down Luke. We'll ask for a quest, but if we don't get approval, we'll sneak off and do it anyway. Agreed?" "Sounds like a plan worthy of Athena."

She held out her hand. Percy shook it. She gave me a hug. "Take care, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth told Percy. "Keep your eyes open."

"You too, Wise Girl."

Then turned to me, "Good luck on your own quest Droopy."

"Of course Peabody." We watched her walk up the hill and join her family. She gave her father an awkward hug and looked back at the valley one last time. She touched Thalia's pine tree, then allowed herself to be lead over the crest and into the mortal world. "I made my decision." Percy said. "What's yours?"

"I'll be leaving camp... I'm going to look for my parent..." He looked at me in shock. "I'll be back next summer," I promised him. "I'll survive until then."

"Alone?"

I smiled at him.

"Don't you want to stay with us? Mom said---"

"I want to find my parent. I need to. I'll be fine Percy."

I helped Percy to his cabin so he could pack and went to mine. To my surprise I see a middle-aged man with an athletic figure slim and fit with salt-and-pepper hair, and a very familiar sly grin. He had bags at his foot.

"Delivery for Y/N L/N."

"Uhm..."

"Hermes." He said.

I froze and looked at him with wide eyes.

"Personally packed. As a thank you for what you're about to do." He smiled softly and handed me the bags.

"H-Huh...?"

"For helping Luke."

"I..."

Don't forget her mail!

Ooh! And tell her to bring us snacks next time we meet since it'll be often now!

No it wouldn't be often! She'll be with Luke!

"Both of you keep quiet." Pulling out a mail he handed it to me. "Luke... prayed to me telling me about your plan. He asked me to help you. I don't know what or why he did it. But I know he'll change thanks to you. So do guide him."

"Sorry you lost me at the talking air..." I blinked.

Hermes laughed and showed a caduceus. "It's just George and Martha."

"Hi?"

Hello!

"I just wanted to let you know. No god or goddess could see you. No matter how hard they tried. So your secrets.. are really secrets. Good luck on your travel."

Next time we meet you should have snacks.

Then he vanished.

Staring at the letter on my hand, I was stunned seeing it was from... my mom and dad.

Sweetie,

You've made quite a friend here.

-Mom and Dad.

I immediately knew where to look. I hurriedly took my bags not bothering to check the contents. I ran to Percy's cabin and helped him out so we could leave.

Percy got a cab and looked at me worriedly.

"I'll write you. Stay safe Arthur Curry." I ruffled his hair and watched him go.

I didn't know where to go so I just went to the first secluded area I saw.

"You have more stuffs than when you arrived." I heard someone behind me.

"You prayed to your dad. I hope he knows how to pack." I sighed turning to him. Turning around I barely made out Luke from the few days I last saw him. "You okay?"

"Do you know where to look first?"

Call upon our hound.

I whistled, I don't know why. But when I did, D/N came out of the blue. Luke looked at me and my dear dog, who was probably bigger than the hound he'd summon back then. "How do feel about L.A?" I said riding on D/N and making space behind me for Luke.

~~~END OF BOOK 1~~~

Previous | Book 1 Masterlist | Series Masterlist

END OF BOOK ONE!!! THANK YOU FOR READING YLATHB I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! I'LL PUBLISH BOOK 2 WHEN I'M DONE OR EVEN AT LEAST HAVE WRITTEN 5 CHAPTERS OF THE BOOK 2 ;))

I HOPE TO SEE YOU NEXT TIME!!!

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000 @katara720 @ynfics

#percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #y/n l/n #x y/n #x reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #Book 1 #Chapter 22 #Ending of book 1 #completed #y/n l/n and the halfblood #lightning thief #fanfictions #fanfiction #pjo

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 3 years

Text

YEEHAW IT’S MIDNIGHT WHICH MEANS IT’S AUGUST 1ST WHICH MEANS INK DEMONTH SO I CAN FINALLY POST THIS NOW:

1. Pride

Diversity win! There is not a single cishet in the hivemind of ink creatures (To their knowledge) that you slaughter on a daily basis to make yourself beautiful! AKA: Possum has a fuck ton of LBGT+ headcanons regarding the BATIM cast and is happy to use this DeMonth prompt to indulge them. (Set before the loop starts, but after Buddy Boris meets/befriends the lost ones.)

Malice flicked through the channels of her cameras, trying to find more prey in her territory, and stopped when she saw a gathering of the lost and the searching (and exactly one Boris, the most perfect one she had ever seen.) in the Heavenly toy’s lobby, their prophet was brazenly sitting on the side of the waterfall as if he did not fear the ink when he should have.

Her ears steamed with anger as she saw that group, it was far too large for her to deal with on her own and too far away from the Projectionist’s grounds for her to manage to lure him to them. But on the bright side, she could learn some important information from them, after all, with how casually the prophet was sitting and gesturing and how the other freaks in the crowd were responding, this was clearly not one of his normal sermons.

(“I still find it rather funny that almost none of us are straight and that the few straight ones among us are trans, it’s like all this time we thought we were sheep hiding away in wolves’ clothing among wolves, unaware that the “wolves” were simply other sheep in hiding as well!”)

[Funnily enough, I’d rather be a sheep than a wolf, I think it makes more sense for me to be an animal that’s helpful to others but also easily scared.] The Boris wrote on a typewriter. [Or at least, I wish I had some kind of input on what I am, but I doubt I’d make myself an animal…]

(“Speaking of which...”) The lost one next to the wolf whispered in his ear as she looked over his typing. (“How are you holding up, Buddy?”)

Instead of typing, the wolf drew himself shrugging and put a bunch of question marks around him, then stuck the drawn-on paper in his typewriter and added to it.

[It’s hard to think most of the time, Boris always seems stronger when I’m alone, but I know the Ink demon will find us if I stay with you, this hunger is driving me crazy, and I just wanna go home. But on the bright side, I don’t have to deal with periods, chest pain from binding, or people condescendingly calling me ‘Miss Lewek’ anymore.]

She turned on the sound in that room, watching them like one would watch a Tv drama, but what she heard caught her off guard.

“So as long as we’re being honest about ourselves with each other…” The lost one stood up and pointed accusingly at Sammy. “Were you and Joey and a thing all along before the machine came into the picture!?”

If she was drinking water, she would’ve spat it right back out. Sammy, with Joey?! In the latter’s dreams, maybe! Even a few of the other lost ones looked shocked at the question, the Boris even gasped loud enough for it to be audible.

“Technically yes, but not by choice, mind you.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

What the fuck indeed random lost one. The angel wished that she didn’t hear that, but now that she couldn’t unsee it, at least it made a little bit of sense in hindsight. After all, in her eyes, they were awful enough to deserve each other.

“...Why?”

“It’s just, well... somebody had to keep his eyes from wandering to the lambs- err- younger, more naive, less experienced employees, not children (to my knowledge). And at the time, I really thought that he did at least care about me beyond our work relationships, at least a little bit… But from what I’ve seen, I believe the only things he had ever truly loved were himself, and the idealized versions he had made of other people. His ‘dream versions’ of them, if you will.”

“And this whole time, I thought he was running off with Susie with all those lunch dates! Or where the three of you all… yaknow, *together* together?”

“Not knowingly… However I wouldn’t put it past Joey to cheat on people. As for Susie... I did like her, maybe even love her in a way, but I doubt I could ever love her in the way she wanted me to love her, and-or love her carnally. I don’t even think I could fake it like I could for Joey, she was never signing my checks and wasn’t holding that over my head so I’d be too disgusted to even try.”

Malice was almost about to march down there herself and push him into the ink, but she knew this troupe all too well, and knew that sometimes this place worked on story logic, he’s now going to say something that alters the context of that statement enough to not justify her going over there and slam dunking him into the ink.

“Now that I think of it, I don’t think that I’ve ever loved… anyone in that sense. I can’t think of a single person or situation where the idea of doing that is anything other than gross at best. In fact, there was someone who was close to me a long time ago, someone who, while I have long forgotten now, would perhaps even be what one could consider a soulmate. Even then, the mere thought of doing that with them still makes me queasy…” The prophet sighed. “I suppose I am simply meant to remain alone in religious celibacy. A relationship of that kind would interfere too much with my worship anyway.”

"Ahh fahr foehck's sake... I can't believe dat it's dis foehckin stupid..." A more lucid, absolute giant of a searcher in the back of the crowd slapped his forehead.

“It?” Malice repeated curiously. “Huh… maybe it and I had more in common than we thought.”

“You're clearly a sex-repoehlsed asexual, you doehmbass! literally everyahne who's ever been in de dark poehddles at de same time as you figured dis ooeht befahre you ded!” He shouted through cupped hands. “celibate people are people who WANT sex, boeht dahn't poehrsue it fahr variooehs reasahns, dey ARE NAHT people who are desgoehsted wit sex to de point where dey legitimately throw oehp and feel 'ahrreble after doin de nahrmal vanella stoehff! Stahp foehckin foehckin people when you're clearly naht cahmfortable wit it, and you and future partner..s? 'll be 'appier wit yooehr rahmantic poehrsuits!”

The searcher, upon realizing that he had furiously sworn at the Prophet, their leader, the one who does not fear anything within the studio, not even the deepest depths of the dark puddles, and most terrifyingly of all; the former music director, he slinked into a puddle within the crowd in fear of being the target of reawakened ancient wrath. Everybody else looked back and forth to the prophet and back at the searcher who spoke out as they remained in stunned silence, even their eavesdropper was worried for his fate, even if in her case she feared how the show would end rather than his outcome. Surprisingly, and luckily for him, the Prophet broke the tense silence by laughing in that caught-off-guard tone of it.

“While you were rather… crude about it, what you’ve said does make a lot more sense then Joey being so bad at sex that he turned me away from men altogether, even if it is funny to assume that he was.”

“A-aye… and I can't believe dat you wrahte an entire foehckin sahng abooeht it! 'ow ded you naht get fired fahr dat?!”

“Good question, I wish I could remember the answer…”

[Maybe you had blackmail on Drew?] The Boris typed out and handed to Sammy.

“Yeah, maybe because you used to be so close to him, you saw skeletons that Joey would want to keep in the closet” His lost-one friend added.

“Like HIMSELF!” A voice from the back added, making the others in the room burst into laughter.

With the tension in the room gone, the group just went back to talking about either journeys they took to become comfortable with themselves, or the various past relationships that they had, or wished they had or in some peoples’ cases, all three.

Malice continued to watch them bitterly. It was as if they had either forgotten what the outside world was like to people like them or they simply didn’t care, and she wasn’t thinking about the ink that made up their bodies. Part of her envied how freely they had talked about themselves and each other, part of her felt like she had been smacked across the face, and a third part of her felt lonely. All of them seemed so happy telling their stories and building each other up, and here she was hiding away with her own story that she had wished to bury.

However, there was no iron clad law stating that she couldn’t tell them her own story. In fact, maybe if she came out of her own cage, made Sammy understand that big part of why voicing Alice was so important to her, made sure that it understood that as the very first explicitly female character she voiced, that Alice Angel was more than a beloved character to her, that she was a part of her, the biggest symbol of her own femininity, then maybe it would recognize the error of its ways. Maybe it would see how devastating it would be to be shunted aside without notice in favor of someone newer, prettier, ‘more feminine’...

She shut off the camera and thought it over, and she made up her mind. While she still didn’t want to share her story with everyone, Sammy needed to know it. Whether the Prophet liked it or not, she was going to pay it a visit.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #ink demonth #pride #fanfic #Malice Angel #dot batim #buddy boris #sammy lawrence #lost ones batim #searchers batim #shawn flynn

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phykios · 3 years

Text

volcano kiss scene but make it medieval, for @perseannabeth 💙 note that this is little more than a fancy rewrite, but... marble king verse is too good to be done with completely

***🌊***🌊***🌊***

June, 1446

As Percy led his little band of adventurers through the tunnels of the Labyrinth, himself, his questing partner Ana Zabeta, his childhood companion Aegidius, and his half-brother, the cyclops Tison, following a marvelously clever creation of the god of fire, he allowed himself, for a brief moment, to feel a small sense of pride. They had finally located a deity who not only did not appear to have any negative designs on their characters, but had also promised them his help--after they had performed him a small favor, of course.

Hephaestus had fashioned for them a little spider made of metal, who moved about as though it had a beating heart, darting this way and that, nearly invisible, were it not for their torchlight flickering off its shiny, shiny legs. Though he would never speak it aloud, Percy felt a particular kind of pride on Annabeth’s behalf, as she followed the eight-legged creature with neither complaint nor fear. He knew full well just how totally she detested the beasts, her eternal and forsworn enemies, just as their mother had been an enemy of Athena.

They rounded a corner, moving from a passageway lined with a strange, shiny substance which felt cool to the touch to one of crudely-cut stone, when he spotted a tunnel off to the side, dug from raw earth, wrapped in thick roots which pried their way through the holes in the stones. Aegidius had noticed it as well, slowing his pace until he stopped entirely in front of the dark, gaping maw in the wall. “Aegidius,” Percy said, stopping as well. “What is it?”

It was as if he had not heard him. The satyr merely gazed into the black tunnel, his curly hair rustling in an impossible breeze.

“We cannot delay!” said Annabeth. “We must keep moving!”

“This is the way,” Aegidius muttered, hushed and reverent. “It is here.”

He couldn’t possibly mean… “The way to Pan?”

But Aegidius ignored him, turning instead to Tison, the creature whose very nature often rendered him speechless with fear. “Do you not smell it, too?”

“Yes,” said Tison. “Earth. The forest.”

Before them, the spider skittered further down the stone corridor. If they delayed any further, the trail would be lost to them.

“Once we have finished our errand for Hephaestus,” said Annabeth, “then we can return for Pan, I swear it.”

“The tunnel will have gone by then,” said Aegidius, with a confidence Percy had rarely seen before. “A door such as this will not remain open for long--and I must enter it.”

“But,” she said, desperate, “the forges!”

He looked at her sadly, but firmly. “I cannot go with you this time, Annabeth.”

Percy had forgotten--Aegidius was not only his companion. He had been Annabeth’s as well. He had been responsible for seeing her safely over the magical boundary in Sigeion. But the spider was nearly out of sight, and they could not tarry any longer before the gateway to the god. “We will continue to the forges,” he decided. “Aegidius, you go on to seek Pan.”

“No!” she gasped. “It is far too dangerous. If we part ways, we might never find each other again! And I cannot let you go alone.”

It was then that Tison, gentle creature he was, put his hand on Aegidius’ shoulder. As much fear as satyrs held for cyclops, Tison, for some odd reason, held just as much, if not more, for the satyrs. They had made an amusing pair at times, two of the sweetest, kindest people Percy had ever known, cowering in fear at the other. But Tison showed no fear now. Now, he was brave. “I shall go with him.”

Percy could not believe his ears. “You will?”

He nodded. “The satyr needs help. We shall find the god of the wild--together.”

Aegidius took a deep, steadying breath. “I wish I could see this through to the end with you, but--”

“I understand,” said Percy. The search for Pan was his life’s goal, the final prize in a quest which had taken his father, his father’s father, and so many searchers before him. If he did not succeed on this journey, the Council of Cloven Elders would never give him another chance. “I pray that you are right.”

Shoulders square, suddenly possessed of a confidence Percy had rarely ever seen from him, save for when he deliberated on how keftedes paled in comparison to spanakopita, he grinned. “I know that I am.”

Percy took a heartbeat to gaze on him one last time, imprinting him in his memory--just in case. “Be careful,” he told him. Then, he looked towards Tison, and opened his arms to his half-brother, who went into them willingly, squeezing Percy so strongly his eyes just about burst from his sockets.

Tison and Aegidius then disappeared into the darkness of the tree roots, lost to the wild.

“This was a mistake,” said Annabeth, her voice trembling. “We should not have let them go.”

“We will see them again,” Percy replied, attempting to summon Aegidius’ confidence. “Now, come on. The spider will not wait for us any longer.”

“Do not remind me,” she said, shuddering.

Before very long, the tunnel grew warmer, the stone walls red and glowing. The air felt as though they were walking through a giant oven, as though they had been transported into one of the forges beneath the villa for Hephaestus’ children, and he supposed, in a way, that they had. The tunnel sloped down, deeper into the earth, the spider nearly tripping over itself to reach the bottom, Annabeth right behind it.

Percy jogged to catch up. “Annabeth!” he called. “A moment?”

She glanced back at him, but did not cease her quick pace, forcing Percy to match her. “Yes?”

“I have a… question,” he panted, “regarding what Hephaestus… said, about your mother.”

“She swore never to marry,” Annabeth said, easily. Curses, Annabeth did not appear to be even remotely out of breath. He felt like such a fool compared to her, always. “She is one of the maiden goddesses, alongside Artemis and Hestia.”

Percy frowned. He had not recalled that detail about the war goddess--though, he was rather infamous for nodding off during lessons. Perhaps he had simply slept through that particular lesson. “But, if she is a maiden goddess, then--”

“How is it she came to have demigod children?”

Blushing, he nodded.

Now, this was not at all appropriate conversation, he knew. Young boys and girls were not meant to discuss such things with each other--not yet anyway. But Percy was nearly a man, and besides, he had spent enough time with Carlos and the older boys at the agoge to pick up a few pieces of knowledge here or there. Hopefully, Annabeth would think the flush on his cheeks was due to the heat of the cavern.

“Do you know how Athena was born?” she asked him.

“She was born from… the head of Zeus? In armor?”

“Precisely. She was literally born from his thoughts--and thus, her children are born the same way. When Athena falls in love with a mortal partner, it is a purely intellectual affair, just as it was with Odysseus in the epic tales. Our mother says that it is the truest kind of love.”

“So,” said Percy, frowning. “Your father and Athena… you were not--”

“I was born from their minds,” she interrupted, quickly. “Sprung from the divine thoughts of my mother and the mortal ingenuity of my father. Her children are gifts, blessings on the mortals she favors.”

“But--”

She turned to him, exasperated. “Percy, the spider has nearly vanished. Do you really wish for me to explain the precise details of my birth?”

Flushing even harder, he snapped his jaw shut.

Victorious again, she smirked. “I thought not.”

Running ahead to catch their guide, Percy followed, very neatly put in his place, and not certain he would ever be able to look at his friend the same way ever again. Some things, he decided, were perhaps better left as mysteries.

After another few minutes or so, they emerged into a cavern, larger than any stadium Percy had ever seen. It felt to be five times the size of the mighty Colosseum. There was no floor, just miles of bubbling lava beneath their feet. Standing on a rock ride which encircled the cavern, Percy saw a complex, overlapping network of metal bridges spanning the width of it, meeting on a huge platform in the center which housed the largest anvil he had ever seen, a block of iron the size of a villa. Dark, strange shapes moved about them, like formless shadows, too far away to discern what manner of creature they might be.

“We cannot sneak up on them,” said Percy, noting the distinct lack of places to hide with some despair.

With a slight grimace, Annabeth picked up their metal guide, its form having changed to a small ball, and slipped it into a fold in her dress. “I can. Wait here.”

“Hang on--” But Percy was too late, as Annabeth put on her magical cap, a gift from her mother, and vanished from his sight.

Percy cursed. He did not dare call after her, not willing to draw attention to her tactics, but nor did he appreciate the idea of her approaching the forge on her own. If those creatures could repel the likes of Hephaestus, what hope did Annabeth have? It was not safe. She was their leader--they could not risk her life. Percy would not risk her life.

Alas, he could never sit still for very long. Creeping along the outer rim of the lake of molten rock, he darted from stalagmite to stalagmite as best he could, hoping to find a better vantage point. Really, Annabeth should have known better.

The heat was horrendous, heavy and oppressive. Drenched in sweat, and eyes stinging with smoke, he moved along, staying as far from the edge as was physically possible, until he found his way stopped by a large metal box, fitted on wheels. Peering inside, he saw it was full scrapped metal, bits and bobs of broken swords and lumpy shields, piled on top of one another. Nothing he could reasonably use for an extra weapon, or even some kind of defense. Making to squeeze himself around it, he suddenly heard from up ahead a voice, rough and grating, speaking an ancient language which no man alive had heard for a thousand years.

Monsters, he knew.

There was no time to run away, no place to hide… except for the box. Leaping inside, covering himself with a dented aspis, he curled his fingers around his father’s sword, that blade Anaklusmos, hissing as the sharp metal of his bed cut between the soft parts of his armor, biting his tongue so no curse could escape.

With any luck, the monsters would pass him by, and he could continue along unmolested.

That was when, of course, that the box lurched forward, pushed along by the monsters, carrying Percy along with it. Malaka! Was he about to be tipped into a smelting pot?

All around him, he heard the chatter of terrible beasts. He was not so skilled in the ancient tongue as Annabeth, but even he could recognize a few words here or there, “weapon” and “cyclopes” and “furnace,” and some names as well: Zena, hissed with scorn, Posidaota, spat with bile, and, most chillingly of all, Kronos, spoken with reverence and awe.

Percy blinked against the sudden light as his cover was removed from his person, revealing himself to the monster, who was so taken aback by his presence, that it blinked back at him in return. For a few moments, neither of them moved, so shocked were they by the other’s sudden appearance. Then, springing into action, Percy slashed upwards, dissolving the beast in a cloud of golden smoke. Snatching up another shield and leaping from his bed of spikes, he saw with his preternatural vision a small army of at least twenty monsters, black like dogs, but with sleek, shiny skin, and legs which looked to be more suited for swimming than scrambling around the rocks of Aitne.

With a hearty battle-cry and another wide swipe, he repelled the front row of these creatures, carving himself some space to jump, sprinting for the mouth of the tunnel. The monsters followed after him, baying and growling as a pack of ravenous wolves, and they would have caught him, tearing him to pieces, had they been but a little bit faster. Thinking quickly, at the top of the tunnel, Percy hurled his shield into a column, the rocks crumbling upon impact, burying the monsters and blocking off the path with a great, noisy cave-in.

He doubted it would keep them trapped for very long. Not only that, he very much doubted that they had been the only monsters in the cavern. Percy had just announced his presence to anyone who might have been listening, destroying their chance for any sort of subtle reconnaissance.

And Annabeth was still out there, somewhere, invisible.

“Annabeth!” He yelled, running towards the platform at the center of the ocean of lava. “Annabe--!”

An invisible hand clamped over his mouth, wrestling him down behind a large, bronze cauldron. “Silence! Do you mean to have us killed?”

Arms flailing, he managed to locate her head, slipping off her cap of invisibility. She shimmered into view as an island emerging from the mist, scowling and covered in ash and grime. “It’s far too late for that,” he said, grimly. “I came upon a group of monsters, and brought the roof crashing down on them.”

Hissing curses, her hands clenched, as though she meant to strangle him, before she visibly managed to control her temper. “You said there were monsters?”

He nodded. “I know not what kind. I had thought they may have been dogs, were it not for their flippered feet and human hands, adorned with claws. They spoke of furnaces and weapons, making arms for the first Titanomachy.”

“Telkhines,” she gasped, eyes wide. “Of course! I should have known. I had wondered when I saw… well, look.”

Together they peered over the lip of the cauldron. In the center of the platform stood four of these demons, larger than any Percy had seen before, standing at least the size of a fully grown man. Their black, scaly skin glistened in the light of the fire as they labored, sparks flying between mighty hammer strikes on a long piece of glowing, hot metal, hissing to each other in the ancient language. “What are they saying?” he whispered to her. If he could not understand them, Annabeth surely would.

“They are talking of fusing metals,” she said, frowning. “Other than that, I--I cannot say.”

“Is that bad?”

She stared at him, incredulous. “The telkhines betrayed the gods,” she said, “for practicing dark magics. For their transgressions, Zeus banished them to Tartaros.”

“Alongside Kronos.”

She nodded. “We must return to Hephaestus at once--”

But no sooner had she spoken than a sharp, clawed hand pierced its way through the rubble of Percy’s cave-in, pushing aside the rocks which blocked its path, followed closely by its snout, teeth long and sharp and dripping with saliva. “You must return to the god,” Percy said, moving into a crouch. “Leave me here.”

“What?” she shrieked. “No! I will not leave you!”

At any other time, he would have praised her for her courage, but not now. “You must! Let me distract the monsters, and perhaps the spider can lead you back through the Labyrinth. You are the leader of this quest--you must take the message back to Hephaestus.”

“But you’ll be killed!”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, turning to face her. “As well, there is no other choice.”

She glared at him, her lips pulled back almost in a snarl worthy of one of the monsters. He knew this look of hers well--it was the one she wore whenever she considered hitting him for his foolishness.

But rather than hit him, she did something which shocked him even more.

She grasped the collar of his tunic, pulled him close, and kissed him. “Be careful, phykios,” she murmured against his lips, breath hot. Then she put on her cap, and vanished.

Percy couldn’t breathe, and not for the smoke. Had it not been for the lava, the monsters, the weapon, the quest, he would have been quite content to sit there all day, thinking of nothing but the softness of her mouth and the way her eyes sparkled in the firelight, unable to even recall his own name.

A sea demon screamed, jolting him back into reality.

The horde of monsters, freed from their prison, charged across the bridge towards him. Percy scrambled up from the ground, running for the middle of the platform, startling the large monsters so thoroughly that they dropped the red-hot blade over which they labored. It was as long as they were tall, curved like a crescent moon, its shape burning into his vision, sending shivers down his spine.

Unfortunately for Percy, the monsters recovered quickly from their shock. Every which way he turned, his exit was blocked by a small army, surrounding him. Cutting him off.

Raising Anaklusmos, he prayed that they could not see the blade shaking.

“Son of Poseidon,” rasped a demon, speaking Percy’s own language now. “We are honored by your visit, fish-blood.”

He spread his senses, casting about for an escape, but there was none. He was trapped.

“Will you strike us down, half-blood?” asked another one. “An you try, the rest of us shall tear you to shreds.” Licking its lips, it advanced on him, claws glinting in the glow of the forge. “Perhaps we shall deliver you to your father in pieces--an omen of the horror we shall visit upon him, and all the rest of the twelve, for their betrayal.”

Annabeth would not have allowed herself to be cornered this way, but Percy was no strategist. If the gods favored him at all, they would have seen to Annabeth’s escape, leaving him to his doom.

Was this to be his doom, he wondered? Trapped in the heart of a volcano, overrun by monsters which would use his bones to pick their teeth?

The tallest of the demons plunged its hand into the furnace, scooping a handful of molten rock. “Let us see the might of Olympus,” it said, grinning. “Let us see how long it takes him to burn!” And it threw the lava at Percy.

Dropping his sword, he swatted at his clothes which had been set alight, as though he had merely had an unfortunate run-in with the lava trap at the agoge, but it was not nearly enough, the fire engulfing him with each passing second. At first, oddly, it had only felt warm, though it grew hotter and hotter with every heartbeat.

“Your father’s nature protects you,” one monster sneered. “Makes you hard to burn. But not impossible, fish-blood. Not impossible.”

Later, Percy would struggle to remember the particulars. He would recall only the fire, and the pain. He would not remember how he crumpled to the floor in deepest agony, the sea demons howling in delight at his terror.

Nor would he remember the voice of the naiad at the farm of the giant Geryon. The water is within me, she had said.

Between waves of torment, there was a tugging sensation in his gut, calling vainly for water where there was none: not a river, nor a stream, nor even a petrified seashell. Percy called for the sea, the towering waves which could wash away villages, the currents which could destroy ships in a single blow, the endless power of the ocean, and he called for these things inside of himself, letting it loose in one terrible, horrible scream.

Fire and water collided, a typhoon of unearthly power shooting him up from the beating heart of Aitne on wings of superheated steam, peeling his skin away, another piece of flotsam flung from the earth by the force of the blast. Higher and higher he flew, further than Icarus, than Bellerophon, than Zeus himself, so high that the lord of the heavens would not be able to reach him--and then he fell, a shooting star, hurtling towards the sea which would not save him. Not this time.

#aegidius = grover btw #the marble king #perseannabeth #my fic #darkmagyk #pjo #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #marble timestamps

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thebonggirll · 3 years

Text

chapter nineteen

< previous: chapter eighteen

On the Fourth of July, the whole camp gathered at the beach for a fireworks display by cabin nine. Being Hephaestus's kids, they weren't going to settle for a few lame red-white-and-blue explosions. They'd anchored a barge offshore and loaded it with rockets the size of Patriot missiles. According to Annabeth, who'd seen the show before, the blasts would be sequenced so tightly they'd look like frames of animation across the sky. The finale was supposed to be a couple of hundred-foot-tall Spartan warriors who would crackle to life above the ocean, fight a battle, then explode into a million colors.

As Annabeth and Percy were spreading a picnic blanket and Y/N was working on spreading picnic blankets with Ruby and fighting on which color looked better, Grover showed up to tell them good-bye. He was dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt and sneakers, but in the last few weeks he'd started to look older, almost like college kid. His goatee had gotten thicker. He'd put on weight. His horns had grown at least an inch, so he now had to wear his rasta cap all the time to pass as human.

"I'm off," he said. "I just came to say ... well, you know."

Percy tried to feel happy for him. After all, it wasn't every day a satyr got permission to go look for the great god Pan. But it was hard saying good-bye. He'd only known Grover a year, yet he was his oldest friend.

Annabeth gave him a hug. She told him to keep his fake feet on. Y/N and Grover both pulled each other's cheeks. She said, "Thank you Grover." He nodded his head, as he knew what she was talking about. "And take care of yourself or else I don't know about Pan but you surely will find me coming to hit you." Grover laughed and nodded his head.

Percy asked him where he was going to search first.

"Kind of a secret," he said, looking embarrassed. "I wish you could come with me, guys, but humans and Pan..."

"We understand," Annabeth said. "You got enough tin cans for the trip?"

"Yeah."

"And you remembered your reed pipes?"

"Jeez, Annabeth," he grumbled. "You're like an old mama goat."

But he didn't really sound annoyed.

He gripped his walking stick and slung a backpack over his shoulder. He looked like any hitchhiker you might see on an American highway-nothing like the little runty boy Percy used to defend from bullies at Yancy Academy.

"Well," he said, "wish me luck."

He gave Annabeth another hug. He clapped Percy on the shoulder, and finally gave a hug to Y/N, then headed back through the dunes.

Fireworks exploded to life overhead: Hercules killing the Nemean lion, Artemis chasing the boar, George Washington (who, by the way, was a son of Athena) crossing the Delaware.

"Hey, Grover," Percy called.

He turned at the edge of the woods.

"Wherever you're going- I hope they make good enchiladas."

Grover grinned, and then he was gone, the trees closing around him.

"We'll see him again," Annabeth said.

"Heck yeah we will," Y/N said, smiling. Almost like she wasn't just trying to console others, but was also trying to believe it herself.

Percy tried to believe it. The fact that no searcher had ever come back in two thousand years ... well, he decided not to think about that. Grover would be the first. He had to be.

July passed.

Percy spent his days devising new strategies for capture-the-flag and making alliances with the other cabins to keep the banner out of Ares's hands. He got to the top of the climbing wall for the first time without getting scorched by lava.

From time to time, he'd walk past the Big House, glance up at the attic windows, and think about the Oracle. He tried to convince himself that its prophecy had come to completion.

Other times, he would come up with ways to ask out Annabeth, but whenever she appeared it felt like this expectation was wrong. Grover did tell him about her feelings but...it wasn't enough. How was he going to ask her out? When the Apollo kids sang in amphitheatre? During capture-the-flag? Does he need to do all the mushy flowers and chocolate thing too? It was confusing but he wanted it to be something that wouldn't embarrass him in the future.

Y/N soon got determined as Apollo's daughter with his symbol, when a golden sun with 21 rays made of arrows appeared over her head. She moved from her cabin, something Ruby looked happy about. I mean, don't get it wrong- she adored Y/N but both realized having a spacious room is much better than having a congested one, and fighting with each other half of the time. Other than her, Harris was the only person who genuinely looked bummed out. Y/N just laughed and said, "Hey, we can meet whenever you want you know?! I mean, if we don't have work to finish." She did hear a couple of kids tease him about it, but she was kind of used to it by now.

The last night of the summer session came all too quickly.

The campers had one last meal together. They burned part of their dinner for the gods. At the bonfire, the senior counselors awarded the end-of-summer beads.

Percy and Y/N got their own leather necklace, and saw the bead for their first summer. The design was pitch black, with a sea-green trident shimmering in the center for Percy. While Y/N's was pitch black, with a golden sun shining in the center.

"The choice was unanimous," Luke announced. "This bead commemorates the first Son of the Sea God at this camp, and the quest he undertook into the darkest part of the Underworld to stop a war!"

The entire camp got to their feet and cheered. Even Ares's cabin felt obliged to stand. Athena's cabin steered Annabeth to the front so she could share in the applause.

Y/N didn't get cheers but she was glad about it. She didn't like the overwhelming attention. Besides it wasn't her quest to begin with.

Percy was not sure he'd ever felt as happy or sad as he did at that moment. He'd finally found a family, people who cared about him and thought he'd done something right. And in the morning, most of them would be leaving for the year.

Harris joined her again in the amphitheatre. He wanted to talk before he left.

"Sorry, I guess there wasn't much cheer for you," he said, "almost none."

"Trust me, it's better this way. Imagine announcing 'Y/N! Congratulations on solving your daddy issues!'. It would be very embarrassing."

"Well if you put it like that," Harris asked chuckling, "Hey I uh- I don't know if you've heard about this but don't listen to-"

"-the gossip about us? About me jumping onto you immediately after Percy and Annabeth started a thing going on?" Y/N laughed, "It's so weird that these are the same kids who care about me."

"They'll back-bitch you but won't back-stab you for sure," Harris laughed.

"Where do you live?"

"New York City, where else?"

"Good! Me too! Can I visit you?"

"Are you sure? Monsters might smell us."

"I'm sure we can take them down together."

"Really?" Y/N said, "You would be the first guy visiting my home. Sorry if my dad kind of comes off as rude."

"I can make him like me."

"Oh~ What are you planning?"

"I'm planning to watch you sing in a stadium in one of the school fests you have."

"You're really fixated on hearing me sing, aren't you?"

"Yep, I deserve it."

"You do," Y/N laughed, "Well, meet me back in New York and I'll think about the solo performance."

"Really?" Harris asked.

They talked for a long time after that. Ruby joined them too. It was the last night they were going to talk before they went away in their own homes, so Y/N wanted to treasure the time.

next: chapter twenty >

book one: the lightning thief

percy jackson x reader series

MASTERLIST

Tags: @the-natureofme @jumpingtrainsandflyingskies @idk-bye-no

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy and annabeth #percabeth #percy jackson and the lightning thief #percy x annabeth #annabeth pjo #annabeth x luke #annabeth chase #pjo #pjoverse #pjo apollo

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youllallriseintheink · 3 years

Note

Sammy and Jack. “Can we stay like this forever?”

Crisis of Faith, chapter 2

Sammy didn’t dream of Jack again until his next crisis of faith, and Sammy’s faith was very difficult to break. It had begun while Sammy, now a lost one made of fluid ink, was hiding in a wall, watching as a severely ink-infected woman raved.

“Mother, why do you punish me!?” she shouted as, with all the power left in her body, she tried to force open the padlocked doors of the women’s washroom. Her veins, prominent due to age and leanness, were a pitch-black web on her skin, and her wiry muscles had wasted away to bone.

Sammy had, on Joey’s command, overseen dozens of ink infections by now, and knew that there was nothing unusual about Emma Lamont’s case of it. Every single victim he had overseen had held some kind of delusion. Some believed that they were being poisoned by the government or their enemies, or that they were developing a mental illness. A very common one, however, was that they were receiving some sort of punishment, test, or reward from an all-powerful being- either God, or from a seemingly random entity that they’d decided to treat as one.

What if... Sammy’s beliefs were no different from this madwoman, screaming at the ghost of her mother?

Sammy moved on to check on the other infection victims. Even if Bendy wasn’t to be worshipped, the thought of ascension was all that kept him going. He sacrificed people on Joey’s command because the ink had told him to. He wrote his scriptures because he believed they were meaningful. He led the lost ones to Bendy and away from the lies their voices had told them because he truly believed that his voice had been the truth, and it seemed to give them hope, too.

Sammy passed through the prison of ink creatures as he made his way to Joey’s sanctuary, where he now slept. A Charley was repeatedly banging its head against the bars of its cage. Lost ones wept. Ink stained every surface, making the brightly-lit room feel suffocatingly dark. Sammy was glad to phase through the wall into Joey’s sanctuary, where he could lie down on the couch and rest.

All this had to be leading to something. He couldn’t take it otherwise.

---

Sammy woke to the feeling of someone softly shaking him awake. He opened his eyes to see Jack, tears in his eyes and that disarming smile on his face.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” Jack asked gently.

Sammy, with a bit of difficulty, sat up and realized that he was in a hospital room, complete with an IV in his arm. He felt very weak, but also lighter- like a burden had been taken off of him. “Awful,” he admitted.

“Well, you want some good news? The ink is gone. All of it. You still have a lot of organ damage, but it’s nothing they can’t fix in a couple weeks. In other words, it’s over, Sammy. You’re gonna be okay.”

It took Sammy a half a minute to even process that. Once he did, though, he broke into tears of relief and hugged Jack as tightly as he could.

“Thank you. God, thank you for making me come here. You saved my life.”

Jack hugged him back. “Hey, I didn’t make you do anything. I know this took a lot of courage for you. And... I’m really glad you did it. I was so scared when I found you in your sanctuary. You were so sick... I thought I’d lose you. Sammy, I think I love you. But... we can talk about that later. Right now, you need to rest.”

“I love you, too.” Easiest words Sammy had ever said.

After a little more chatting, Jack left. Sammy wandered over to the bathroom to get a look at himself in the mirror. Admittedly, he didn’t look great. He looked like a person who’d narrowly survived a life-threatening illness, because that’s what he was. His skin was still pale and sunken, and he was still pretty gaunt, but the black veins, the bruise-like purple splotches on his skin, and even the staining in his mouth and his long, blond hair- it was gone. When Sammy woke, he would have given anything to see his human face again.

---Two years later---

As often happened whenever Sammy decided to play his banjo, a small crowd had gathered around him. Today, the crowd consisted of three lost ones, Jack (of course), a moderately ink-infected woman, and one of their last healthy men. The song Sammy was playing was "I’ll fly away.” He wasn’t singing it today, but he had sang it for his followers in the past, simply replacing the word, “God’s” with “his,” since “Bendy’s,” unfortunately, was two syllables.

“You know, it’s amazing how you can remember music like that,” said David, the only non-infected person in attendance. “I'm already forgetting the words to my favourite songs since it’s been so long since we’ve been able to just turn on a radio. How do you do it?”

Sammy would have smiled if he still had a mouth. “Well, a part of it is just natural ability,” Sammy admitted. “But. I have a secret to tell you. A part of it is faith. Faith can do great things. Collective faith in Bendy is the reason that we are the largest organization in this dimension. This village was built on faith. Faith keeps us united! Faith keeps us safe! And... faith allows me to to see into the old world every night when I close my eyes. I hope that all of you one day achieve that absolute belief that something in this world is good.”

“Heh. I’m trying. But all I have are nightmares of Bendy,” a lost one complained.

“Well, keep trying. Believe in his benevolence.” With that, Sammy got up and left for bed, patting Jack on the head on the way out. If only they knew that he used to be plagued by those same nightmares.

---

Sammy’s dream came in to form. He was on a bus, sitting next to Jack. Outside their window, snow was falling gently over a pretty, snow-covered forest. For a while Sammy just sat in peace, holding Jack’s hand and enjoying the scenery.

“Excited to see your parents again? I know I can’t wait to meet them.”

Sammy nodded. “I can’t wait.” Sammy had always wanted to introduce Jack to his parents. He remembered that there was a strong reason why he hadn’t done it while he was alive, but he couldn’t remember what it was. “My Dad is going to love you. You’re a lot like him, you know. Do you remember why we didn’t do this sooner?”

“Because I’m a man,” Jack answered, totally calm.

“Oh!” Sammy had forgotten a lot about the outside world since his transformation, but nothing so big as the existence of homophobia. It was kind of alarming that the ink was affecting his brain that much. “God. I’m so... forgetful. I’ll just have to introduce you as my musical partner or something. It’s unconventional, but they've seen me do weirder.”

“You know, Sammy, it’s like you got new lease on life after the ink incident. I love that. But yeah, you’re forgetting things left and right!” Jack teasingly jabbed him with his elbow.

“Yeah... Hey, can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” Jack said. Sammy worried what Jack would think, but looking into those calm brown eyes, he trusted him to not to react badly. And it would be nice to have one person he didn’t have to lie to.

“This is a dream. In the real world, I never got help for my ink infection, and now me and dozens of other people are trapped a dimension full of monsters. I’m holding a large band of people together by convincing them to collectively worship one of them. And you,” Sammy took a deep breath, “you’re there, too. But you haven’t had a coherent thought in years. I keep hoping that one day, we’ll make it out, and I’ll be able to confess to you and we’ll actually build a life like this. So... I’m forgetful because that ink is affecting my mind, and I’m happy because this world is my escape. And because you’re here, of course.” Sammy couldn’t meet Jack’s eyes. He’d probably just made himself sound like a lunatic.

Jack turned Sammy’s head to look at him. “Hey. I believe you. And... that sounds really rough. I wish I could help you.”

Sammy smiled. “Thanks. But you've been helping me all along.” Sammy laid his head on Jack’s shoulder. Maybe once the bus stopped, they’d get some hot chocolate and look at some shops before seeing his parents. It would be nice.

---

Sammy was violently shaken awake by a trio of searchers. More were behind them- as though half the village had crammed itself into his bedroom.

“Bendy is here!” one of them yelled. “What do we do?”

That was a good question. Sammy reached for his axe, but then he stopped. This was, according to the gospel he’d been feeding them, their saviour. “Go out to greet him,” Sammy instructed, trying not to sound as hesitant as he felt. “Bring him offerings of bacon soup. Bring everyone, even the Boris clones- they used to be human, too.”

The crowd of lost ones dispersed. Sammy watched with bated breath from the balcony of his lost-one village home as a massive crowd- lost ones, searchers, people both infected and healthy, and their three Boris clones- gathered along the ink river. Dozens of cans of bacon soup were placed along the river bank as an offering. Bendy stood on the other side of the river. Their drawbridge lowered, but Bendy decided instead to walk on the ink’s surface like the God they treated him as. The crowd gasped and made way. Bendy took an ink-infected man in one arm, stroked his cheek, and bit his face off.

Screams filled the air. People ran in all directions. Sammy was frozen for several seconds before he took action.

“Everyone! Run for cover! We have displeased him! I repeat, run for cover!” Sammy's booming, demonic voice covered the great distance it needed to. Upon seeing the people run and Bendy chase after them, Sammy himself slammed shut his doors and windows and listened in horror to the screams.

When it was over, all he could think to tell his people was that they needed to reconsider how they were paying tribute to the ink demon. If they changed their methods just a little, then the demon would be helpful instead of violent, and they would be freed.

To Sammy’s mixed relief, they actually believed it.

---

eleven years went by. Within the first three, every single flesh-and-blood person in the sketch dimension was infected, killed, or both, and became a lost one.

Their minds were rotting. Increasing numbers of lost ones struggled to remember anything about themselves or the outside world. Wandering aimlessly or resting in ink puddles, they were helpless as zombies.

But not Sammy. Sammy remained- comparatively, at least- as sharp as a whip, and told the lost ones tales so vivid about the outside world that they could almost taste its brilliance and freedom. Sammy only wished that Jack- the real Jack- could understand any of it.

There was nothing to do about that but what Sammy had been doing all along: keep the community together. Keep the lost ones moralized and sane. Figuratively and literally dream of a better world. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Sammy didn’t want to forget a thing about the real world, but little pieces had fallen away, bit by bit. In his dreams, there were now places he couldn’t visit because he didn’t remember what they were like. His reflection in the mirror had become a human-shaped blur as he forgot his appearance. The same thing had happened to the faces of people he used to remember clear as day. One day, he would forget it all, too- just as everyone else had.

It was hard to keep hope.

One of Sammy’s dreams found him walking down a beach with Jack at his side. Sammy knew that the two of them had relocated at some point, but he didn’t know to where. His American geography was rather fuzzy at this point.

“Can I vent to you about the other world?” Sammy asked.

“Sure,” Jack said. Jack was one thing that Sammy’s memory hadn’t gone fuzzy on. Sammy still remembered every soft curve of his face, every freckle, every detail. His dark brown hair was starting to grey, but not because Sammy remembered him that way- it had been many years, and growing old together was part of the fantasy.

“Bendy came to the village again today. He killed a few lost ones and then left. People are losing faith in me and I don’t know how to get it back. And to make matters worse, a false prophet is going around saying we should worship the angel instead! She’d enslave us if we did that!" Sammy chucked a baseball-sized rock into the water, then composed himself a bit. “And you know, we’re all going to be mindless drones eventually. I’m thinking... maybe I won’t fight the false prophet. I could leave the village, hide in a vent, and spend as little time awake as possible. Ink creatures can sleep for days, you know. What do say? Can we stay like this forever? Enjoy this world until I lose my mind like all the rest?” Sammy took Jack’s hands and looked desperately into his eyes.

Jack hesitated, but by the look on his face, Sammy already knew what his answer would be. “I’m sorry. You know I have to say no. The lost ones need you.”

“But why am I the one who has to stay strong for them? I’m sick of it.”

“Because you’re the one who can. I know it isn’t fair, but you’re the reason they’ve been protecting each other. And it sounds like if you leave them now, they’ll throw themselves at Alice. Do it for them. And if you can’t bring yourself to care about them... do it for me. The real me. You still love him, right?”

“Of course...” Sammy probably would have done this sooner if he didn’t care about the well-being of his searcher friend.

Jack put a hand on Sammy’s shoulder. “I don’t know how, but you’ll get out some day. And in the meantime, I’m here.”

Sammy tried to think of some objection, but he couldn’t. He muttered a “thanks” and kept walking along the beach. Jack followed. It was, if nothing else, a beautiful night, and he might as well enjoy it.

“Jack... tell me what I look like. I don’t care that it’ll just be something you made up. Tell me anyhow.”

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #Jack Fain #sammy lawrence #sammy x jack #my fanfiction #threadedsafetypin #thanks for the ask

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captain-hen · 3 years

Note

What are your top 10 9-1-1 episodes (in no particular order) and why? Feel free to tag other blogs in your answer and ask them the same question. I’d love to see everyone discussing this 😊

ooh, this is an interesting question! okay, let's go, in no particular order:

2x16, oceans 911: this GODDAMN episode. it's soo good, the bank heist thing, the beginning of bobby and michael's shenanigans, the characters being interrogated? *chefs kiss* definitely an episode i could watch over and over

2x01, under pressure: this was such an amazing beginning to the season and had me hooked right away, especially since the debacle that was s1 had me with one foot out the door. eddie's introduction?? our lord and savior maddie showing up?? the buckley siblings content?? BATHENA?? the shortest enemies to friends arc ever for buck and eddie?? hen and chim's friendship?? top tier, 100/10.

3x09, fallout: gets an a++ purely for all the henren we got. the characters actually working through their trauma?? karen being the most supportive wife ever to hen?? (seriously, hen hit the jackpot, i want karen to be my wife) the kitchen scene™?? THE FIREFAM group hug. ugh, quality content

4x12, treasure hunt: listen, this episode gave me so much serotonin like you wouldn't believe. the shenanigans and silliness! firefam content! bathena being everyone's parents!! the way they immediately turned on each other asdfkdkl. karen wilson, mvp, writing her wife an algorithm for the treasure hunt alone gets it a spot on this list.

3x03, the searchers: gosh, i wish i could list all the tsunami episodes on this list because this arc was soo good. was it stressful af and was i crying every five minutes? yes. was it worth it, though? yes again!

2x13, fight or flight: another insanely stressful episode, but it was soo good, absolutely phenomenal and they just handled maddie's storyline with domestic violence so well. 10/10.

4x13, suspicion: you KNEW this was gonna be on the list. the way this episode paralleled future tense so well, the very important storyline they did with hen and toni, maddie's ppd storyline, so MUCH screentime for eddie, him being so compassionate and caring for that kid and of course...the Scene™. the way the episode lulled us in with a false sense of security and then proceeded to destroy us. just amazing.

2x09, hen begins: the way this episode highlighted hen's struggles and the discrimination she faced while joining the LAFD was unparalleled and they did it SO well. and her and athena's friendship too! and her friendship with chimney and the beginning of her support system!! loved it soo much.

3x15, eddie begins: GOD this episode. another insanely stressful one, but so good, especially in light of the s4 finale. the way eddie's major storylines that coincide with him 'finding himself' or character development for him always include kids because fatherhood is such an innate part of him!! the st christopher medallion!!! him fighting to come back to his family!!! the signs of the trauma he's been repressing all along!! just so good

2x04, stuck: this is another feel good episode, that was soo good for all the characters. eddie's character being showcased and developed so well and him and chris!! athena's storyline about considering that promotion and bobby knowing her better than anyone knows that she'll turn it down!! chim finding closure with tatiana! (right before he meets maddie, too 😏) maddie moving out and buck finally reconsidering his relationship with abby! *chefs kiss* quality content right there.

this was so much fun to answer, nonnie! i'll tag: @malikjavaddzayn @bi-demi-eddie @diazalex @buttercupbuck and anyone else who has their own thoughts on this!

#neethu answers #911 fox

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wisteria-lodge · 4 years

Text

bird primary + unburning lion secondary

Hi there!! Happy new year– hope you’re well and keeping safe <3 and I hope it’s all right to send you this long wall of text– I meant it for an anon ask but it got way, way out of hand. (You can tell pandemic isolation got to me a long time ago.) I’ve rewritten it a couple of times, but I think this is as far as I’ll get with it; I can only hope that it’s remotely organized and comprehensible, and apologize if it’s nonsense.

Just an observation… I usually get these apologetic preambles from slightly charred secondaries…

Essentially, I find myself a bit conflicted; I don’t know if i’m a Bird, a Lion, either of those but burned, one modeling the other, or something else entirely! (Definitely an Idealist; I’ve got that far.) I’m hoping you can shed a bit of light on the subject. Normally I’d try to think it through myself, but I’ve been doing that and I keep leading myself in circles. For reasons you’ll see later, also, I think it would help me a great deal to talk to another person (someone who’s demonstrated insight!) and know what your take is.

So, I’d tried thinking through it on my own, and I thought I’d come to a pretty definitive conclusion. I was pretty damn sure I was a Bird! Lion morality makes me really uncomfortable, actually! Anecdotally I’ve seen a lot of Lions talking about consulting the data and the research, but going with their gut over the evidence if there’s a conflict, and (I’m only talking about my own life here, not casting judgment about anyone else) I would feel gross if I tried to do that. I need that sweet sweet evidential corroboration baby! and I’ve actually experienced the very Birdlike thing of having my entire worldview debunked and – being fine, you know? Several times, actually. I don’t regret being wrong, but I couldn’t simply continue to be wrong in the face of all the new evidence.

Yep, you sound like one hell of a Bird to me.

I’ve been thinking about @missbrunettebarbie’s idea about favorite characters reflecting Sortings, though, and that’s thrown a spanner in the works a little bit. Most of my favorite characters are ones with capital-M Missions or capital-P Purposes that they dive into with their whole being: Lion types, in other words. That’s actually the single most important metric of whether I like a character or not. But I’m not like that at all! I want to be, desperately (that’s why I like the characters so much) but I’ve never found a cause or a position that I couldn’t find some fault with (and believe me, I’ve been searching all my life!)

I probably don’t need to tell you that it’s just a thing that Birds love Lions. I think the main difference between the two is just that Birds do most of their processing with the logical, conscious part of their brain, and Lions do most of their processing with the unconscious part. So Birds think it’s cool and sort of magical how Lions can generate these answers out of nowhere, and Lions love how Birds can shift, change their mind, and back up their reasoning.

I’m a(n aspiring) historian, and I’m perfectly capable of committing to a scholarly position. I believe that the models I’ve built for factually understanding the world work, at least for now– but when it comes to personal philosophies and ethics, I pick everything apart. It usually starts with me sensing a contradiction or discrepancy and assuming that I must be wrong, and that whoever came up with this idea I’m trying to engage with must SURELY have corrected or accounted for it, and I’m just not seeing it, or I’m misunderstanding something.

That’s so often not the case, though. People believe things for all sorts of reasons, not just their perfect logical or practical completeness. Some people even take pride in believing things in spite of the lack of evidence– that’s what many people believe faith is. But I simply cannot do that. (My parents aren’t religious, but I grew up in a majority Christian community. Suffice to say I had few friends as a child. I was more comfortable speaking my doubts and objections then than I am now.)

You’re almost certainly a slightly burnt Lion secondary. Which makes you a Bird Lion, and that makes perfect sense. You guys are the searchers, the grail knights. A description which seems to fit you perfectly.

I’ve been learning to trust my own mind a little more lately, and to be more comfortable pointing it out when I notice things like that instead of automatically assuming I’m the idiot. Basically trying to train myself to argue.

Oh yeah. Fire up that Lion secondary.

That phenomenon I describe, though, where I silently entertain doubts and objections until they’re reflected outside of me, has been the case every time I’ve had my worldview altered, too! It’s never been– this is a completely new criticism I had no idea about. It’s always– i was RIGHT to question, i was RIGHT to doubt, I’m not the idiot. I just didn’t trust myself enough to act on it without external corroboration. I can’t even commit to my own doubts until someone else validates them for me. I’m disgusted with myself about it, honestly. Sometimes i think the only thing I know how to do is doubt.

Okay, that’s your burnt Lion secondary talking. You sound like Hamlet.

Kierkegaard has a great quote: “What I really lack is to be clear in my mind what I am to do, not what I am to know, except in so far as a certain knowledge must precede every action. The thing is to understand myself, to see what God really wishes me to do: the thing is to find a truth which is true for me, to find the idea for which I can live and die. … I certainly do not deny that I still recognize an imperative of knowledge and that through it one can work upon men, but it must be taken up into my life, and that is what I now recognize as the most important thing.”

Kierkegaard is probably also a slightly charred Bird Lion. Who kind of loves the way that Lion primaries engage with the world.

This is almost exactly how I feel. I already know what I need to know– like I said, my scholarly work bears up, and I love my work! But I can’t live and die for an academic historical model, no matter how effective it is. I have no idea what to do, what to be, how to get comfortable with my existence in the world. I don’t want to be a brain in a jar, you feel? I want a purpose, I want to be more than myself, I want to use the knowledge I have in service of some great work. I wanna take that leap into faith! But I just don’t have it in me to believe in anything. I need to know that I’m right before I can act on anything.

I become more and more suspicious of the doctrine of some great work. I know it’s my Badger secondary talking, but I do see work as fundamentally cumulative (and Lion secondaries very much don’t, I know, I’m just waxing philosophical now, it’s your fault, had me reading Kierkegaard.) It’s a “what wound did ever heal but by degrees” thing. I am amazed, constantly, by how much the little things I do, the things I didn’t put much thought into, seem to ripple out. And being a historian is that. Constructing the way the past is understood (and taught, my god) - that effects an entire people’s self-narrative, and what could possibly be more important?

So I don’t know where that leaves me. Is this just the typical bird hard-on for Internal Lion primaries?

Of course you already considered that possibility.

Am I burned?

Nah. Your Bird primary sounds like it’s in good shape.

Is it an issue of my secondary, somehow?

Yep. You’ve got a burnt Lion secondary that isn’t sure which direction to run in. But you’ve definitely started the process of unburning.

I don’t KNOW and I’m increasingly uncomfortable about it. I completely understand if you’re like ????? but if you have any insight, i’d really appreciate it. Thanks so much!

#sortinghatchats #sortme #wisteria sorts #bird primary #lion secondary #burnt lion secondary #bird lion #soren kierkegaard #philosophy stuff #submission

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

Love Potion Number Nine

Request: Bucky Barnes imagine where on a mission reader is infected with a love serum or something, and falls for the first person she sees? Sadly for her boyfriend bucky it ends up being peter. So they have to wait for tony and bruce to find a cure. And bucky gets annoyed with how much she "loves" Peter?

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this, I had a lot of fun with it. I hope you like it, I hope I've done your request justice anyway.

Title: The Searchers - Love Potion no. 9

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: unrequited feelings sort of? Bucky has negative feelings about himself

Word count: 1.7k

The mission was supposed to be simple – an extraction. It came with two warnings from your boyfriend on the other end of your communication piece – do not get caught, and do not get hurt.

It was the mantra before every single mission – do not get caught, do not get hurt. The both of you whispered it to each other before separating to complete different tasks. The latter half of the mantra was broken more often than you liked; Bucky swore that you were turning him prematurely grey every time he found you in the infirmary being patched up for an injury you swore wasn’t your fault.

He would chuckle to mask his worry before pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

This mission, however, went to hell the moment you were injected with something that definitely wasn’t approved by any medical bodies.

It was Peter who found you, and it would be Peter who would suffer the consequences the moment he got you back to Bucky.

For Peter, the flight back to the compound was torture. He could happily admit that you were attractive, but he had no romantic feelings for you – out of simple fear of Bucky Barnes. But the way you were acting on the flight made Peter think you had been injected with an amped up aphrodisiac that made you fall in love with the first person you saw. It was just Peter’s luck that it was him.

He relayed this to Bucky very quickly the moment you had landed at the compound. Bucky whisked you off to the infirmary immediately, and Peter was happy for his role in this drama to be over. But when has he ever gotten what we wanted?

Bucky called for Peter’s assistance in the infirmary. You were kicking up a fuss that you couldn’t see him.

“Babe,” Bucky starts, “Peter doesn’t need to be here.”

“I don’t want him to go.” You stated.

“Why?” Bucky asks

“I love him.” You whimper.

Bucky looks at you, alarmed, “You what?”

“I love him. Look at him! He’s so cute. His hair is so pretty, and so are his eyes! And have you seen him shirtless?” You say all of this with your eyes on Peter, a gaze that Peter could only described as ‘heart eyes’.

Peter stands in the corner of the infirmary room; silently wishing for death or for you to stop talking. Whichever comes first – the way that Bucky looks at him, Peter starts to wish for death.

Bucky sighs before asking Peter what happened on the mission.

“She got injected with something; she was knocked out for a few seconds and when she woke up, this happened. I think it’s like a mutated version of a liquid aphrodisiac.” Peter answers, gesturing to the hearts eyes that you are making over him.

Bucky runs a hand over his face; looking as if he has aged a hundred years in the span of a minute. He taps a message on his phone before turning his attention back to you. He can’t help but feel jealous of Peter; he had admitted to you early in your relationship that he was insecure over the large age difference between the two of you. You had kissed away his worries and he felt better. The scene in front of him only brought these worries back to the surface; he started to think that maybe you would be better suited for someone closer to your age like Peter.

“Tony and Bruce have already looked over her. And once Tony had stopped laughing at me, he said she isn’t in any harm; it just has to work its way out of her system.”

“How long could that take?” Peter asks, unsure of whether he wants to hear the answer.

Bucky shrugs, “They couldn’t give me a certain time frame. Hours or days.”

Peter nods, silently praying for it to be of your system in hours. He doesn’t think he would survive days of this.

“Bucky?” You whisper.

“Yes, doll?”

“Do you think he likes me back?”

“Who? Peter?”

You nod, a bright blush making its way across your cheeks.

“I’m not sure, sweetheart. I think you might have to ask him yourself.”

“I can’t do that!” You gasp, affronted at the mere suggestion.

“And why not?” Bucky challenges.

“Well for starters, he’s standing right there! And look at him! He’s a 10! I’m a 4 at best.”

Peter can’t help but feel smug at that comment. He had never seen himself as a 10, so it was safe to say his ego was definitely boosted.

Well, it was until Bucky turned his attention to him. “I’m blaming this on you, kid.”

Peter’s mouth drops open, “Why? I wasn’t the one to inject her with love serum.”

“Because I can.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes; Bucky continually rubs a hand over his face, trying to work out what he needs to do next, and what the potential aftermath of this could be. Peter remains in the corner, watching the scene, feeling awful for him.

“What’s going to happen to her?” Peter asks, quietly.

Bucky sighs, “I don’t know. We’re just going to have to wait it out.”

Peter nods, watching as Bucky gathers you up into his arms. You had fallen asleep a few minutes ago, the adrenaline of the mission leaving your body in a rush.

Bucky says, “I’m going to take her to her room. Let’s hope there will be some improvement when she wakes.”

Peter wholeheartedly agrees with him.

----------------

You awake to a dark room; you are disorientated for a few moments before you realise that you are, in fact, in your bedroom back at the compound. You press a hand to your head in the hopes that it will ease the growing headache.

Food is what you need, your stomach growling to you, and you wonder how long it has been since you last ate.

Walking into the kitchen, you spy Bucky sitting at the kitchen counter with his head in hands. Frowning, you forget your mission for food. Instead, you head straight for him.

Placing a hand on his upper arm, you ask, “Bucky, what’s wrong?”

He startles at your touch and your voice. His eyes look up and down, checking for injuries. “(Y/N)? Are you okay? You should be asleep right now.”

You wave away his worry, “I’m fine. What about you though? Are you okay?”

“Do you remember anything from this mission?”

You frown, walking towards the fridge to get a drink. “I don’t remember much – it was going well then I got injected with something. That’s all I remember. Why?”

Bucky watches your every movement, “You were injected with a mutated version of an aphrodisiac. It caused you to lose consciousness and fall in love with the first person you saw when you woke up.”

“That’s a gross weapon. Why would anyone create that?”

Bucky shrugs, too quiet for your liking.

“What happened whilst I was doped up?”

“I wasn’t the first person you saw when you woke up.”

The colour drains from your face, “Oh god, who was?”

Bucky grits his teeth, “Peter was.”

You drop your head into your hands, cursing the day you ever met the young Peter Parker. “How bad was it?”

“For you? Not so bad, you were very loved up. For Peter? I think he was more worried I was going to kill him, which I might still do if I’m being completely honest with you. For me? It was hell on earth.”

“Oh Bucky…”

He shakes his head, “It just brought back all those worries. I am constantly aware of the age difference between the two of us, and I know that you love me, but seeing you in love with another man. A man who is your age – it brought back all those insecurities. I worry that one day you’ll turn around and realise that I’m too old for you and find someone younger and better.”

You’re at his side in an instant, wrapping your arms around him tightly. He wraps his around you, gripping onto you tightly. The last 24 hours had been a living nightmare for him – one he didn’t see a way out of. The logical side of him knew that the serum would work its way out of you eventually, but he couldn’t help but worry about what would happen if it didn’t.

You both stand there, holding each other, breathing the other in. Your face is pressed into Bucky’s chest; his face is hidden in your hair.

You pull away, but not by much, “Let me tell you now, James Buchanan Barnes, there is nothing on this planet that could keep me away from you. I don’t care about the age difference; it has never mattered to me. All that matters to me is that you love me, and you accept me. The same way I love you and accept you. There is no other man for me, only you - always you.”

“Seeing you in love with Peter,” Bucky whispers, “It was awful.”

“Then it’s a good job that I love you, and not Peter.”

Bucky buries his face in your neck, uttering “I love you.”

You run a hand through his hair as he continues to murmur how much he loves you, grounding himself back to reality.

When it’s finally silent between the two of you, you have to ask, “How bad was I?”

“I think Peter’s ego has definitely been inflated.”

You groan, hiding your face in Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky smiles, “Don’t worry. He’ll be knocked down a peg or two soon.”

You shake your head, “Don’t tell me the details of whatever prank you’re planning, I don’t want a part in it.”

Bucky laughs, rubbing a hand up and down your arm.

“Hey Buck? I think you’re forgetting something.”

He hums, “What am I forgetting?”

“You haven’t kissed me yet.”

“I haven’t have I?”

You shake your head, lifting it slightly. Bucky grins before pressing his lips to yours; you sigh happily against his mouth as your arms wrap themselves around his neck, keeping him pressed close to you.

Bucky pulls away first, feeling very happy with himself.

You hum, starting to giggle, “I don’t know, I think Peter could do better.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, “Like hell he could,” he shouts as he throws you over his shoulder, determined to show you how much better than Peter he could be.

#Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #fluff #My writing #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic

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heliads · 4 years

Text

The Artist

After a less-than-perfect meeting with controlling S.H.I.E.L.D. higher-ups, Steve Rogers discovers a small art studio just down the block from the Avengers Tower. He meets a woman inside who may come to mean more to him than he first realizes.

masterlist

Steve Rogers is frustrated. He joined the Avengers, fought alongside S.H.I.E.L.D., made a hundred hard choices and maybe dozens more all so he could protect those he cared about. Those who couldn’t throw up a fist against their enemies.

Yet now, he’s not entirely sure that what he’s doing is considered good. S.H.I.E.L.D. and the government are fiercely restrictive over what he and the Avengers do, and Steve is sick of it. Steve used to be able to pride himself on his gut reflex, on being able to always do the right thing. Is it bad that he’s not sure he can do that anymore? That when his fists come up bloody, he may be looking into the eyes of an innocent instead of a twisted soldier?

Steve supposes that’s why he snapped today. It was just another mandatory meeting, imposing yet another set of rules on what Steve is or is not allowed to do as Captain America. Steve’s usually controlled calm had cracked, and he had unleashed an incensed rant upon the S.H.I.E.L.D. higher-ups sent to speak to him.

To cool down, Steve had headed out of the Avengers tower, dressed in the ordinary clothes of a civilian so he could blend in. He’s not quite sure where his feet are taking him- down a few streets, turning a few corners. He glances at the shops he passes, not paying much attention to them, until one in particular catches his eye and he stops in his tracks.

It’s a small store, not displaying neon lights or garish decorations. There’s a slightly faded banner hanging in a window, and a larger sign propped up above the door. It’s an art studio, tucked away within the hustle and bustle of New York. Steve knows at once that he has to go in.

The studio itself is like a breath of fresh air after spending years trapped inside. The windows are open, letting in a breeze every now and then. The walls are covered floor to ceiling in the art of its students, with self-portraits and still lives peering out at him from every possible inch of space. As Steve walks past the front desk into the main room, he smiles at the sound of music piping from a stereo in the corner. Jazz, a nice slow song. Maybe Chet Baker.

There are only a few people in the room, working dutifully on their canvases and papers. The room has tables scattered around it, spread over with objects of every size and shape for use in a still life. There are fake fruits and flowers, dusty glass bottles and compact wooden boxes. It feels like home.

Across the room, a woman leans over the shoulder of someone seated at a computer, pointing out different aspects of possible reference images. When she sees Steve approach, she says one last sentence to the searcher before walking over to him, head swaying gently to the beat of the music.

“Hi, welcome to the studio! The name’s Y/N. Y/N L/N.” She looks to Steve expectantly, and he glances back before coming to his senses. “Steve. You’ve got a nice place here.” He gestures around the studio, and the woman smiles. “Thank you. It’s come together from bits and pieces, started a while ago by a friend and I.” The two of them look back at the gathered artists before Y/N turns back to Steve.

“You know, we’ve got an open hour every night from 7 to 8 if you want to drop by. You don’t have to pay or anything, just bring your art and be prepared to work.” Steve smiles at her. “That sounds pretty good. I might have to take you up on that.” Y/N flashes him a grin. “I hope to see you there, Steve.”

After Steve makes it back home, he finds himself still thinking about the woman from the studio. Steve had always enjoyed art, and something about that place makes him want to try again. So, it’s not exactly a surprise that he finds himself standing before the studio door the next day.

He ends up staying the entire hour, and then again the next day. He’s not sure why, but he feels drawn to the studio. The art, Y/N’s company, it all is a happy respite from the responsibilities that threaten to crush him on a day-to-day basis.

A month or two goes by before he realizes he loves Y/N. It’s a slow understanding, but something about her gentle smile and flashing eyes makes him want to spend the entire day with her. Steve hasn’t had the luxury of falling in love in a long time, but he thinks it would be more than alright to fall in love with her.

They’re walking home one night after a date when Steve’s good spell finally ends. It was an otherwise perfect night, the moon and stars casting a net of light across the city. Y/N’s hand is clasped in his, and they’re strolling down the streets peacefully.

Steve has always taken satisfaction in his good instincts, but the two have been walking for a while before he realizes that the streets are oddly empty for a New York night. The main street is just a block or so ahead, and he starts to pick up his pace a little bit.

However, it’s too late for this. A man dressed in black steps from the shadows to halt in front of Steve and Y/N, stopping them in their tracks. “Apologies, Rogers. You won’t be going anywhere tonight.” Steve’s jaw clenches, but then he looks to Y/N. “Let her leave. She hasn’t done anything to you.”

The man shakes his head in mock sorrow. “I’m afraid not. She might know something.” The man makes a slight gesture with his hand, and more men emerge from the shadows. Steve curses silently. This is not how he wanted the night to go.

The man extends his hands. “If you come quietly, I can promise you that she won’t get hurt.” Steve just shakes his head. “I know how these promises turn out. We aren’t going anywhere with you.” The man sighs. “I had hoped this would end more easily. Well, have it your way.” With that, the fight begins.

After a while of throwing punches and dodging bullets, Steve begins to wish he had brought his shield with him. Tony always had some way to summon his suit from a wristwatch or phone, why couldn’t Steve have done the same? With a panicked jolt, he realizes he hasn’t heard anything from Y/N. Quickly, Steve throws the man in front of him to the ground and spins around to face his girlfriend. What he sees makes him freeze in place.

Y/N apparently does not need any help, because she’s just finishing off another soldier. Four more lie unconscious at her feet. Steve looks around and realizes that all of the enemy soldiers are taken care of, and he fixes Y/N with a cold glare as he finally understands why she was able to fight off all of the guards.

“You’re a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, aren’t you.” Y/N looks away from him, but mutters one word under Steve’s bitter gaze. “Yes.” Steve shakes his head, feeling anger rush into him. “You’re just like Sharon. Another person S.H.I.E.L.D. planted in my life to keep me docile. Did you ever love me, or was that just another order?”

Y/N’s head flies up. “No, never. I promise you, Steve, I haven’t done anything that wasn’t what I wanted to do. What I feel for you is real.” Steve just scoffs disgustedly. “How am I supposed to believe that? We’re done. I don’t want to see you again. Tell your supervisors that they’ll need another guard.” With that, he walks away, trying not to react to Y/N’s brokenhearted calls.

The next day, Steve stalks up to Fury with the simmering rage of a lion. He doesn’t let the director speak, just confronts him with hushed and furious tones. “How long has Y/N L/N been posted to keep sight of me?” Fury sighs. “I see you’ve found out. She’s already told me about what happened. To be honest, I think you should be thanking her. If it was anyone else, they probably would have been kidnapped or killed by those HYDRA agents.”

Steve doesn’t want to hear it. “That’s not the point, Fury. You can’t keep forcing people into my life and expecting me to be fine with it.” Fury raises an eyebrow. “That’s a strong way to put it. She was just there across the street.” Steve takes a step back, confused. “What do you mean, only there?” Fury looks at him questioningly. “Her only assignment was to keep an eye on you, and be a distant acquaintance that you could trust if necessary. I wouldn’t exactly call that forcing someone into your life.”

Steve nods slowly, then turns to leave. His thoughts are a jumbled mess in his head, but he’s still thinking clearly enough to remember the way back to Y/N’s apartment.

It takes her a moment to respond when he knocks. When she opens the door, she looks more than a little surprised to see him. “I thought we were done.” Steve sighs. “I want to apologize. You weren’t faking it. I talked to Fury, and he said that your assignment never involved getting close to me.”

Y/N nods. “I love you, Steve. I promise. I know the circumstances aren’t exactly great, but I never meant to hurt you.” Steve smiles. “I know. I think the main question is this- will you forgive me for storming out of walking you home and accusing you of being a sleeper agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Y/N laughs. “Only if you forgive me for keeping my status as an agent a secret.” Steve nods, grinning. He has Y/N back, and everything is just as it should be.

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagines #captain america #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagines #avengers #avengers imagines #avengers steve rogers

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 3 years

Text

18. Skeleton

Buddy and Sammy find the “goldfish room” as the latter calls it, AKA the closet where Joey keeps his skeletons, literally. And in the process, Buddy learns about a few of the skeletons in Sammy’s metaphorical closet. (Set during ink hell, pre loop, post Buddy befriending the lost ones/searchers.)

The Prophet was a strange ally.

It was weird to work alongside someone who worships the guy who tore you in half and is the biggest reason why you’re stuck in a nightmarish, inescapable studio, especially when it wasn’t the nicest or friendliest person before getting claimed by the ink. (Although, as he thought back on it, had he ever met Sammy before it was claimed by the Ink?)

But ANY ally was better than an enemy, especially when that ally knows the studio better than anyone else down here. Besides, it seemed like the Ink man was either unaware of their past or didn’t even know who they used to be, and even if it did, it wasn’t angry about their past issues.

At the same time, working on scavenging trips with the former musician was a nightmare; it was way too tranquil about the situation, and there were too many weird murderous monsters that the wolf and gofer were aware of.

“I do not need to run, little wolf. I can evade these creatures without issue through my Lord’s gift.” The Prophet calmly stated as Buddy gestured confusion about why it didn’t run when the pair heard something that sounded suspiciously like the projectionist’s screams. “Besides, running through these halls is risky, I would be heard by those… more unsavory denizens of this studio and get ambushed by them.”

He wished his typewriter was quieter in instances like this, being able to type out ‘But what if you get caught by your lord?’ and other messages to hand to him without risking alerting the Ink Demon would be great. Or just having his voice back in general.

“If my Lord decides to send me back to the puddles, then it is his right to do so to prove I have changed.” He answered the unspoken question. “But it does mean that I have to work harder to get him to notice how much I have improved, get him to notice me…”

‘Please don’t read my mind unless I give you the “go for it” gesture. It’s creepy otherwise.’

“My apologies, little wolf, while your thoughts come in quieter than everybody else’s… they’re still noticeable, especially when it’s just the two of us.”

Buddy hesitantly nodded and just tried to lead the Prophet out of the ransacked room to look for more stray supplies.

A few more hours of searching lead the pair to a locked room, something that experience told him meant that either it was another dead end or a hidden treasure trove of supplies, and not wanting to go back to the safe house empty handed, he was ready to roll those dice.

Buddy gestured for the Prophet to stand guard as he picked the door’s lock, and as the door slowly creaked open, he was thankful that he couldn’t speak because the scream that came out from his mouth would’ve been loud enough to alert every monster in the studio.

The former gofer felt sick to his stomach when he saw them. Piles upon piles of rotting, mangled, corpses. Human Corpses, not toony corpses like the other Borises or the butchered up members of the Butcher gang. Most of them were unrecognizable, partly because he had never seen most of these people in his life, and partly because they had decayed so much that what remained was hard to figure out who was who and what. The oldest corpses were nothing but skeletons and clothes, and the freshest one looked like…

...Like his own body.

“The goldfish room...” The prophet muttered loud enough for Buddy to hear, startling the poor pup out of his skin as he didn’t hear him enter behind him.

The wolf shuddered and continued to scour the room for anything worth the hassle of all of this. Boris wanted to take a few of the bones, which Buddy unenthusiastically obliged.

“Don’t eat those!” The Prophet interjected so loudly and harshly that it startled both the former gofer and the wolf toon. The ink creature’s anger was so much scarier with how rare it was to see now. “Especially not him! He’s my-” The Prophet stopped itself by covering its ‘mouth’ with its hands as if it was about to reveal a big secret and just took the skeletal arm out of Buddy’s hands and put it back where he found it. Its voice went back to it’s normal calm tone that reminded him of someone who was on the verge of falling asleep, but Buddy heard somberness in the musician’s pitch. “...they’re unclean...”

‘Prophet?’ Buddy gave him the “go ahead, read my mind” gesture. ‘Prophet, what is this place? Who are these people?’

“...You’ve seen your own corpse among them, correct?”

Buddy nodded.

“I know you’ve met Joey, but tell me; ...Has he ever called you ‘Henry’ before?”

‘Yes he has, but what does that have to do with…’ he gestured at the bodies on the floor ‘this?!’

“Henry’s been gone for a long time now.” The prophet stated, but there was a hint of recollection in his tone that weakened the calmness, and the more he talked, the more broken (for lack of a better term) his voice became. “Do you think that you were Joey’s first replacement goldfish? That after Henry left the studio, you were Joey’s only other other Henry?”

Buddy’s ears began ringing and he heard music; it was loud, distorted, fast-paced, and all over the place, the type of music that makes your heart pound out of your chest and makes your hackles stand up, the type of music that tells you to run, but doesn’t clue you in to where or why. The prophet’s body started to shake and tremble.

“The first Other-Henry was actually named Henry as well. And like his predecessor, was an excellent artist who really connected with the characters...”

‘Sammy? What’s going on? do you hear this too?!’

“But unlike Stein, Ross was a very stubborn person who refused to let anyone push him around, especially by either Joey or myself. Surprisingly, I liked that man, but he didn’t last long...”

Fear kept Buddy’s legs frozen to the ground as he covered his ears in a fruitless attempt to muffle the music, it felt like it was being played directly in his head, and then it clicked when the whispers started up, whispers in their tone, but not in volume, they were loud enough to drown out parts of what the Prophet was saying;

‘Sammy help us!’

“The next one was more like you, a younger, less experienced and more skittish person, his first name was ‘Lawrence’ so everyone called him ‘Larry’ to avoid confusion...”

‘Sammy, where are you?’

“...But he was also too nosy for that poor boy’s own good.”

‘you’re too weak!’

“The one after that was a scatterbrained fellow, very passionate about his work but didn’t focus very much on one topic or another...”

The Prophet’s monologue was completely drowned out by the music and chorus of desperate and angry “Other Henries” at this point. Buddy knew he was still talking because of the musician’s gestures, but didn’t hear a single word out of him.

‘Saaaaaammyyyyyyy....’ ‘You’re such a spineless coward...’ ‘Sammy please save us..!’ ‘Why did you let Joey kill us?’ ‘The ink... it’s so cold...’ ‘No wonder Susie hates you so much...’ ‘Sammy, please! It hurts!’ ‘Why did you let us die?’ ‘Why won’t you help us?’ ‘You’re no better than Joey.’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘I thought you loved me...’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘You promised me that you’d always be there!’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘They were right about you...’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘Saaaaaammyyyyyyy....’

He knew that the lost ones, searchers and Prophet could hear each others’ thoughts, but didn’t understand what that was like until now that he was hearing Sammy’s thoughts. No wonder most of them were always so depressed and on edge...

‘Sammy?’ the gofer shook Sammy gently, only to hear his own voice join the chorus of other Henries as one of the ones who sounded like he was mad at him. ‘Sammy, snap out of it!’ he shook the Prophet harder, still not waking the Ink creature out of its trance. ‘SAMMY!’ Doing the first thing that came to mind out of desperation, Buddy slapped the mask clean off of it.

The music and voices died as if they were a candle light snuffed out by the wind.

For a few seconds that felt more like hours, Buddy and Sammy stared at each other in silence before Sammy put its mask back on as if nothing happened and led the toon wolf out of the goldfish room, took a key out of its pocket and locked it behind them.

-----

Back in the safe house, Buddy started up a pot of bacon soup, the stuff tasted a little bit better when it was hot while Sammy tuned the banjo in the dining area and Dot tried to stir up conversation.

“So... how did the supply run go?”

“Fine.”

Buddy involuntarily let out a snort as he took the soup off the stove and took out his typewriter.

[It was the scariest one we’ve ever done so far.

While looking around for stuff, we ended up in this place S The Prophet called ‘the Goldfish room’ and it was filled with dead bodies. HUMAN dead bodies. And mine was in the pile! I couldn’t tell if it was haunted or if it was just the prophet’s thoughts going]

“Little wolf, I do not wish to think about that room again...”

[Sorry.]

The wolf sheepishly put the typewriter to the side and poured the soup into bowls. As the toon and lost one ate, the prophet mostly just stared into his bowl as if he was watching something in it.

“...Before my enlightenment, I was not a good person.” The masked musician stated unprompted.

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t an evil person per say, and I wouldn’t go as far as to call the man I used to be a monster.” He sighed and adjusted his mask. “But I was certainly a bad person, an asshole, a coward who hid behind physical strength, and I had more vices than virtues.”

[Prophet, what are you talking about?]

“I’m trying to answer the questions I know you have before either of you two pester them out of me. Maybe when you’re sated my Lord will allow me to forget again.”

[Are you sure? you seemed really upset back ...there.]

“Well look at it this way, maybe getting it off your chest will help you feel better about it?”

“I suppose...” The prophet sighed again.

“So what does you being a crackhead before finding the Ink Demon Religion have to do with a room full of dead bodies?”

“Dorthy!”

“...I’ll just listen before asking anything else.”

“Thank you.” It readjusted its mask. “Now where was I...” it hummed to itself for a bit before speaking again, with venom slowly but surly pooling into its words. “I had more vices than virtues, and Joey could see all of both, using my virtues to his advantage, and using my vices against myself, he did everything he could to keep me from leaving him too, and it worked.”

The prophet took in a deep breath to stabilize itself.

“Every time I tried to leave, he did something else to make me stay; ‘I love you’s turned to gifts, gifts to false promises, false promises to threats, threats to blackmail, blackmail to going through with it, and when he felt me slipping through his fingers he turned to taking advantage of my addictions... That... monster was a parasite in all aspects except physically... And I didn’t even notice until I might as well have been a walking corpse as I was seeing others march to my fate, but I couldn’t even so much as squeak out a warning without Joey swooping in on his behalf. Some Henries, heads of the art department, didn’t need to be warned by me as they found out what would await them and fled. But Joey didn’t like that... When I tried to warn the ones who needed to be warned, it was easy for him to dismiss me as a loon, a drunk, and an addict, until eventually I just gave up. I couldn’t even save myself, let alone anyone else... let alone the other art departments...”

“...I just stopped trying to keep Joey from leading the sheep to the slaughter, maybe they’re right to be angry at me for being such a coward...”

It then turned to face the wolf and put its hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve asked yourself if you’ve ever met me before the Ink had claimed me, as for that, I don’t know, nor do I think it matters, Buddy. I was nothing but a shallow and beaten husk of myself long before I even had tasted the ink. Even if you met me before then, you only met a ghost, not a person.”

The three then stayed in silence for a while before the clicks of Buddy’s typewriter caught the other two’s attention.

[Well, if it helps you any I think you’re not as bad of a person as you tell yourself you used to be.]

“And I don’t need to hear everyone’s thoughts to know that you’ve really stepped up to the plate when it counted. I don’t think a coward would try to do have the stuff you’re doing now.”

“Thanks you two” The Prophet’s voice cracked with emotion. “That... that really means a lot to me.”

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #buddy boris #buddy lewek #sammy lawrence #dot batim #fanfic #drug abuse tw #abuse tw #dead bodies #psychological trauma #ink demonth

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my-random-ocs · 3 years

Text

Rise Up Chapter 2: We Fight Demon Scorpions

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x OC (eventually)

Warnings: Angst, weapons, betrayal

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The next morning, the buzz at breakfast faded into the background as I attempted to wake up. I never really managed to fall back asleep after my nightmare.

A nudge against my shoulder made me jump, and I turned to see Silena sending me a worried look. “You okay?” She asked.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. I zoned back into the breakfast announcements. Apparently at around three this morning, an Aethiopian drakon had been spotted at the borders at camp. I was so distracted by my nightmare and tossing and turning that I hadn’t even noticed. The magical boundaries kept the monster out, but it stalked along the border, looking for weak spots in our defenses. It didn’t go away until Lee Fletcher, the Apollo cabin’s head counselor, led his siblings in pursuit. After shooting a few dozen arrows into its armor, it finally got the message and left.

“It’s still out there,” Lee was warning us. “Twenty arrows in its hide, and we just made it mad. The thing was thirty feet long and bright green. Its eyes-” He cut himself off, shuddering.

“You did well Lee,” Chiron said, patting him on the shoulder. “Everyone stay alert, but stay calm. This has happened before.”

“Aye,” Quintus said from his seat at the head table. “And it will happen again. More and more frequently.”

Wow, how helpful.

The campers murmured amongst themselves.

Everyone knew that Luke was planning an invasion into camp. Most of us expected it to happen this summer, but no one knew how or when. Our attendance was down, and that definitely didn’t help. When I started about four years ago, there had been over one hundred. Now there were only a little over eighty. Some had died. Some had joined Luke. Some had straight up disappeared.

“This is a good reason for new war games,” Quintus said. I didn’t love the glint in his eyes. “We’ll see how you all do with that tonight.”

“Yes…” Chiron said. “Well, enough announcements. “Let us bless this meal and eat.” He raised his goblet. “To the gods!”

We all raised our glasses and repeated the blessing.

I grabbed my plate, stood, and led my siblings to the brazier. “Aphrodite,” I whispered, tossing a hash brown into the fire. Mitchell showed Lacy what to do as I prayed to my mother. “Help me with Luke, and Grover, and protecting Amara…”

There was so much to list that I could have gone on all morning, but I headed back to my seat.

After a few minutes, I noticed that Grover was eating with Percy. Suddenly, my fork was halfway to my mouth when I felt somebody lift me by my shirt and take me to the Poseidon table. She plopped me down next to Grover and I swallowed my breakfast while Annabeth slid into the bench next to Percy.

“I’ll tell you what it’s about,” Annabeth said. “The Labyrinth.”

“Oh, okay, so we’re talking about this now,” I realized.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Percy told Annabeth. Campers weren’t allowed to switch tables. I wasn’t sure what the punishment was for switching, because it’s never happened. If Mr. D had been here, Annabeth and I would have been in big trouble, but he wasn’t here. Chiron apparently had already left. Quintus was still sitting at the head table, but didn’t say anything.

“We need to talk,” Annabeth insisted.

“But the rules-”

“Look, Grover is in trouble,” Annabeth interrupted. “There’s only way we can figure to help him. It’s the Labyrinth. That’s what Clarisse, Zia, and I have been investigating.”

“The Labyrinth isn’t in Crete anymore,” I continued. “Like a lot of ancient Greece myth stuff, it’s moved to America. Or, in this case, under America.”

“So… is the Labyrinth part of the Underworld?” Percy asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Well, there may be passages from the Labyrinth down into the Underworld,” Annabeth corrected. “I’m not sure. But the Underworld is way, way down. The Labyrinth is right under the surface of the mortal world, kind of like a second skin. It’s been growing for thousands of years, lacing its way under Western cities, connecting everything together underground. You can get anywhere through the Labyrinth.”

“If you don’t get lost,” Grover grumbled helpfully. “And die a horrible death.”

“There has to be a way,” I told him. Again. We’ve had this conversation more than a few times over the past few months. “Clarisse made it out.”

“Barely!” He countered. “And the other guy-”

“He was driven insane,” Annabeth interrupted. “He didn’t die.”

“Oh, joy,” Grover said sarcastically. “That makes me feel much better.”

“Whoa,” Percy said. “Back up. What’s this about Clarisse and a crazy guy?”

I glanced over at the Ares table. Clarisse eyed us like she knew what we were talking about, but as soon as we made eye contact, she quickly focused on her plate.

I lowered my voice as I turned back to Percy. “Last winter,” I started, “Clarisse went on a mission for Chiron.”

“I remember,” he said. “It was secret.”

I nodded. “It was a secret because she found Chris Rodriguez.”

“The guy from the Hermes cabin?”

Chris was a son of Hermes who had come to camp before I had. He was about a year older than I was, and used to be friends with Nisha and I, until he left camp soon after Luke did. Last summer, Percy, Annabeth, Tyson, and I had found him on Luke’s war/cruise ship, the Princess Andromeda.

“Yeah,” Annabeth confirmed. “Last summer he just appeared in Phoenix, Arizona, near Clarisse’s mom’s house.”

“What do you mean he just appeared?” Percy asked.

“A few weeks after we got back from our quest,” I said, “Chris was found wandering around in the desert, in a hundred and twenty degrees, in full Greek armor, ranting about string.”

“String,” Percy said.

“He’d been driven completely insane,” Annabeth said. “Clarisse brought him back to her mom’s house so the mortals wouldn’t institutionalize him. She tried to nurse him back to health.”

“Chiron even came out and questioned him,” I added. “But it didn’t do much good. The only thing we were able to figure out is that Luke’s men have been exploring the Labyrinth.”

“Okay,” Percy said, trying to take all of this in. “Why were they exploring the Labyrinth?”

“We weren’t sure,” I said. “That’s why Clarisse went scouting. Chiron kept things quiet because he didn’t want to start a panic. The only reason he involved me was because… well, it’s Luke.”

“And he involved me because the Labyrinth has always been one of my favorite subjects,” Annabeth said. “The architecture involved…” Her expression turned a little dreamy. “The builder, Daedalus, was a genius. But the point is, the Labyrinth has entrances everywhere. If Luke could figure out how to navigate it, he could move his army around with incredible speed.”

“Except it’s a maze, right?” Percy asked.

“Full of horrible traps,” Grover added. “Dead ends. Illusions. Psychotic goat-killing monsters.”

“But not if you had Ariadne’s string,” Annabeth countered. “In the old days, Ariadne’s string guided Theseus out of the maze. It was a navigation instrument of some kind, invented by Daedalus. And Chris Rodriguez was mumbling about string.”

“So Luke is trying to find Ariadne’s string,” Percy said. “Why? What’s he planning?”

“I wish I knew,” I answered. “At first, we thought he wanted to use the maze to invade camp, but that wouldn’t make sense. The closest entrances Clarisse found were in Manhattan, so Luke wouldn’t be anywhere near our borders, let alone be able to get past them. Clarisse explored a little ways into the Labyrinth, but it was really dangerous. She had some close calls. Annabeth and I researched everything we could about Daedalus, but it didn’t help much. We can’t figure out what Luke is planning, but we know that the Labyrinth might be the solution to Grover’s problem.”

Percy blinked in confusion. “You think Pan is underground?”

“It would explain why he’s been impossible to find,” Annabeth said.

Grover shuddered. “Satyrs hate going underground. No searcher would ever try going in that place. No flowers. No sunshine. No coffee shops!”

“But,” Annabeth said, “the Labyrinth can lead you anywhere. It reads your thoughts. It was designed to fool you, to trick you and kill you-”

“- But if you can make the Labyrinth work for you-” I continued.

“It could lead you to the Wild god,” Percy finished.

“I can’t do it,” Grover insisted, clutching his stomach. “Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up my silverware.”

“Grover, it may be your last chance,” Annabeth said. “The council is serious. One week or you learn to tap dance!”

A throat clearing gained our attention, and my head swiveled to the head table, where Quintus was staring pointedly at us. I had a feeling he didn’t want to make a scene, but Annabeth and I were pushing it by staying at the Poseidon table for this long.

“We’ll talk later,” Annabeth said. She squeezed Percy’s arm. “Convince him, will you?”

Annabeth got up and went back to her table.

“It’s going to be okay, Grover,” I tried to reassure him. “We’ll figure it out.”

He just stared dejectedly at the table. I stood up and returned to my breakfast with Cabin Ten.

____________

That night after dinner, Quintus had us put on armor like we were going to play capture the flag, but the camp’s mood seemed more serious than that. At some point today, the crates from the arena had disappeared, and I had a bad feeling that whatever was in them was now running around in the woods.

Quintus stood up at the head table. “Right,” he said. “Gather ‘round.”

I found Ethan in the crowd and went to stand between him and Silena.

He was dressed in black leather and bronze. Mrs. O’Leary bounced around him happily, looking for food scraps to eat, then came right up to me.

I grinned, scratching behind her ears.

“You will be in teams of two,” Quintus announced. Immediately, everyone started moving around to get to their friends, he shouted, “Which have already been chosen.”

Everyone groaned.

“Your goal is simple,” Quintus continued. “Collect the gold laurels without dying. The wreath is wrapped in a silk package, tied to the back of one of the monsters. There are six monsters. Each has a silk package. Only one holds the laurels. You must find the wreath before the other teams. And, of course… you will have to slay the monster to get it, and stay alive.”

The crowd muttered excitedly.

“Lot more exciting than capture the flag,” Ethan grinned.

“Tell me about it,” I agreed. The goal seemed simple. Most of us had killed monsters before- that’s what we trained for.

“I will now announce your partners,” Quintus said. “There will be no trading. No switching. No complaining.”

“Arooof!” Mrs. O’Leary howled. She moved from my side to bury her face in a plate of leftover pizza.

Quintus took out a scroll and started reading off names.

Silena was paired up with Beckendorf, and she couldn’t hide her smile. I nudged her shoulder with mine, smirking. She shoved me playfully, both of us grinning. See, Silena had a crush on Beckendorf that neither of them would do anything about, and hoped they would soon, because it was super annoying how they wouldn’t tell each other how they felt.

Travis and Connor Stoll were paired up, which wasn’t a surprise. They did everything together. Clarisse was with Lee Fletcher. Percy and Annabeth were together. Grover and Tyson were paired together, which neither looked very happy about.

Then my name was called. “Ghaziyah Banerjee and Ethan Nakamura!” Ethan and I grinned at each other, and high fived.

“They don’t want to give anyone a fighting chance?” Ethan joked. Both of us were great sword fighters, and always rocked capture the flag when Aphrodite and Hermes were allied. I couldn’t wait to see how this would turn out.

____________

The actual game itself wasn’t important. Ethan and I almost beat Clarisse and Travis, but Grover and Tyson had a little issue. In order to make sure they didn’t accidentally kill each other, we missed the box with the laurel that would have made us win.

Luckily, Ethan wasn’t mad.

As I started taking off my armor, Ethan shuffled around nervously. “You okay?” I asked, undoing the straps of my breastplate.

“Yeah, I just-” He stopped. “I need to talk to you.”

I furrowed my brows. “About what?”

Ethan took a deep breath, then said all at once, “I wanted to leave camp.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “You-”

“I wanted to leave,” Ethan continued, “and join Luke’s army. But I don’t anymore.”

My mind was reeling. “You wanted to leave?” I asked, unable to keep the hurt and confusion out of my voice.

Ethan nodded, looking ashamed. “I did. I have a lot of anger toward the gods- you know that. And when I met Luke, so did he. The gods don’t pay enough attention to their kids, and he was really the only one doing something about it. But I realize… that he isn’t going about it the right way. I’ve decided to stay.”

“You have?” I asked, my hopes raising slightly.

“Yeah. I just- you’re my best friend in the world,” he said. “You’re the only one who actually accepts that my mother is Nemesis. You’re basically my little sister. The last thing I want is to mess that up.”

I processed everything Ethan just said, finally whispering, “So… you’re staying?”

Ethan nodded, beginning to smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m staying.”

I grinned, squealing happily, and gave my best friend a bear hug, causing him to laugh.

“Hate to break up the fun,” a voice called, causing me to pull back. I turned to see Clarisse. “But we have a problem.”

I tensed, placing my hand on my sword. “What’s wrong?”

“Percy and Annabeth are missing.”

I would love to say I didn’t freak out.

Truthfully, I just about had a heart attack.

The whole camp, including Chiron, searched the entire woods.

After about an hour, I was on the verge of a panic attack when we heard shouts that they had been found.

Ethan and I followed the voices to Zeus’ Fist.

“Thank the gods!” I exclaimed, launching myself into Annabeth’s arms, causing her to stumble back from the force. Before she could react, I pulled away and hugged Percy tight. “Where were you two?”

“We’ve been looking forever,” Clarisse added as I pulled away, examining my friends for injuries.

“But we were only gone a few minutes,” Percy protested, confused at my outburst.

“Only a few minutes?” I repeated. “What, did you time travel?”

Chiron trotted up, followed by Grover and Tyson.

“Percy!” Tyson cried. “You are okay?”

“We’re fine,” Percy said. “We fell in a hole.”

We stared at him, confused, then looked at Annabeth.

“Honest!” Percy insisted. “There were three scorpions after us, so we ran and hid in the rocks. But we were only gone a minute.”

“You’ve been missing for almost an hour,” Chiron said. “The game is over.”

“Yeah,” Grover mumbled. “We would’ve won, but a Cyclops sat on me.”

“Was an accident!” Tyson protested, then sneezed.

I would have laughed if I wasn’t so confused.

“A hole?” Clarisse asked suspiciously.

Annabeth turned to our mentor. “Chiron, maybe we should talk about this at the Big House.”

Suddenly, it clicked, and I looked at Clarisse, who seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “Oh, my gods,” I said in amazement, my eyes widening. “You found it, didn’t you?”

Annabeth bit her lip. “I- Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

About fifty campers started asking questions at once, but Chiron raised his hand, quieting everyone. “Tonight is not the right time, and this is not the right place.” He eyes the boulders like he just noticed something wrong with them. “All of you, back to your cabins. Get some sleep. A game well played, but curfew is past!”

There was a lot of complaining, but the campers made their way back to the cabins.

“This explains a lot,” Clarisse said. “It explains what Luke is after.”

“Wait a second,” Percy said. “What do you mean? What did we find?”

Annabeth turned to Percy, worry clear on her face. “An entrance to the Labyrinth. An invasion route straight into the heart of camp.”

After that, Clarisse, Percy, and Clarisse headed back to their cabins, and I followed. It was difficult wrangling a bunch of eleven- to sixteen-year-olds together for bedtime. And I thought living with a one-year-old was difficult.

I turned toward the cabins, and I noticed Ethan was still there, a little ways away. He looked like he heard everything, but I wasn’t too worried. I smiled, pretending nothing was wrong.

“Come on, let’s head back,” I said happily.

He nodded, but didn’t say anything.

I couldn’t read his expression, and it made me nervous.

We stopped as we reached our cabins. “Good night, Ethan,” I said quietly.

“‘Night, Zia,” he responded, and we went our separate ways.

#rise up #zia banerjee #teen wolf #teen wolf oc #pjo #pjo oc

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aboveallarescuer · 4 years

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Dany telling herself hopeful stories

As I was rereading ASOIAF, I made it my goal to compile all* the book passages demonstrating either certain key attributes of Daenerys Targaryen (e.g. that she's compassionate and empathetic) or aspects of hers that are usually overblown (e.g. that she's violent and ambitious). Doing such a task may seem exaggerated, but I'd argue it's not, for many, many misconceptions about Dany have become widespread in light of the show's final season's events (and even before).

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take.

Another objection to the purpose of these lists is that Game of Thrones is different from A Song of Ice and Fire and should be analyzed on its own, which is a fair point. However, the show is also an adaptation of these books, which begs the questions: why did they change Dany's character? Why did they overfocus on negative traits of hers or depicted them as negative when they weren't supposed to be or gave her negative traits that were never hers to begin with? Another fact that undermines the show=/=books argument is that most people think that the show's ending will be the books', albeit only in broad strokes and in different circumstances. As a result, people's perception of Dany is inevitably influenced by the show, which is a shame.

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend Dany's character in analysis or even conversations.

*Well, at least all the passages that I could find.

Also, people may interpret certain passages differently and then come up with a different collection of passages, so I'm not arguing that this list is completely objective (nor that there could ever be one).

Also, some passages have been cut short according to whether they were, IMO, relevant to the specific topic of the list they're in, so the context surrounding them may not always be clear (always read the books!). Many of them appear in different lists, sometimes fully cited, sometimes not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm not including quotes that misrepresent Dany here because I couldn't find them on a quick glance and, frankly, I didn't want to find them. But we know that some people like to paint Dany in an overly negative light for taking pride at her ancestors (never mind the numerous double standards) or for not being completely aware of their history. And we know that she should be defended from these accusations. I interpret Dany as someone who, sometimes, needs to tell herself hopeful stories to keep going, especially for having had no family but an abusive brother. Her bias in regarding her relatives and Westeros in an idealized light and her enemies in an overly negative one is part of that pattern (which is contextualized by the universe she lives in, in which familial bonds are the most important ones). And so, I'm listing passages in which we see that pattern come up.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

She might have wished for colder, clearer water ... but no, if she were going to pin her hopes on wishes, she would wish for rescue.

She still clung to the hope that someone would come after her. Ser Barristan might come seeking her; he was the first of her Queensguard, sworn to defend her life with his own. And her bloodriders were no strangers to the Dothraki sea, and their lives were bound to her own. Her husband, the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq, might dispatch searchers. And Daario ... Dany pictured him riding toward her through the tall grass, smiling, his golden tooth gleaming with the last light of the setting sun.

Only Daario had been given to the Yunkai’i, a hostage to ensure no harm came to the Yunkish captains. Daario and Hero, Jhogo and Groleo, and three of Hizdahr’s kin. By now, surely, all of her hostages would have been released.

It makes no matter. By now the Yunkai’i will be marching home. That was why she had done all that she had done. For peace.

But none of those things had happened. Bells, Dany thought again. Her bloodriders had found her. “Aggo,” she whispered. “Jhogo. Rakharo.” Might Daario have come with them?

ADWD Daenerys IX

The boar was a huge beast, with tusks as long as a man’s forearm and small eyes that swam with rage. She wondered whether the boar that had killed Robert Baratheon had looked as fierce. A terrible creature and a terrible death. For a heartbeat she felt almost sorry for the Usurper.

ADWD Daenerys VII

“And my father? Was there some woman he loved better than his queen?”

Ser Barristan shifted in the saddle. “Not … not loved. Mayhaps wanted is a better word, but … it was only kitchen gossip, the whispers of washerwomen and stableboys …”

“I want to know. I never knew my father. I want to know everything about him. The good and … the rest.”

“As you command.”

How beautiful, the queen tried to tell herself, but inside her was some foolish little girl who could not help but look about for Daario. If he loved you, he would come and carry you off at swordpoint, as Rhaegar carried off his northern girl, the girl in her insisted, but the queen knew that was folly.

ADWD Daenerys V

The day might come soon when she would have need of every knight. “Will they joust for me? I should like that.” Viserys had told her stories of the tourneys he had witnessed in the Seven Kingdoms, but Dany had never seen a joust herself.

“They are not ready, Your Grace. When they are, they will be pleased to demonstrate their prowess.”

ADWD Daenerys IV

“One day I will want to return to Westeros, to claim the Seven Kingdoms that were my father’s.”

“One day all men must die, but it serves no good to dwell on death. I prefer to take each day as it comes.”

Dany folded her hands together. “Words are wind, even words like love and peace. I put more trust in deeds. In my Seven Kingdoms, knights go on quests to prove themselves worthy of the maiden that they love. They seek for magic swords, for chests of gold, for crowns stolen from a dragon’s hoard.”

“Ninety days and ninety nights without a corpse, and on the ninety-first we wed?”

“Perhaps,” said Dany, with a coy look. “Though young girls have been known to be fickle. I may still want a magic sword.”

“I saw your father and your mother wed as well. Forgive me, but there was no fondness there, and the realm paid dearly for that, my queen.”

“Why did they wed if they did not love each other?”

“Your grandsire commanded it. A woods witch had told him that the prince was promised would be born of their line.”

[...] “What became of her?”

“Summerhall.” The word was fraught with doom.

Dany sighed. “Leave me now. I am very weary.”

“Most queens have no purpose but to warm some king’s bed and pop out sons for him. If that’s the sort of queen you mean to be, best marry Hizdahr.”

Her anger flashed. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“No. Have you?”

Viserys would have his head off for that insolence. “I am the blood of the dragon. Do not presume to teach me lessons.” When Dany stood, the lion pelt slipped from her shoulders and tumbled to the ground. “Leave me.”

ADWD Daenerys II

Dany shut her eyes and tried to think of home, of Dragonstone and King's Landing and all the other places that Viserys had told her of, in a kinder land than this ...

“Tell me a tale, ser,” Dany said as they climbed. “Some tale of valor with a happy ending.” She felt in need of happy endings. “Tell me how you escaped from the Usurper.”

“Your Grace. There is no valor in running for your life.”

Dany seated herself on a cushion, crossed her legs, and gazed up at him. “Please. It was the Young Usurper who dismissed you from the Kingsguard …”

“[...] I was gathering my things when it came to me that I had brought this on myself by taking Robert’s pardon. He was a good knight but a bad king, for he had no right to the throne he sat. That was when I knew that to redeem myself I must find the true king, and serve him loyally with all the strength that still remained me.”

“My brother Viserys.”

“Stark was a traitor who met a traitor’s end.”

“Your Grace,” said Selmy, “Eddard Stark played a part in your father’s fall, but he bore you no ill will. When the eunuch Varys told us that you were with child, Robert wanted you killed, but Lord Stark spoke against it. Rather than countenance the murder of children, he told Robert to find himself another Hand.”

“Have you forgotten Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon?”

“Never. That was Lannister work, Your Grace.”

“Lannister or Stark, what difference? Viserys used to call them the Usurper’s dogs. If a child is set upon by a pack of hounds, does it matter which one tears out his throat? All the dogs are just as guilty. The guilt …” The word caught in her throat.

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

“Your father is called ‘the Mad King’ in Westeros. Has no one ever told you?”

“Viserys did.” The Mad King. “The Usurper called him that, the Usurper and his dogs.” The Mad King. “It was a lie.”

“Why ask for truth,” Ser Barristan said softly, “if you close your ears to it?” He hesitated, then continued.

[...] The truth is, I wanted to watch you for a time before pledging you my sword. To make certain that you were not ...”

“... my father’s daughter?” If she was not her father’s daughter, who was she?

“... mad,” he finished. “But I see no taint in you.”

“Taint?” Dany bristled.

“Was my father truly mad?” she blurted out. Why do I ask that? “Viserys said this talk of madness was a ploy of the Usurper’s ...”

“Viserys was a child, and the queen sheltered him as much as she could. Your father always had a little madness in him, I now believe. Yet he was charming and generous as well, so his lapses were forgiven. His reign began with such promise ... but as the years passed, the lapses grew more frequent, until ...”

Dany stopped him. “Do I want to hear this now?”

Ser Barristan considered a moment. “Perhaps not. Not now.”

“Not now,” she agreed. “One day. One day you must tell me all. The good and the bad. There is some good to be said of my father, surely?”

“There is, Your Grace. Of him, and those who came before him. Your grandfather Jaehaerys and his brother, their father Aegon, your mother ... and Rhaegar. Him most of all.”

“I wish I could have known him.” Her voice was wistful.

“I wish he could have known you,” the old knight said. “When you are ready, I will tell you all.”

ASOS Daenerys V

“...Your war is in Westeros.”

“I have not forgotten Westeros.” Dany dreamt of it some nights, this fabled land that she had never seen. “If I let Meereen’s old brick walls defeat me so easily, though, how will I ever take the great stone castles of Westeros?”

“Why are you here?” Dany demanded of him. “If Robert sent you to kill me, why did you save my life?” He served the Usurper. He betrayed Rhaegar’s memory, and abandoned Viserys to live and die in exile. Yet if he wanted me dead, he need only have stood aside ...

“...And since the day you wed Khal Drogo, there has been an informer by your side selling your secrets, trading whispers to the Spider for gold and promises.”

He cannot mean ... “You are mistaken.” Dany looked at Jorah Mormont. “Tell him he’s mistaken. There’s no informer. Ser Jorah, tell him. We crossed the Dothraki sea together, and the red waste ...” Her heart fluttered like a bird in a trap. “Tell him, Jorah. Tell him how he got it wrong.”

“The Others take you, Selmy.” Ser Jorah flung his longsword to the carpet. “Khaleesi, it was only at the start, before I came to know you ... before I came to love ...”

“Do not say that word!” She backed away from him. “How could you? What did the Usurper promise you? Gold, was it gold?” The Undying had said she would be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love. “Tell me what you were promised?”

“Varys said ... I might go home.” He bowed his head.

I was going to take you home!

ASOS Daenerys IV

“Tell me more of my brother Rhaegar, if you would. I liked the tale you told me on the ship, of how he decided that he must be a warrior.”

“...He never loved the song of swords the way that Robert did, or Jaime Lannister. It was something he had to do, a task the world had set him. He did it well, for he did everything well. That was his nature. But he took no joy in it. Men said that he loved his harp much better than his lance.”

“He won some tourneys, surely,” said Dany, disappointed.

Dany did not want to hear about Rhaegar being unhorsed. “But what tourneys did my brother win?”

“But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!” said Dany. “Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl, and later stole her away from her betrothed. How could he do that? Did the Dornish woman treat him so ill?”

“But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy.”

“You make him sound so sour,” Dany protested.

ASOS Daenerys II

“Yet I must have some army,” Dany said. “The boy Joffrey will not give me the Iron Throne for asking politely.”

“When the day comes that you raise your banners, half of Westeros will be with you,” Whitebeard promised. “Your brother Rhaegar is still remembered, with great love.”

“And my father?” Dany said.

The old man hesitated before saying, “King Aerys is also remembered. He gave the realm many years of peace.[”]

“Viserys would have bought as many Unsullied as he had the coin for. But you once said I was like Rhaegar ...”

“I remember, Daenerys.”

“Your Grace,” she corrected. “Prince Rhaegar led free men into battle, not slaves. Whitebeard said he dubbed his squires himself, and made many other knights as well.”

“There was no higher honor than to receive your knighthood from the Prince of Dragonstone.”

“Tell me, then—when he touched a man on the shoulder with his sword, what did he say? ‘Go forth and kill the weak’? Or ‘Go forth and defend them’? At the Trident, those brave men Viserys spoke of who died beneath our dragon banners—did they give their lives because they believed in Rhaegar’s cause, or because they had been bought and paid for?” Dany turned to Mormont, crossed her arms, and waited for an answer.

“My queen,” the big man said slowly, “all you say is true. But Rhaegar lost on the Trident. He lost the battle, he lost the war, he lost the kingdom, and he lost his life. His blood swirled downriver with the rubies from his breastplate, and Robert the Usurper rode over his corpse to steal the Iron Throne. Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.”

ASOS Daenerys I

“Did you ever meet my royal father?” King Aerys II had died before his daughter was born.

“I had that great honor, Your Grace.” “Did you find him good and gentle?”

Whitebeard did his best to hide his feelings, but they were there, plain on his face. “His Grace was ... often pleasant.”

“Often?” Dany smiled. “But not always?” 

“He could be very harsh to those he thought his enemies.” 

“A wise man never makes an enemy of a king,” said Dany.

“Along with a thousand others at some harvest feast. Next you’ll claim you squired for him.”

“I make no such claim, ser. Myles Mooton was Prince Rhaegar’s squire, and Richard Lonmouth after him. When they won their spurs, he knighted them himself, and they remained his close companions. Young Lord Connington was dear to the prince as well, but his oldest friend was Arthur Dayne.”

“The Sword of the Morning!” said Dany, delighted. “Viserys used to talk about his wondrous white blade. He said Ser Arthur was the only knight in the realm who was our brother’s peer.”

Whitebeard bowed his head. “It is not my place to question the words of Prince Viserys.”

“King,” Dany corrected. “He was a king, though he never reigned. Viserys, the Third of His Name. But what do you mean?” His answer had not been one that she’d expected. “Ser Jorah named Rhaegar the last dragon once. He had to have been a peerless warrior to be called that, surely?”

Dany turned back to the squire. “I know little of Rhaegar. Only the tales Viserys told, and he was a little boy when our brother died. What was he truly like?”

The old man considered a moment. “Able. That above all. Determined, deliberate, dutiful, single-minded. There is a tale told of him ... but doubtless Ser Jorah knows it as well.”

“I would hear it from you.”

“As you wish,” said Whitebeard. “[...] Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, ‘I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.’”

“And he was!” said Dany, delighted.

I am still half a world from Westeros, Dany reminded herself, but every hour brings me closer. She tried to imagine what it would feel like, when she first caught sight of the land she was born to rule. It will be as fair a shore as I have ever seen, I know it. How could it be otherwise?

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys III

“The Arbor makes the best wine in the world,” Dany declared. Lord Redwyne had fought for her father against the Usurper, she remembered, one of the few to remain true to the last. Will he fight for me as well? There was no way to be certain after so many years.

“If you go west, you risk your life.”

“House Targaryen has friends in the Free Cities,” she reminded him. “Truer friends than Xaro or the Pureborn.”

“Illyrio believes in no cause but Illyrio. Gluttons are greedy men as a rule, and magisters are devious. Illyrio Mopatis is both. What do you truly know of him?”

“I know that he gave me my dragon eggs.”

He snorted. “If he’d known they were like to hatch, he would have sat on them himself.”

That made her smile despite herself. “Oh, I have no doubt of that, ser. I know Illyrio better than you think. I was a child when I left his manse in Pentos to wed my sun-and-stars, but I was neither deaf nor blind. And I am no child now.”

“Sellswords have their uses,” Ser Jorah admitted, “but you will not win your father’s throne with sweepings from the Free Cities. Nothing knits a broken realm together so quick as an invading army on its soil.”

“I am their rightful queen,” Dany protested.

“You are a stranger who means to land on their shores with an army of outlanders who cannot even speak the Common Tongue. The lords of Westeros do not know you, and have every reason to fear and mistrust you. You must win them over before you sail. A few at least.”

ACOK Daenerys II

It felt good to close her eyes and float, knowing she could rest as long as she liked. She wondered whether Aegon’s Red Keep had a pool like this, and fragrant gardens full of lavender and mint. It must, surely. Viserys always said the Seven Kingdoms were more beautiful than any other place in the world.

[...] Viserys had believed that the realm would rise for its rightful king ... but Viserys had been a fool, and fools believe in foolish things.

The Usurper will kill you, sure as sunrise, Mormont had said. Robert had slain her gallant brother Rhaegar, and one of his creatures had crossed the Dothraki sea to poison her and her unborn son. They said Robert Baratheon was strong as a bull and fearless in battle, a man who loved nothing better than war. And with him stood the great lords her brother had named the Usurper’s dogs, cold-eyed Eddard Stark with his frozen heart, and the golden Lannisters, father and son, so rich, so powerful, so treacherous.

“A gift of news. Dragonmother, Stormborn, I tell you true, Robert Baratheon is dead.”

Outside her walls, dusk was settling over Qarth, but a sun had risen in Dany’s heart. “Dead?” she repeated. In her lap, black Drogon hissed, and pale smoke rose before her face like a veil. “You are certain? The Usurper is dead?”

“So it is said in Oldtown, and Dorne, and Lys, and all the other ports where we have called.”

He sent me poisoned wine, yet I live and he is gone. “What was the manner of his death?” On her shoulder, pale Viserion flapped wings the color of cream, stirring the air.

“Torn by a monstrous boar whilst hunting in his kingswood, or so I heard in Oldtown. Others say his queen betrayed him, or his brother, or Lord Stark who was his Hand. Yet all the tales agree in this: King Robert is dead and in his grave.”

Dany had never looked upon the Usurper’s face, yet seldom a day had passed when she had not thought of him. His great shadow had lain across her since the hour of her birth, when she came forth amidst blood and storm into a world where she no longer had a place. And now this ebony stranger had lifted that shadow.

“The boy sits the Iron Throne now,” Ser Jorah said.

“King Joffrey reigns,” Quhuru Mo agreed, “but the Lannisters rule. Robert’s brothers have fled King’s Landing. The talk is, they mean to claim the crown. And the Hand has fallen, Lord Stark who was King Robert’s friend. He has been seized for treason.”

“Ned Stark a traitor?” Ser Jorah snorted. “Not bloody likely. The Long Summer will come again before that one would besmirch his precious honor.”

“What honor could he have?” Dany said. “He was a traitor to his true king, as were these Lannisters.” It pleased her to hear that the Usurper’s dogs were fighting amongst themselves, though she was unsurprised.

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys IX

She told herself that there were powers stronger than hatred, and spells older and truer than any the maegi had learned in Asshai. The night was black and moonless, but overhead a million stars burned bright. She took that for an omen.

AGOT Daenerys VIII

She was the blood of the dragon, she would not be afraid. Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved.

AGOT Daenerys VII

Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver’s Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.

AGOT Daenerys IV

And sometimes she found herself wishing her father had been protected by such men. In the songs, the white knights of the Kingsguard were ever noble, valiant, and true, and yet King Aerys had been murdered by one of them, the handsome boy they now called the Kingslayer, and a second, Ser Barristan the Bold, had gone over to the Usurper. She wondered if all men were as false in the Seven Kingdoms. When her son sat the Iron Throne, she would see that he had bloodriders of his own to protect him against treachery in his Kingsguard.

#daenerys targaryen #dany passages #a dance with dragons #a storm of swords #valyrianscrolls #a game of thrones #a clash of kings

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letterboxd · 3 years

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Found Family.

Riders of Justice writer-director Anders Thomas Jensen opens up to Aaron Yap about grimly funny fairy-tales, woke teenagers and creating an accidental Christmas movie with hunky muse, Mads Mikkelsen.

“Genres, that’s just a sales tool really. That’s to give people, show people, ‘are we having sushi or are we having Italian?’ Sometimes I like it when you don’t know what you’re getting.” —Anders Thomas Jensen

It’s stupidly easy to sell writer-director Anders Thomas Jensen’s new film Riders of Justice on its thirsty pulp appeal alone. Who can resist the promise of Danish acting force Mads Mikkelsen finally getting a decent John Wick-ish vehicle of his own, stoically meting out anguished, bloody vengeance to a cadre of underworld thugs? Certainly not, among many Letterboxd members, Harlequinade, who was moved to write this ode:

“MikkelGod sporting a bushy beard MikkelGod wearing a military uniform MikkelGod wearing a suit MikkelGod having this whole silverfox daddy thing going on MikkelGod killing a man with his big beautiful bare hands MIKKELGOD 🤗🙏🏻😍”

But to dismiss Riders of Justice as another entry in the seemingly endless slew of action-revenge pics would also be to undersell its other layers. Much more than Wick, your average Liam Neeson thriller-of-the-month, or even the recent avenging-dad flick, Nobody, Riders positions itself in a more emotionally and psychologically rewarding space, one perhaps closer to its tonally fluid South Korean counterparts. “What lingers,” Douglas Davidson writes, “are the questions Anders presents and the strange hopefulness that flickers upon the credits roll, burning like the embers of a dying fire in the darkness of night.”

It’s of a piece with all of Jensen’s directorial work thus far. A prolific screenwriter who’s penned everything from soulful early Susanne Bier heartbreakers to the recently misfiring The Dark Tower adaptation, Jensen, as a director, has found a sharply honed groove in the form of grimly funny, genre-defying modern fairy-tales populated by oddball characters forced to contend with the chaos of the inscrutable cosmos around them.

Causality plays an even more pronounced role in Riders. The film’s unlikely heroes—hard-bitten special forces soldier Markus Hensen (Mikkelsen) and a trio of bumbling data wizards (Lars Brygmann and Jensen regulars Nikolaj Lie Kaas and Nicolas Bro)—are drawn together to take down a vicious biker gang, but also preoccupied with processing the hows and whys of grief and trauma, and of course, the value of revenge.

Amid the terse blasts of gunfire, the film foregrounds scenes of connection and healing between its characters, an assortment of progressive teens and bumbling middle-aged men whose unusual found-family dynamic recalls Jensen’s previous dark, offbeat comedies like Adam’s Apples and Men and Chicken. As More_Baddass writes, the film gifts us some “Christmastime therapy of an unorthodox family”.

Over Zoom, we spoke about whether it’s possible to make Mikkelsen less handsome, why Denmark won’t be getting a sci-fi blockbuster anytime soon, and the time that Jensen and a friend tried to break the Guinness World Record for movie-watching.

‘Riders of Justice’ cast members Lars Brygmann, Andrea Heick Gadeberg, Mads Mikkelsen, Nikolaj Lie Kaas and Nicolas Bro.

Riders of Justice is one of your more action-packed films. Did you watch any other action flicks, or were there any specific movies that inspired you while you were designing and creating the action in this film? Anders Thomas Jensen: It’s funny, because it’s always subconscious. I never look for inspiration directly because for me, that would be weird to do because then you’re just copying. Definitely in the back of my mind, there’s a lot of action movies and a lot of revenge movies that I’ve seen in the past that will work their way in there. The process for me is very, how do you say, unconscious? What’s it called?

Intuitive? Intuitive, that’s the word. Thank you. First of all, a revenge movie is not easy, but it always has a strong lead and it has a strong will, which is obviously really good if you want to do a script that moves forward. Hamlet is a revenge story, right? I love Once Upon a Time in the West. I love that. The Searchers. The Sting, I guess, is also a revenge movie. Also, there’s so much identification in people who are wronged.

Wish fulfilment. Yeah that too. It’s one of the obviously basic human feelings. Revenge, love. There are these emotions that you’ll do dramas based on long after we were here.

I understand that you took a break from directing for a while and you were spending time raising your family. I’ve noticed, with Men & Chicken and Riders of Justice there’s a lot of attention paid to parenthood, and the role of the parent. Was that intentionally woven into these narratives and something you were thinking of? Yeah. I don’t do it on purpose, but I can definitely see that every movie I ever made I’m very much a part of it. So the whole father story is part of my life in this movie. I have a teenage daughter who I sometimes feel like … I don’t at all have the emotional tools that she and her friends have. This new woke generation that I’m aware of; every single feeling and the environment and everything. I was brought up in a different way. So that’s quite personal in the story, the whole ‘father who has to learn how to communicate through feelings when he’s not very good at it’.

Mads Mikkelsen and Andrea Heick Gadeberg in a scene from ‘Riders of Justice’.

Would you consider Riders of Justice a Christmas movie? Well, it’s so funny because I didn’t see it at all before one of my editors said. No, I wouldn’t because I didn’t pay attention to it at all. The only reason it ends on Christmas is because that’s the perfect coming together of a family. I needed it in the end, but it could have been Easter, but it wasn’t. Perhaps it is a Christmas movie now because it does have Christmas in it.

What was the first film that made you want to be a filmmaker? There are several, but I think the first time I had was Lawrence of Arabia. I saw that when I was very little, when I perhaps shouldn’t have seen it. But when I was around ten, I got a bootleg copy of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. VCRs were a brand new thing and we got a VCR. I saw that film every day for half a year and I still know every line in it. It’s not getting out of my head. I love that film and I think from there on, I knew that I wanted to do films.

As a screenwriter, do you have any other screenwriters that you respect and admire? I have many. Billy Wilder is one of my favorites. Also, Ingmar Bergman, the Coen Brothers, Robert Towne, but many others also. There are a lot of good screenwriters.

I can see elements of those writers coming through your work, especially the first three. You’re really good at blending elements from different genres and putting strange characters together. Are there any other genres you want to explore that you haven’t yet? Well, it’s funny because every time I open up a new streaming service, I look for sci-fi movies first. I’m part of the Academy and when I get the screeners, I’m always checking for sci-fi. I have a love for sci-fi, but unfortunately I’m born in a country where doing a sci-fi film would just be insane. It’s never been done. If you have a really big budget, you have five to six million here. So it’s just something that won’t happen. But of course, you could get ambitious and write a sci-fi movie and hope you could do it somewhere else. I hope one day [to] do a good sci-fi movie, or at least something within that genre because it is a favorite.

But I also have to say, basically, I love all genres. Perhaps not rom-com that much, but I really like Westerns. I like war movies, revenge movies, dramas. I love to mix genres. Every time I do a movie, I get this from the distributors: “What are we going to call it?” Because it is this mix of genres. Genres, that’s just a sales tool really. That’s to give people, show people, “are we having sushi or are we having Italian?” So people don’t get confused. But I think sometimes I like it when you don’t know what you’re getting. That’s also what I love about the Coen Brothers and other directors that play with genres, is that I never know where it’s going.

‘Riders of Justice’ writer-director Anders Thomas Jensen.

Let’s talk a little about Danish cinema. You have your Lars von Trier, you have your Vinterberg and Susanne Bier. Is there an older Danish film that you would recommend that people should see? I actually thought about it and it’s going to sound arrogant, but I couldn’t find one. Not when I compare to what else is out there of American, French, Italian, British, German, Russian and Asian. No, there isn’t. Of course there’s Carl Dreyer. He’s an icon in early, early cinema. That’s the obvious thing to say, but no. For me, Danish cinema starts in the ’90s. Also, I haven’t watched many Danish movies before that, because there aren’t that many. Some people will hate me for saying this, but that’s how I feel.

Are there any recent Danish films or filmmakers that you can recommend? This year I saw a film called Shorta, which was great. It was made by two directors with no budget, about two cops venturing into this Muslim part of Copenhagen where there’s a riot. That was really a promising debut. Also, I really like the idea they had. They made a lot of great stuff visually and for almost no money.

What are your movie-watching habits? You said when you turn on a streaming service, you look out for sci-fi movies. Do you have any other weird behaviors? It’s crazy, but if I really like a movie, I see it many times. I also see it many times where I do not look at it. I hear it. I will just lie with my back to it and just hear the movie. Actually, if the movie is really good, it also works without the picture.

I think that’s [as] weird as it gets, otherwise I’m pretty much normal. I used to binge-watch. Actually, I tried to get into a Guinness Book of Record with a friend when I was fifteen, where, for five days continuously, we watched movies. I can’t remember if it was 107 movies. We watched movies and we had a video store sponsor us. We were lying in an all-night video store, and just saw films until we collapsed. That’s the craziest thing I’ve done, but we never got into the book because there are people that are better at not sleeping, so somebody else beat the record by far.

Do you have a list, or a record of what you watched? No, but there was a journalist that asked us what number afterwards. He asked me, “What film was the film number? 47, 46?” I remember him being very impressed that I could differentiate them.

It would have made a great Letterboxd list. Preserve it for eternity. The funny thing is years after I would actually see a film, and I would get an hour into it and I would go, “Oh, I’ve seen this one.” It was because when I saw the last 30 films, I was unconscious.

I need to ask about Mads Mikkelsen because he’s massive with our community. You’ve worked with him for quite a long time now, so you’ve got a pretty solid working relationship. Having just watched a number of your films in a short period of time, it was impressive that you found that range in him that maybe other filmmakers haven’t tapped into. Is there a type of role that you want to see him in that he hasn’t had a chance to play yet? Yes. There are many roles, but I don’t know. I could put a job description or a feeling on it, but it’s much more complicated with Mads, I think. We have this common thing that we love exploring people who lie to themselves, whether it’s comedy or drama. People who are not being honest with themselves and people who have this screwed up self-image, which in all the films we’ve done together, his character has. There are many other characters I would love to explore with Mads.

His looks are quite specific in each film. He just looks like a different person each time, which is great. You just want to see how he is going to look in the next one. His wife is like that too. She’s always excited and she was so happy this time because he wasn’t ugly. Normally he doesn’t look very well, like in The Green Butchers. Because he’s so handsome, so I try to do him not so handsome.

Riders is the hunkiest he’s been in your films, I guess. Definitely. The competition isn’t tough, though. You’re up against a guy who masturbates and a guy with a bad receding hairline. But it is by far his most hunky.